by Michael Wood
‘What’s that there?’ Matilda asked, pointing to a very large balloon-like object towards the bottom of the screen.
‘That would be his bladder. It’s quite full and probably the only thing that wasn’t stabbed.’
‘And what about this ribbing here?’
Adele suppressed a laugh and turned away.
‘What? Have I said something I shouldn’t have?’
‘The ribbing is the elastic from his underwear,’ Claire said with a small smile on her lips.
‘Oh.’ Matilda turned red with embarrassment. ‘Well, it’s incredibly detailed, isn’t it?’
‘So what happens now?’ Matilda asked once she and Adele were back in the pathologist’s office.
Even with the air conditioning on in the Digital Autopsy Suite, the closed space and the number of people had made it warmer. When they left, Matilda had felt damp. She wiped her forehead and ran her fingers through her hair. Her hand came away wet. Maybe she was warm. Maybe it was the sweat from an impending anxiety attack. Either way, a bottle of water from Adele’s table-top fridge was enough to cool her down.
‘Ryan will be brought in for a full invasive post-mortem.’
‘I didn’t think you’d need to do one.’
‘In a forensics case, such as this, we always need to do an invasive post-mortem. It’s just that, now I’ve seen the scans and X-rays, I know the areas to concentrate on. When your lovely ACC rang and so pleasantly asked for Ryan to be bumped up the queue I thought she’d want the very best treatment so I took it upon myself to book in a digital autopsy.’
Matilda smiled and felt herself relax.
‘Tell her from me she can expect a bill for five hundred pounds coming her way very soon.’
‘Are you doing more of these digital autopsies?’
‘We would do if you lot would put your hands in your pockets. You’ve no idea how effective they are in a forensic case. Ryan Asher is still in the body bag, yet we’ve been able to see how he died, what happened to him internally, without losing a shred of evidence. Once I’ve cut him open it’s not like I can put him back together as he was before. Now, I can go into the invasive PM knowing exactly what to look for.’
‘Well, from now on, I want a digital autopsy done on all my cases that come through here. Screw the cost. I’ll sneak it through somehow.’
Adele smiled. ‘You’ll have made Claire’s day with that remark.’
‘She seemed a bit feistier than usual today.’
‘You don’t mess around in Claire’s autopsy suite.’
‘When will you be doing the full PM?’
‘You sound like Valerie Masterson.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I’ll do him next. From the X-rays and 3D imaging I counted the stab wounds – eight in the stomach, three in the chest, and one in the shoulder. I can tell you in what order to stab a person to make the death linger but I have no idea in which order Ryan was stabbed. Only the killer can tell you that.’
‘It seems like he knew what he was doing. By the look of things, he punctured all the major organs,’ Matilda said, taking another sip of cold water. ‘Is that why there was so much blood at the scene?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you be able to check for a needle mark or something? I find it very difficult to believe Ryan just hopped onto the pool table and allowed himself to be stabbed to death.’
‘Don’t worry. If he was drugged, I’ll find it. I’ll send samples of his blood and stomach contents off to be analysed. Fancy coming over for dinner tonight?’
‘How you can ask that question in the same sentence as stomach contents and not want to vomit is beyond me.’ Matilda half-smiled.
‘I can do a vegetable lasagne.’
‘No, thanks, Adele. I think I’m going to have an early night with Tony Hill.’
‘Oh yes?’ Adele’s eyes lit up. ‘You never mentioned this.’
Matilda smiled. ‘He’s a character in a book I’m reading.’
‘Oh. Well if you prefer a book to my burnt offerings … ’
‘To be honest, Adele, I just fancy an early night.’
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes. Everything’s fine.’
Matilda had been saying everything was fine since James died almost eighteen months before. She had taken his death very hard, even though they both knew it was coming. She had received great support from Adele, her son Chris, Sian at work, and even the ACC had visited her a few times while she was on compassionate leave, and the first question asked was ‘how are you feeling?’ to which Matilda had always answered ‘I’m fine.’ It was the standard, staple reply. They all knew she wasn’t fine; Matilda knew she wasn’t fine, but it was understood by everyone that they shouldn’t dwell any further on the subject.
One day, Matilda suspected, she would genuinely be fine. When? She had absolutely no idea.
LEWIS CHAPMAN
Nottingham. October 2012
I know I shouldn’t have watched it. I know it was wrong, but everyone said it was the film that reignited the horror genre.
I first watched Scream at the age of eight, and I loved every minute of it. That opening with Drew Barrymore getting terrified by a psycho-stalker was perfect. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve seen that part – definitely a few thousand. I’ve seen it on DVD, on YouTube, on my phone on the bus to school. I know it word for word. It’s brilliant. The second and third films were good but there weren’t any stand out scary moments like the opening to the first film, and don’t get me started on Scream 4, or Scre4m as it’s known.
I’ve been obsessed with horror films ever since I first saw Scream. Not obsessed, that’s the wrong word, I’m just a big fan, that’s all. I’ve seen them all, from the classics like Psycho and Misery, Silence of the Lambs, The Exorcist, Night of the Living Dead, and Rosemary’s Baby to the modern ones like Scre4m, Saw, Cabin in the Woods, Insidious, Let Me In and Fright Night. I’ve got hundreds on DVD.
Funnily enough, I don’t like Halloween. Not the film, I love that, I mean the event. I’ve never seen the point in dressing up and knocking on people’s doors. However, last Halloween, I was looking out of my window at the kids going around in masks and costumes and I thought that 31st October would be the best time of year to commit a murder.
I had a whole year to plan my crime and choose my victims. It didn’t take long to come up with my younger brother, Jason. I’ve never liked him. It’s always been obvious my parents preferred him to me – he always got bigger presents at Christmas, extra pocket money, and he didn’t have to do any chores to earn it. He always got more ice cream than I did too. He was nothing special. He was shorter than me, fatter, and he had a lisp. Why did they like him more than me?
The year seemed to drag on, and the longer I waited, the more anxious I was. I couldn’t bear it. I was genuinely excited.
When the summer holiday came around I took that as my opportunity to put my final plan into action. I knew that once we returned to school in September it wouldn’t be long before Halloween.
I didn’t write anything down. I didn’t want to leave any evidence. So I sat on my bed and pictured everything in my head. I went over it again and again and again. It was like watching a horror film on a loop. It was brilliant. I was the writer, director, and star of my own slasher movie.
Halloween fell on a Wednesday, and Mum and Dad always work late on Wednesdays. It was meant to be. Jason was two years younger than me, and I always waited for him after school so we could walk home together. I asked him how his day had been and if he’d done well in his English test – everything had to be normal. He didn’t suspect a thing. I asked if he wanted to go out trick-or-treating, he said no. Thank God.
I waited until seven o’clock. It was dark and the streets were filling up nicely with kids in badly home-made costumes. It was time to act. I called the landline from my mobile, putting 141 in front of the number so it would come up as withheld on the display. Jason didn’t ans
wer at first. He probably thought I was going to answer it. Eventually, he picked up.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello.’
‘Who’s this?’
‘Who’s this?’
‘It’s Jason.’
‘Hi Jason. What’s your favourite scary movie?’
‘What?’
‘Scary night tonight, isn’t it? Ghosts and demons running around screaming. It’s like something from a horror film.’
‘Who is this?’
‘Are you scared?’
‘Hardly, Lewis. I can hear you in your bedroom. Nice try though.’
Shit! I saw red. I couldn’t believe he’d guessed it was me. I’d been practising that American accent since the summer. I threw my mobile on the floor and ran into his bedroom. He was still holding the phone in his hand. He jumped as I kicked the door open, but when he saw me in my Ghostface costume he started laughing.
He didn’t laugh when the knife tore into his throat. He gasped for breath and grabbed his neck as if he could keep the blood from flowing out. I stabbed him twice in the stomach and he dropped to the floor. He looked up at me, his eyes wide, tears rolling down his face. He was desperate to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.
I leaned over him, knife dripping blood, raised high above my head.
‘“It was a simple game, Cotton, you have told me where Sidney was. Now, you lose!”’
I brought the knife down into his chest and watched as his eyes closed for the last time.
End of Act One.
FIFTEEN
Sian and Rory were alone in the boardroom of Starling House. The files of staff and inmates were all mingled together in a disorganized heap in front of them. Matilda had set them the difficult task of getting to know the people living and working at Starling House in order to brief everyone else later. Nobody wanted this task and nobody had volunteered.
Rory had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His tie was loosened and the top button undone. His hair was ruffled too. The usually pristine and well-kept Rory looked more like the dishevelled and downtrodden Matilda.
‘I think I need a cigarette,’ Rory said, shattering the heavy silence.
‘I didn’t think you smoked.’
‘I don’t. Bloody hell, this is depressing stuff. On the drive over here I actually wanted to know what all these boys had done. Now I’m not so sure. Have you read about that Lewis Chapman?’
‘No.’
‘He killed his little brother like he was a character in a horror film. Can you believe that? There was no motive at all, other than because he wanted to. I mean … why?’
‘I’ve no idea, Rory.’ Sian looked down at the desk. She was struggling with this case. Two of her four children were teenagers like the inmates of Starling House, and she couldn’t help but make comparisons. Would any of her kids turn out the way Lewis Chapman or Lee Marriott?
‘And look at that Callum Nixon? He purposely went into school with a knife to kill two teachers. I never … ’
Rory kicked his chair back and walked over to the window. It was open slightly to let in the autumnal breeze but he pushed it fully open. He leaned on the frame and stuck his head out, taking deep breaths. Sian went up behind him and put a protective arm around his shoulders.
‘Rory, you can’t let these lads get to you. Yes, they’ve committed the worst crimes imaginable but they’re paying for them. That, at least, should give you some comfort.’
‘It’s the fact they committed them in the first place. I’ve got a brother and cousins who are the age of some of these lads. What if they turn into killers?’
‘I don’t think it works like that, Rory. You don’t just turn into a killer. It’s background, circumstance, upbringing. So many factors go into creating who we are. Your brother, and your cousins, will be well-loved, looked after, brought up in a stable environment. I bet the majority of the boys in here didn’t have any of that?’
‘And what about the minority?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You said the majority of the boys in here won’t have had a stable environment, but not all of them. So there will be a couple who did have a stable background. Why did they turn to murder?’
‘Oh Rory, I wish I could answer your questions but I can’t. I’m not a psychologist. I have no idea what makes the mind of a murderer tick.’
Rory took a deep breath. ‘I think I need to know.’
‘Really? Are you sure you want to do that?’
‘Yes,’ he said with conviction. ‘If I’m going to be a good detective, if I want to get promotion, I’m going to have to understand the killers, find out why they do what they do. Surely there’s a recognized sign or brain patterns or something that can identify a killer.’
‘Rory, before you even look into doing this kind of research talk it over with Matilda and Amelia first because it’s really going to screw with your mind. I know you, you’ll let this consume you, and you’ll start looking for killers everywhere. That will have an impact on your relationship with Amelia and your role within the force.’
‘I don’t need to talk it over with anyone,’ Rory said. He moved away from the window and picked up his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘Read what Craig Hodge did, what Lee Marriott did, what Jacob Brown did – we need to understand why they killed and look at ways to prevent it happening again, not just shutting them away in a building in the middle of nowhere and pretending they don’t exist. Besides, what relationship with Amelia? I moved out last week.’
Leaving Sian open-mouthed, he took large determined strides to the door and left, slamming it shut behind him.
Sian sat back down and blew out her cheeks. She knew this was going to be no ordinary case, but she had no idea it was going to be such a game changer among the team.
SIXTEEN
‘Who is your head of security here?’
‘Gavin Ryecroft. He’s on holiday in Norfolk. I’ve contacted him and he’s on his way back.’
‘Who is in charge when he’s not here?’
‘That would Charles Dillane. He’s on long-term sick at present.’
Matilda was back in Kate Moloney’s office going through the day-to-day running of Starling House. She was trying to get a feel for the place, the outline of an ordinary day. Although, was there such as thing as an ordinary day in a building full of multiple murderers?
‘So who takes care of the alarms and CCTV when Gavin is away?’
‘The staff have been sharing the duties. They’re all very capable.’ She couldn’t make eye contact with Matilda.
‘I’m sure they are but they won’t be as qualified as Gavin Ryecroft, will they?’
‘Well, no.’
‘So mistakes could have been made.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as the alarms on the patio doors in the recreation room. Are you sure they were switched on last night?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Kate went on the defensive straight away. ‘DCI Darke, I don’t know what you’re implying here, but none of my staff will have knowingly left this building in a compromising position. Besides, there is no need for the patio doors to be opened at this time of year. It’s cold and damp. They’re only open during the summer months, and only then during hot weather.’
‘Kate, I’m merely trying to find out how the killer gained access to the building. I’m not accusing anyone at this stage.’
‘I’m sorry but I think you are.’ She folded her arms in defiance. ‘I think you’re purposely trying to find something so you can accuse one of my staff. I am aware the people of Sheffield don’t approve of Starling House but I thought the police would at least be on our side.’
‘Kate, we have interviewed all of the boys and they have all said the same thing. By nine o’clock last night they were all locked in their rooms and didn’t leave until they were unlocked this morning. If one of them was the killer, then someone with a key had to have let them out. That would be one o
f your staff.’
‘You seem to be looking at the inmates like they’re boys at a camp. They’re killers. They’re manipulators. How do you know one of them didn’t have a key hidden somewhere?’
‘If one of them did have a key then where did he get it from?’ Matilda asked, raising an accusatory eyebrow.
‘I will not stand for any of my staff accused without evidence. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.’
Matilda stood up slowly to leave. ‘We’re still waiting for that CCTV footage.’
‘I’ll get onto it.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be upstairs in the boardroom.’
The inmates of Starling House had been transferred to the library. The tables had been pushed back to create more space but it lacked the relaxed atmosphere of the recreation room. There was no pool table, no table tennis, and no football tables. There was no television and no drinks. It was wall-to-wall books.
Thomas Hartley was in his element. He took a Paul Torday from the shelf and tried to make himself comfortable in a lumpy armchair. A few of the other boys helped themselves to graphic novels. Nobody could concentrate on reading. Speculation was rife.
‘Come on then; now we’re all alone, who did it?’ Callum said, breaking the heavy silence with his gruff accent.
Eye contact was avoided wherever possible. Nobody dared look at anyone else, in case they were accused of pointing the finger at a fellow inmate.
‘Well, I didn’t do it,’ Jacob Brown said. ‘Them tablets I had for that eye infection make me drowsy. I’m asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow,’ he chuckled to himself.
‘It can’t be any of us, can it?’ Lewis Chapman asked. ‘We’re all locked in. The locks are on a timer. There’s no way we can get out of our rooms until morning.’
‘So, one of the guards wants to see what life is like on the other side of the bars, does he?’ Callum said, relishing the situation. ‘Hartley, you’ve always got your head in a mystery, put your Poirot hat on and tell us who did it.’
Thomas didn’t say anything. He looked up then back down at his book.
