A Room Full of Killers

by Michael Wood

  According to Callum Nixon’s file, he had been beaten by his father on a regular basis throughout his life. During a physical examination upon him entering Starling House, evidence of old injuries had been noted. His father must have hit him hard and often to sustain such signs of abuse.

  Mark Parker had witnessed years of his father physically and mentally abusing his mother. When she left for sanctuary, he turned on Mark. His medical records showed signs of historic beatings, and his back was covered in burn scars.

  So Sian appeared to be right. Upbringing was a definite factor in why these boys went on to kill. Lee Marriott’s parents had been overprotective. They refused him a life of his own and smothered him with their rules. He had rebelled against them in the only way he knew how. It was either kill them or, probably, take his own life.

  Craig Hodge had killed his parents and his aunt and uncle. A psychiatric report dated before his crimes took place showed he had disturbed views on the world and was often paranoid his family were acting against him. A brain scan showed shadowing on his brain. Again, this was before the car crash which killed his parents. Was he led to kill because of his upbringing or from the way his brain was wired?

  Then there was Lewis Chapman. Why had he decided to kill his little brother? Had he simply been watching too many horror films and become blurred with reality? Was he really just evil or was there something inside him which connected with killing? Maybe there was a chemical imbalance in his brain. Something else for him to Google when he got home.

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Would you like an apricot Danish?’

  Matilda was taken aback. ACC Valerie Masterson often offered a coffee whenever Matilda entered her office but this was the first time she had a plate of pastries presented to her. Had Sian been baking again?

  ‘Erm … thank you,’ Matilda replied, gingerly taking one.

  ‘We can all do with a sugar rush from time to time.’

  Matilda took a small bite. It tasted nice: moist and fluffy. But Matilda was suspicious and that tasted foul.

  ‘I’m sure you already know about Sally Meagan’s book being released tomorrow. Have you seen the adverts and interviews in the newspapers?’ Valerie began, settling herself in behind her oversized desk.

  So it’s a ‘sorry to hear your reputation is being dragged through the press’ Danish.

  ‘I’ve seen the adverts, yes,’ was all Matilda could say with a mouthful.

  ‘I want you to know that you have my full support on this. I’ve had a journalist from the Daily Mail phone – they’re running a feature tomorrow. He wanted to know if we want to reply. I said no. Once the book is finally out it will all die down. By next week the world will have moved on. You can cope with that, can’t you?’

  Matilda swallowed but the pastry stuck in her throat. ‘I have to.’

  ‘The feature seems to focus on you and the investigation. I suppose from the press point of view you’re a more interesting aspect of the story. I’m sure the book will focus more on Carl.’

  Don’t you believe it. I’m mentioned on pages 3,4,7,12,28,35,55,61 …

  ‘Now,’ Valerie clapped her hands together, ‘how’s everything going with Starling House? Have you identified a suspect yet?’

  ‘Not yet. Do you know anything about the woman who runs it? Kate Moloney?’

  ‘Not a thing. I know she’s been there since it opened but it’s a building shrouded in mystery.’

  ‘You can say that again. I think she’s hiding something, but I don’t know what. I get the feeling Ryan Asher’s death could have been avoided if it wasn’t for a lack of something.’

  ‘A lack of what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe a security issue. I’ve got Christian out there now going over the whole place.’

  ‘It’s got to be one of the other boys, surely.’

  ‘I’m not ruling anything out.’

  ‘We’ve managed to keep the press at bay so far but, once they find out, I’m going to have the council, the government, the Home Office, victim support groups, you name it, calling me and demanding answers. This cannot run and run.’ The sheen of sweat on her forehead and the dark circles under her eyes were evident this case was causing Valerie a great deal of distress.

  Matilda frowned. It was unusual for the unflappable ACC to allow a case to get to her. If there were any failings at Starling House then it would be Kate Moloney and her staff who were to blame.

  ‘How are your team dealing with it?’ Val asked, taking a long drink of coffee with a shaking hand.

  ‘They’re fine. Professional, as always.’

  ‘There’s no resentment, no feelings of animosity towards the inmates?’

  ‘No. Should there be?’

  ‘Starling House has seven violent young men living there. It can have a serious effect on people when they’re dealing with child killers, especially when they have children of their own. Is Sian coping?’

  Matilda almost sniggered. ‘Sian is one of the most capable people I know. If she—’

  ‘If she what?’ Val asked.

  ‘No. It’s nothing.’ A thought had struck Matilda. If Val is worried about the effects of being surrounded by killers on her officers, what about the staff at Starling House? It would affect them in the same way too. Maybe one of them has finally snapped. Kate Moloney had been there from the beginning. In twenty years, what had being surrounded by murderers done to her state of mind?

  Thomas Hartley enjoyed being in the library. He preferred being here to the recreation room with its loud voices, clacking of pool balls, banging of the table football, and the television at high volume. He liked the peace and quiet the library offered. However, that peace was shattered now it was being used as a free-for-all. A battered table tennis table had been dragged out of storage and set up in the centre of the room.

  ‘Thomas,’ Callum Nixon called out, ‘we want a fourth for table tennis doubles. Get your arse over here.’

  Thomas looked up over the book he was reading and shook his head.

  ‘Come on, don’t be a tosser. What about you, Jacob?’ he asked the sixteen-year-old in the corner of the room flicking through a magazine.

  ‘No, thanks. I smashed my wrist on the table last time. It still hurts.’

  ‘’Course you did. Too much wanking you mean. Come on, one of you poofs had better come and play. Lee, get up here and play, and I’ll let you blow me off later.’

  ‘Fuck off, Callum.’ Any comment on being gay was always thrown at Lee Marriott. It was completely unnecessary, but his very smooth complexion and long blond hair gave him a feminine look which made him the target for homophobic jibes, and Callum used it as another way to get under Lee’s skin.

  ‘Come on, lads. If you don’t play, I’ll do to you what I did to Ryan Asher.’

  A heavy silence fell on the room and everyone turned to look at Callum. He had a cruel smile but his eyes were cold and staring. Was he serious? The boys looked at each other and put their heads down. They didn’t want to be a part of this. If Callum really had killed Ryan then they would rather not know any other details so they wouldn’t have to lie when questioned further.

  ‘I’ll play, Callum, if it’ll shut you up,’ Jacob said, throwing his magazine down.

  ‘Good lad.’

  The foursome began playing table tennis but nobody’s mind was on the game. Callum was enjoying himself, but the others kept exchanging steely glances.

  Thomas continued to read, but he wasn’t taking in the plot. Lewis tried to concentrate on some maths Call Me Fred had given him but he was making simple errors. The atmosphere was dark and heavy. They all wanted to leave, go to a different part of the building, but none of them were allowed. Thomas looked up through the toughened glass in the door. There was a uniformed police officer standing guard outside the room. He hoped he could hear what was being said in here.

  They all knew the reason why they were here – they were murderers – but in the relaxed environment of th
e recreation room, the gym, and the library, they were teenage lads messing around. Suddenly, the thought that one of them wanted to be the last man standing was too terrifying to contemplate. Suddenly, they all knew how their victims felt.

  JACOB BROWN

  Bristol. April 2014

  There was a gang of four of us – me, Darryl Price, Steven Richards, and Pablo Romero. We all fancied Natalie Barker. It wasn’t difficult to see why; she was fit as fuck. She’d moved to Bristol from London during the Christmas holiday and when we went back to school in January she was sitting opposite me in English. It was love at first sight. Well, it was for me, anyway.

  She was so hot. She was tall, fit, had light brown wavy hair which went just past her shoulders and bounced when she walked. Her eyes were light blue and hypnotic. She had full red lips and a natural pout; none of this fake Victoria Beckham shit some of the girls tried to do. No, Natalie was naturally hot. She had great legs too, and her white shirt was always tight. I used to watch her playing netball when I should have been playing basketball.

  I often watched her. It was difficult not to. She was hypnotic. I eventually learned her timetable by heart. When I hadscience, she had English. When I was skipping maths, she was doing art. Our lunchtimes were the same, and I’d always make sure she was ahead of me in the queue. She always sat with Ramona Park, and I’d sit a few rows away watching her eat. I’ve never been jealous of a salad sandwich before but I’d give anything for her to put me in her mouth like that.

  At the end of January, we had a big snowstorm. I was late leaving school because that prick Mr Hutchinson had made me stay behind for fighting with James Baxter at lunch. He didn’t have to stay behind, though, just because his mother was on the board of governors. Anyway, by the time I left school the snow was coming down really heavy. Just across the road was Natalie Barker. This was my perfect opportunity to talk to her – finally.

  As I passed the bus stop there was an old woman. She had an umbrella poking out of one of those annoying trolley things. I swiped it and ran to catch Natalie up. I asked if I could walk her home. She looked up at me and smiled. It was a great smile. She thanked me and I put the umbrella over her.

  The journey should have only taken five minutes but the snow slowed us down. At one point she slipped and grabbed on to my arm to stop herself from falling. She flashed me that smile again. Blimey, she could stop traffic with that smile.

  We reached her front door, and she thanked me. I loved her accent. It was so soft, so posh. She lived in a better part of Bristol than I did. I lived in a maisonette on a shitty council estate with burnt-out cars and a drug addict on every landing. Natalie lived on a tree-lined street with driveways; people looked after their gardens.

  Natalie leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. Her lips were so warm on my cold face. I almost melted. Before I could think, I asked her out on Saturday. She said yes. She said fucking yes. I couldn’t believe it. Me and Natalie Barker – get in!

  On my way home I texted Darryl, Steven, and Pablo. I’ve got a date with Natalie Barker. Jealous? Of course they were jealous. They all wanted her, and I’d got her, me.

  Saturday went well. We had a walk around town, went for a burger, then to the cinema. On the back seat of the bus on the way home we snogged. She pulled my hand away when I tried to put it up her skirt. Apart from that, it was a good date and we arranged to go out again the following Saturday.

  From then on, I walked her home on the nights I didn’t have detention, and we went out every Saturday too. We were very different people but it worked. Her dad was high up in banking; my dad ran out on my mum almost as soon as she told him she was pregnant. Natalie’s mum was a GP; mine worked cash-in-hand at the local corner shop. Natalie was academic, always getting As and read for pleasure. I couldn’t give a toss about anything like that. I’ve had four copies of Frankenstein off Mr Hall, and they’ve all been used for blocking the bogs in the bus station.

  We’d been going out for just over a month when the subject of sex came up. I was gagging for it. I thought of shagging Natalie every night. I asked her if she wanted to do it, and she said she did. It would be her first time (mine too, but I didn’t tell her that) and she wanted it to be special. She wanted it to be in a bed, not in a bus shelter or in the park at night. I kept trying to find somewhere for us to go but couldn’t come up with anything, and I couldn’t afford a hotel.

  Then Mum said she was going away for the weekend with her new boyfriend. That was a shock in itself; she never usually told me anything, just took herself off and left a twenty pound note under the kettle with a note telling me to feed myself. I told Natalie my house would be free, and she was up for it. I couldn’t believe it.

  I had Pablo drooling. Darryl asked me to take photos, and that pervert Steven asked me to set up a webcam. I did like the idea of filming it to re-watch, but I doubted Natalie would be up for that. Not yet, anyway.

  That Saturday, we went to the cinema and watched Pompeii. It was a shit film, but the effects were good. After, we went back to mine. I ordered us a pizza and we got comfortable on the sofa.

  We kissed and it started to get heavy. I unbuttoned her top and lifted up her skirt. She had an amazing arse: small, firm, I wanted to bite it. She jumped up when I tried to put my finger inside her. She didn’t like that. I’d seen it in a porno and it looked hot, but, each to their own. After a while, I took her hand and led her upstairs.

  I’d spent all morning cleaning my room – something I hadn’t done for years. I took down the footy posters and hid all my magazines in Mum’s room. It looked nice. It looked grown-up.

  We were on my bed. Natalie’s top was undone, her skirt was off, and I was just in my boxers when she jumped up and said she couldn’t do this. She said she thought she was ready but she obviously wasn’t. She started getting dressed. She started talking about wanting her first time to be special again. I told her it was; we were in a bed for fuck’s sake. I begged her not to leave and told her that I really fancied her. She had to stay. Then I accidently let slip that I’d told the lads we were doing it that night. She was well pissed about that.

  Natalie Barker was hot. Everyone knew that. I wasn’t keeping it to myself that we were going all the way. She went downstairs saying all kinds of things under her breath. She was fuming. She was at the bottom putting on her coat, while I was still struggling into my jeans.

  She ran out of the house, and I eventually caught up with her at the bottom of the road at the bus stop. It was gone eleven so the buses had stopped running. I invited her to come back with me. I’d let her sleep in my mum’s room and I’d stay in mine. We didn’t have to do anything if she didn’t want to.

  She started calling me all sorts then, a pervert, a deviant – other words I’d never even heard before. She said I was only after one thing. I knew the score. She was a posh tart from London and I was her bit of rough. I bet her and her snobby friends were laughing at me behind my back. When we got to bed she realized she’d gone too far and tried to back out. Well, you know something, you can’t treat people like that.

  She stormed off and headed for the park to go home. I followed her. I kept calling her name, telling her to come back, to not turn away from me while I was talking, but she ignored me. I caught up with her, grabbed her arm and dragged her into the woods. What did she expect from me? I was a bit of rough; after all, I was just acting how she expected.

  She kicked me on the shin. I pulled her again, and she tried to kick me in the balls but I jumped back. I slapped her with the back of my hand. She looked shocked. She tried to run but I grabbed her again and slammed her hard against a tree. She banged her head and was a bit dazed. I threw her down onto the ground and climbed on top of her. She struggled but I was stronger. I pulled her skirt up and tore her pants off. She started yelling but it was obvious she wanted it. I know she did.

  I pulled my jeans down and realized my mobile was in my pocket. She couldn’t tease me like this and expect me to just let her go
. The whole school were going to know she liked it rough in the woods. She screamed so I put my hand over her mouth to shut up her. It was actually quite difficult concentrating on filming her and shagging her at the same time. It didn’t take long, and she soon relaxed into it as she stopped moving. It was only when I’d come inside her that I noticed how hard I’d had my hand over her mouth and nose. She’d stopped breathing. Shit! She lay there; her angelic face was cut and bruised. Shit! Shit! FUCK!

  I was hoping the scabs on my hands would have gone by the time the police came round, but they hadn’t. If that old bloke hadn’t been walking his Alsatian through the woods she wouldn’t have been found straightaway. I had to confess. I had no choice. My DNA would be all over her. I genuinely loved Natalie but she really shouldn’t have teased me like that. No girl should ever tease like that.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘Mr Percival?’

  ‘Call me Fred.’

  Sian Mills and Rory Fleming sat down opposite the six foot three tutor in the staffroom of Starling House. He had a permanent smile on his face that was halfway between a grin and a smirk. Sian took an instant dislike to him, which was unusual for her.

  Fred Percival was in his mid-fifties. He was rapidly balding and his thinning dark hair was greased to his scalp. His face was as shiny as his polyester suit.

  ‘What’s your role here at Starling House?’

  ‘I’m the tutor. I’m no professor, obviously, but I teach basic literacy and numeracy skills.’

  ‘Do you live on the premises?’

  ‘Monday to Thursday. I go home on Friday afternoon and come back again on Monday morning.’

  ‘Where is home for you?’ Rory asked, looking up from his notepad.

  ‘Birmingham,’ he said, purposely thickening his Brummie accent.