A Room Full of Killers Read online

  ‘Ah, cool.’ He boy beamed.

  ‘I’d stay off the KitKats then, Stuart,’ Sian said, nodding at his full stomach. ‘It’s a helicopter they’d be coming in, not a crane.’

  Sian turned and went to sit next to Danny at the dining table. He hadn’t taken part in the conversation. His head was down and the pained expression on his face showed he was concentrating hard.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, swiping away some of his long hair that had draped over his face.

  ‘Maths. I’ve got a mock exam next Wednesday.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Is it difficult?’

  ‘Of course it’s difficult. It’s maths.’

  ‘Do you need any help?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He didn’t look up once from his studies and just answered his mother’s questions as simply as he could.

  ‘Danny, I know we’ve always told you school work is important and you need to do well in your exams in order to get a good career, but, if you don’t, it’s not the end of the world, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I don’t want you to think you’re under a lot of pressure to get a good grade. You’re studying hard, that’s the main thing. Whatever mark you get I’ll be proud of you.’

  This made Danny look up. ‘You’ve changed your tune. At the beginning of the year you were telling me how important this year is for me and not to mess around.’

  ‘I know I did and it is an important year. It’s just … ’ she struggled to find the words. ‘It’s not … if you don’t pass or you don’t get the grades you want I don’t want you to get too downhearted. There are more important things in life, OK?’

  Danny looked on with a perplexed expression. ‘OK’ he replied, confused.

  ‘Good. I’m here for you too if you ever need to talk. About anything. We both are. Me and your dad,’ she looked over at Stuart, who was having a competition with Gregory to see if they could fit a KitKat vertically into their mouths without it breaking. ‘Well, maybe just me.’ She smiled.

  Since breaking up with Amelia, Rory Fleming had moved back in with his parents. It wasn’t ideal and it certainly wasn’t going to be permanent, but it was the only option.

  If he was honest, he would say the break-up had been a long time coming. They hardly spoke to each other; they never had sex anymore, and Amelia was constantly studying to become a solicitor. When she eventually succeeded, there would be a conflict of interest if their professional lives crossed, which they were bound to do. The death of their relationship was inevitable.

  Sitting in the living room, lit only by the dull light of a standard lamp, Rory balanced a laptop on his knee and tucked into a bland takeaway he’d picked up on the way home. His parents had long since gone to bed, leaving him with the house to himself.

  His mind was full of the seven boys in Starling House. Not just their crimes, the horrors they inflicted on others, but the need they felt to commit the crime in the first place. What could possibly be so bad in a teenager’s life that the only solution was murder? Rory remembered what it was like to be a teenager. He was all mood swings and raging testosterone. Did hormones play a part in why a child went on to kill? Was there some chemical imbalance in their brain that changed them from a rational individual to a cold-blooded killer?

  Rory searched Google. He couldn’t find the right answers because he didn’t know the right questions. There were essays written by psychologists on the behaviour of young people and whether they were influenced by films and computer games, but a lot seemed to be playing it safe. Nobody wanted to stick their neck out and give a firm answer.

  He scrolled through his phone and sent a text to Scott:

  Did you ever think about killing your parents as a child?

  The reply came back almost straightaway:

  What? No I didn’t. What kind of a question is that?

  I’m trying to understand why the boys in Starling House killed in the first place.

  Not this again!! Rory, it doesn’t matter. They’ve killed. They’re in there. Surely it’s good 2 know they’ve been caught and no longer a threat to society.

  Aren’t u curious as 2 y people kill?

  Not at this time of night. See you in the morning.

  Rory threw the phone down onto the sofa and sighed. He seemed to be the only person interested in what made these boys tick. He placed the laptop on the seat next to him and went into the dining room where he’d put his bag when he arrived home from work. He listened carefully to check for any sounds from upstairs; it was all quiet. From his bag he pulled out a thick brown file. He took it back into the living room and began reading.

  Before coming home, Rory had gone back to South Yorkshire Police HQ and photocopied all the case files of the inmates of Starling House. He had managed to sneak them into his car without anyone noticing.

  Now, sitting in the dull living room, Rory started to read and re-read about the murders committed by Jacob Brown, Ryan Asher, Craig Hodge, Callum Nixon, Mark Parker, Lewis Chapman, Thomas Hartley, and Lee Marriott. There had to be something in their pasts, some trigger that made them kill, but what?

  Rory reached for the laptop and went to the Google home page – ‘why do children kill their parents?’ he typed. He looked at the results and rolled his eyes. It was going to be a very long night.

  NINETEEN

  Kate Moloney walked the dark corridors of Starling House on the way to her room. It was approaching midnight and the house was silent. Usually, it didn’t bother her to be alone in the dark, but tonight was different. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking that there was a killer on the loose.

  This morning all the doors had been locked, apart from Ryan Asher’s. Who had opened it? The only people who had a key were the staff. So did one of them open it? If so, why? Who, among them, was capable of stabbing a fifteen-year-old boy twelve times? She shook the thought from her mind. She didn’t want to start questioning her staff as that would lead to her questioning her own judgement – she hired them after all.

  Elly Caine. The least said about her the better. She was the one blot on Kate Moloney’s perfect record. Fortunately, Elly didn’t work at Starling House anymore. Although, she was related to Richard Grover and he still worked here.

  ‘No!’ Kate chastised herself. Her cry echoed around the silent corridors. It was not possible one of her staff was a killer. It had to be one of the other boys. They had all killed before, it was obviously part of their make-up. As much as Kate wanted to believe the inmates had accepted their punishment and were atoning for their sins, not all of them were sorry. One of them still had the capacity to take another life.

  Kate’s bedroom was at the top of the building, in the eaves. She locked the door behind her and pushed a heavy wooden trunk in front of it. Never before had she been frightened of sleeping in Starling House.

  A very quick shower, during which she strained to listen for the sound of her door opening over the hot water raining down on her, a quick brush of her teeth and then she went straight to bed. She picked up an Anne Tyler paperback and put it straight back down again. She wouldn’t be able to concentrate tonight.

  She turned out the light and snuggled deep under the duvet but sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind was busy with dark thoughts. After half an hour, she was still tossing and turning. The fitted sheet had come off the mattress at one corner and she was tangled up in the duvet. She climbed out and made the bed. Getting back in, she turned on the television. There was already a DVD in the player for when she felt like a bit of light relief before going to sleep. She switched it on and made herself comfortable once again. By the time the theme tune had finished on her fourth episode of Friends, she was fast asleep.

  TWENTY

  ‘Bollocks!’

  Matilda looked down at the stopwatch on the treadmill: 31:22. She’d hoped to run under t
hirty minutes this morning. When she woke up she felt refreshed after a good night’s sleep. She’d kicked back the duvet and hopped out of bed, changed into her running gear and headed straight for the conservatory. She was adamant she would break the thirty-minute mark.

  An angry shower under blistering hot water and a slice of burnt toast later and she was ready for work. She blew a kiss to James on the mantelpiece, gave the treadmill a dirty look and left the house with a travel mug of coffee in hand.

  Instead of turning left out of the drive she turned right and headed towards the outskirts of the Steel City.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you on my doorstep this morning.’

  Pat Campbell was still in her dressing gown. Her bed-hair was an unruly grey mop and in need of a trim. She was tall and slightly chubby since her days on the police force but she looked better for it. She had taken early retirement due to ill health but there didn’t appear to be anything ailing her on first sight. She stood up straight, moved about easily enough and didn’t have problems breathing.

  She ushered Matilda into the living room and told her to make herself comfortable while she made coffee. Despite having drained most of her travel mug in the car, Matilda thought it would be rude to refuse, especially as she had a massive favour to ask.

  The large living room was tastefully decorated in neutral colours and all the furniture was very modern. It was simple and minimalistic with everything neat and tidy. An unread newspaper was perfectly positioned on the coffee table. It was this morning’s Daily Mail. She flicked through the newspaper and glanced at the headlines but didn’t take in any of the stories. An advert stopped her dead. There was that smiling face of the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy again glaring up at her. Carl by Sally Meagan was out tomorrow in hardback.

  Matilda could feel her blood beginning to boil; the prickly sensation of a panic attack crawling up her neck. Her throat dried, she had difficulty breathing and her vision began to blur. She staggered back and slumped into the sofa.

  It had been over two months since her last panic attack. She thought she was over them and was finally getting to grips with whatever life threw at her. Her mind began to run away with itself: thousands of people would read this newspaper, buy the book, discuss it with others in the street, in coffee shops and online, and spread the word of Matilda’s apparent incompetence. Would she ever be free of it?

  ‘Would you like any breakf—?’ Pat walked into the living room carrying two mugs of coffee. She saw Matilda on sprawled on the sofa. ‘Jesus, Mat, what’s happened? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m all right.’

  ‘You’re not. You’re as white as a ghost.’ She moved to put the coffees down on the table and saw the newspaper. ‘Ah, I forgot it was there. I’m sorry. I’d have moved it had I known you were coming.’

  ‘It’s all right, honestly. It’s me. I’m taking all this too personally. Give me a minute.’

  Pat opened a window and let in a stiff cool breeze. She went over to her usual armchair and sat patiently until Matilda was ready to talk.

  ‘How long have you had panic attacks?’ Pat eventually asked.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘My husband, Anton, had them when he first retired. He got it into his head that retiring meant he didn’t have long left. It scared the shit out of him. At times he thought he was having a heart attack. I recognize the signs.’

  ‘Ever since James died my confidence has been shot. This hasn’t helped either,’ she pointed at the newspaper. ‘I’ve tried to move on, but I’m reminded of Carl all over the place.’

  ‘I honestly don’t know what to say to you, Matilda. Sally Meagan is going to keep doing things like this to keep everyone aware that her son is missing and to keep looking out for him. From her point of view it’s all she’s got.’

  ‘She sent me the book. She hand delivered it and left it on my doorstep. She personally signed it saying she would never let me forget. It’s things like that I have a problem with.’ Matilda wiped her eyes. She suddenly noticed she had been crying. How long had that been going on?

  ‘You can’t report her either, can you?’

  ‘Not really. How bad would that look to the media?’

  ‘Does Valerie know about your panic attacks?’

  ‘She did when I first came back. I’ve hidden them though. I think she thinks I’m over it all now.’

  ‘You can’t carry on like this, Mat. Have you considered seeing someone?’

  Matilda smiled. ‘I already do. I’ll be fine, honest. Once it’s out the adverts will stop.’

  Pat wasn’t convinced. The terse look on her face said it all. However, she let it slide. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like any breakfast?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’

  ‘So, what is it you want from me then?’

  ‘How do you know I’ve not popped round to say hello?’

  ‘The last time you paid me a visit you had reopened the Harkness case and asked for my opinion. Good work by the way.’

  ‘Thanks. Not the result I was expecting.’

  ‘Me neither. However, case closed. That’s the main thing.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So, have you reopened another case I worked on?’

  ‘No. MIT doesn’t exist anymore. We’re just one big CID with many branches forking off into different teams.’

  Pat looked deeply at Matilda. ‘I’m guessing your reaction to that was akin to forking off too.’

  Matilda smiled. ‘Something like that. Look, Pat, I want to ask a favour but it really is in the strictest confidence.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’

  Matilda told the former detective inspector all about Ryan Asher’s murder at Starling House and the interviews with the inmates the previous day. Then she got to the business of her visit.

  ‘Thomas Hartley was convicted for murdering his parents and his young sister. Trust me, Pat, one look at him and you’d know he didn’t do it. Do you remember the case?’

  ‘I do. It’s not often a teenager slaughters their entire family. As I’m sure you know, my son’s on the force in Manchester. He worked on the case. He’s often said it’s the most disturbing crime scene he’s ever seen.’

  Matilda looked to the floor. ‘I’m not saying your son got it wrong or anything like that. I don’t know how the case was investigated. Something is telling me Thomas Hartley didn’t kill his family, and I can’t shake that thought at all. If I’m right, he should not be in Starling House.’

  ‘Why are you tell me all this? There’s nothing I can do about it, surely. Unless you’re asking me to have a word with my son.’

  ‘Well, I was actually wondering if you’d do a bit of digging around for me. In Manchester.’

  ‘What? You’ve got to be joking! Imaging if Valerie found out. She’d roast you alive. Not to mention how it would look from my son’s point of view. I’m sorry, Mat, I can’t put his job at risk.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to put anything at risk,’ Matilda quickly interjected. ‘All I want is to make sure the case was investigated to its fullest, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’

  ‘Pat, you know me. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think there was a possibility of Thomas Hartley being innocent.’ Pat was silent, as if she was mulling over the proposition. The look of angst on her face told Matilda she wasn’t happy about this. ‘Remember the Williamson killings? I was only a DC then but it’s not something I’m going to forget. You had me and DC MacBride turn away while you spoke to Paul Williamson in the back of the squad car. He was underage, too, remember?’

  ‘I hope you’re not blackmailing me, Matilda,’

  ‘Of course not. You did say at that time that you owed us one, me and DC MacBride.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I? I reckon I owe you two, especially after what happened to poor MacBride.’ Pat took a deep breath. ‘OK, leave it with me. I’m not promising anything, mind.’

&nbs
p; ‘That’s fine. I really do appreciate it.’

  ‘I should hope so. Is there any chance I could get a copy of this Thomas Hartley’s file?’

  Innocently, Matilda bent down to retrieve her bag from the side of the armchair and pulled out a thick brown envelope. She handed it to Pat.

  ‘You’ve certainly come prepared.’

  ‘You know I wouldn’t ask on a whim.’

  ‘True. I’ll get Anton to drive me over to Manchester and I’ll test the water.’

  ‘Pat, you’re a star,’ Matilda said, standing up.

  ‘I’m aware.’ She smiled, holding the file firmly to her chest.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Kate Moloney was sitting at her desk with her head in her hands. She was shattered. She woke several times throughout the night with bizarre dreams. Eventually, at six o’clock, she decided to get up. The birds outside her window were making it difficult for her to get any more rest.

  A knock came on her office door. It opened and Oliver Byron walked in.

  ‘Morning Kate. You OK?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘Bad night.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep much either. I see we’ve managed to keep the press at bay so far,’ he said, looking out of the window at the main entrance to the house.

  ‘Yes. I was just looking on the news. I’m surprised they haven’t sniffed it out yet. With all the traffic coming and going yesterday you would have thought someone would have alerted them.’

  ‘It goes to show how much people ignore us.’

  ‘True. Oliver, do you have any idea what could have gone wrong the other night?’

  Oliver came away from the window and sat down in front of Kate’s desk. ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve been through it all in my head from the second Ryan Asher arrived and there’s nothing. We didn’t do a thing differently that we normally do with a new arrival.’

  They both fell silent while contemplating the worst. Kate continued. ‘DCI Darke wants all the CCTV footage from Monday night. Can you get it sorted for her?’