by Michael Wood
‘So it’s a stressful job.’
‘Highly.’
‘For you and your staff.’
‘Yes.’
‘Someone could just snap at any moment.’
‘Ye—’ Kate stopped herself. ‘I suppose it’s possible,’ she admitted finally.
‘So one of your staff could have snapped on Monday night and killed Ryan Asher?’
‘Although I agree that that it is possible, Ryan was only here for a day. What could possibly have happened in that short time for one of my staff to snap – as you call it?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Matilda said, stressing the ‘I’. ‘You were here. What did happen on Monday?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Well, something must have. Who knew Ryan was coming on Sunday night?’
‘Just the staff working here at the time. We don’t get a lot of notice when a new inmate is arriving, for obvious reasons.’
‘You must have all suspected Ryan was going to end up here during his trial. It was well publicised. The odds were in favour of a guilty verdict.’
‘Yes,’ Kate nodded. ‘We did talk about him coming here.’
‘So, in actual fact, everyone who works here assumed Ryan Asher would end up here.’
‘Yes.’
‘What were people’s feelings towards Ryan and his crime?’
‘The same as everyone else’s in the country. We’re not robots, DCI Darke. At the end of the day we’re people and we have families. We all knew what Ryan did and we all had our opinion. However, we’re all professional and able to put our feelings to one side.’
‘Well, someone obviously wasn’t able to because they took Ryan from his room, laid him out on a pool table and stabbed him twelve times. Who do you think could have done that Mrs Moloney?’ Matilda was getting riled. Kate’s stony façade and reluctance to name any member of staff with a short fuse or a quick temper was starting to get on her nerves.
‘I don’t know. I genuinely, honestly, hand-on-heart, do not know,’ she said, raising her voice for the first time. ‘I personally hired and vetted all staff working here. Obviously, if one of them turns out to be a killer I will feel betrayed.
Kate stood up and went over to the small window in the corner of the room which looked over the rear of Starling House and the well-kept sprawling grounds. The window had bars on the outside and Matilda noticed several locks on the inside.
‘DCI Darke, I’m sorry. I’m not being very helpful at all, am I? But you must see this from my point of view. I appointed the staff here so if I hired a murderer then I will feel just as guilty. My position will be untenable and I do not want to have to give this job up.’
‘Kate, you have no reason to blame yourself. You said that staff often have trouble seeing a young, fresh-faced teenager as a killer. The same thing happens with an adult too.’ Jonathan Harkness came into her mind. She had no idea he was a murderer when she first met the young man who was frightened of his own shadow and lived in self-induced isolation. Admitting it to herself was incredibly difficult and it took a while to come to terms with. Matilda had liked Jonathan. She had a great deal of sympathy for him. She often wondered, had she met him twenty years earlier, would she have been able to save him, prevent him from committing his crimes? Maybe. But that brings up the question of whether killers are born or created.
TWENTY-EIGHT
There was a knock on the door. Dr Henrik Klein was preparing himself for anyone who might want to come for a chat. He imagined, after the murder, several of the inmates would want to talk. He didn’t expect to be troubled so soon after arriving.
‘Come in,’ he called.
The door opened and a young man popped his head into the room.
‘Would it be possible to have a quick word?’
‘Of course. Come on in.’ He had never seen this man before. He was tall and good-looking with a dishevelled hairstyle which probably took a while to perfect every morning. This was not an inmate of Starling House.
‘I’m DC Rory Fleming from South Yorkshire Police. I’d like to ask your advice, if I may?’
‘Is this to do with the murder?’
‘No. This is purely me wanting to ask a question. It’s totally off the record.’
‘I see.’ Henrik looked bewildered. ‘Well, come on in. Sit down.’
Rory did as he was told. He seemed nervous as he unbuttoned his suit jacket, smoothed out his tie, adjusted his collar, swept away imaginable dust from his trousers and tucked his hair behind his ears.
‘What is it you wanted to ask me?’ Henrik prompted.
‘Well,’ Rory cleared his throat, ‘can you tell me … how a murderer becomes a murderer?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘These boys in here … I keep remembering what I was like at the age of fourteen and fifteen. I was out on my bike all the time, and I played a lot of football. It never occurred to me to kill someone.’
‘Is this your first murder investigation?’
‘No.’
‘Why are you questioning this now?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You’ll have met a number of killers in your career. Did you often wonder what made them become a killer?’
Rory frowned while he thought. ‘No.’
‘So why now?’
‘Because a fourteen-year-old boy shouldn’t be a killer,’ Rory almost snapped.
‘You’re right. He shouldn’t. From my point of view, you were the ideal teenager: you rode your bike and played sports – that’s what a fourteen-year-old should be doing.’
‘So why did these boys become killers?’
‘Every case is different. However, it depends on your own theory of whether you believe a killer is born or created.’
Rory leaned on the arm rest, his head being supported by his left arm. This subject was obviously weighing heavily on his mind and it was having a deep effect on him. ‘I don’t believe a child is born evil.’
Henrik smiled, although it was difficult to see under his moustache. ‘Neither do I. Young people who kill tend to fit into one of three categories: the large majority of them will have been abused or witnessed abuse. Maybe their father abused them or their mother and they were protecting the mother from the father. Things escalated and the father ended up dead. It is this situation, where the young person is subjected to abuse, that is the most common. They’re fighting back.
‘The second category is if the young person is mentally ill and they haven’t received any or sufficient treatment for their illness. Detecting a mental illness in a child is difficult as, more often than not, a parent will put their child’s behaviour down to hormones and the perils of being a teenager.
‘The third category is where the young person has a long history of severe antisocial behaviour. They will be difficult for the parent to control at home and for teachers at school. They will be emotionally detached, cruel to others, insensitive and incredibly thick-skinned.’
Henrik paused and watched Rory’s expression while he took in what he said. He seemed an intelligent and capable young man. It was clear he was listening.
‘Most of the boys here seem to have killed their parents. Is that normal? Well, I know it’s not normal, obviously, what I mean is … is it …?’
Henrik smiled again. ‘I know what you mean. Like I said, the majority of children who kill will kill a parent or relative because they’re being abused or witnessing abuse. If a child is mentally ill, they will see their parents as being in the way. There was a case in France last year. A sixteen-year-old boy asked his parents for some money so he could meet a girl he had been chatting to online. They refused so he shot them. He also killed his two younger brothers and the family pets too. He then stole money from his father’s bank account and caught a train to meet the girl. He was arrested when he returned home as if nothing had happened. When the police interviewed the girl he’d gone to meet she said he was charming, sweet, funny, the perfect gentleman
. He displayed absolutely no signs that he’d just killed his entire family.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Rory uttered. ‘So, the boys in here—’
‘I can’t comment on their mental health conditions, obviously. However, I will tell you that many of them are on medication to control or subdue their behaviour, and all of them are required to attend regular therapy sessions as part of their sentence.’
‘Can a child be cured?’
‘You’ve said yourself you don’t believe a child is born evil so you must believe circumstance has led them to commit their crime. Therefore, if it is a mental illness then it can be controlled with medication and therapy.’
‘It’s a lot to take in,’ Rory said, blowing out his cheeks.
‘It is, but don’t allow yourself to be consumed by it.’
‘That’s what my boss always says.’ He smiled.
‘Your boss is correct. You seem like a capable detective. You’re looking at these boys wondering what you personally can do to help them, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded.
‘By the time you meet people like the inmates in here they’ve already committed their crimes. What you can do is make sure they’re heard when it comes to their defence. Treat each one differently, and with respect. It’s rare for people to kill just for the fun of it. Take Ryan Asher, for example; someone had a reason to kill him. They didn’t do it because of what he’d done to bring him here. They did it because they felt it made sense to them. That’s what you need to find out.’
‘So the killer is someone who knows Ryan.’
‘As Ryan wasn’t here for very long, I’d say it’s almost a certainty he was killed by someone who knew him.’
‘So we’re not looking at a fellow inmate as his killer then?’
‘No,’ Henrik replied firmly. ‘I would stake my career on it not being a fellow inmate.’
TWENTY-NINE
Pat and Anton Campbell were sitting in Costa in the centre of Manchester. It could have been any Costa in any city in the country as they all looked alike. Pat had even chosen a two-seat table by the window like she did her favourite coffee shop in Sheffield. While Anton fetched the coffee and muffins, Pat sent a text to her son asking if he had time to meet them.
‘Has he got back to you yet?’ Anton asked.
‘What’s that?’ Pat asked looking at the heavy tray Anton was carrying.
‘Carrot cake.’
‘You’re on a diet.’
‘Only in Sheffield.’
Pat struggled to hide her laughter. ‘That’s a cop-out if ever I heard one.’
‘Today is a break from the norm so I’m having a treat. If you don’t want your blueberry muffin I can take it back and buy you a packet of raisins or something.’
‘Don’t you bloody dare.’
Anton sat opposite his wife and greedily tucked into his large slice of carrot cake. He looked content. Pat wondered if she should slacken the reins at home and allow a packet of chocolate biscuits into the cupboard occasionally. What was the point in living a long life if you were miserable because you ate nothing but Ryvita?
Pat’s phone beeped an incoming text message. ‘He’s on lunch in half an hour. He says he’ll come and say hello.’ She relayed the message to Anton.
‘You’re not just going to jump straight in, are you? We don’t see him that often. I don’t want him to think we’ve only come over because we want a favour.’
‘I’m not totally insensitive, you know.’
Anton rolled his eyes.
Detective Sergeant John Campbell met his parents within ten minutes of receiving his mother’s text. It was rare for them to come to Manchester, and he had a feeling they hadn’t come to do some shopping. His father hated shopping, and his mother preferred to do it online as she always said she had more important things to do with the time she had left than trying on clothes in a fitting room cubicle the size of a public toilet.
He found them in the corner of Costa and greeted them both with a hug, then sat on the seat next to his father.
‘There seems to be something growing out of your upper lip,’ his mother said.
‘It’s called stubble, mother. I can’t be bothered to shave every day.’
‘Appearances are very important, John. I don’t want people thinking you were dragged up to go to work looking like a vagrant.’
‘Are you going to check behind my ears while you’re here and ask if I’m eating enough fruit and vegetables?’
‘No,’ Pat replied, giving him a scornful look she only half meant. ‘I will enquire as to how you and Diane are getting on.’
‘Diane’s fine, thanks. She’s in Glasgow this week on a training course.’
‘Lovely. She still doesn’t want kids I take it?’
‘No, she doesn’t and neither do I, Mum. Don’t you think you’ve got enough grandchildren with our Cheryl popping one out every five minutes?’
‘Your father wants you to have a child so you can carry on the family name.’
‘No, I don’t,’ Anton chimed in. ‘Don’t let her pressure you, John. I think it’s admirable you don’t want kids. It’s a rotten world to bring children into. Fingers crossed Cheryl stops at five.’
‘So.’ John exclaimed loudly before Pat could continue. ‘What’s your real reason for coming over the Snake Pass?’
‘I told you – shopping.’
‘Where are your bags?’
‘We haven’t started yet.’
‘It’s almost two o’clock. Don’t you think you should have started by now? I know how you hate driving in rush hour traffic.’
‘Oh, just tell him Pat, for crying out loud,’ Anton moaned, his mouth full of carrot cake.
‘Tell me what?’
‘I want to ask a favour,’ Pat began. ‘Do you remember the Hartley murders from a couple of years ago?’
‘Of course I remember. I’m hardly likely to forget am I? It’s the worst crime scene I’ve ever come across.’
‘Well, Thomas Hartley is in Starling House in Sheffield.’
‘I’m aware.’
‘Are you aware that he’s innocent.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Anton injected.
‘DCI Matilda Darke believes he shouldn’t be in Starling House. She’s asked me if I’ll look into it.’
‘DCI Darke? There’s a story in the paper today about the book of the Meagan kidnapping.’
‘Yes, well, don’t believe everything you read, John. DCI Darke is an exemplary detective. If she believes someone to be innocent then I’m inclined to trust her. Look, I know you were only a DC at the time of the Hartley killings and won’t have had much input on the case but surely you must remember something from the investigation; there must have been some other angle that wasn’t pursued or a suspect not chased up. Anything.’
John leaned back in his chair. He had been pleased to see his parents though he knew there was an underlying reason for their visit. He had thought they were going to spring some devastating health news on him, or maybe they were planning on emigrating to a hotter country. He could have thought all day and not come up with the Hartley case for their reason for driving over to Manchester.
His expression had softened and he looked into the middle distance as he pictured the crime scene all over again. The large main bedroom in the semi-detached house was a shock of red. Sprays of blood on the walls and ceiling – a horror against the neutral creams of the décor. The bare floorboards were a pool of blood of the three victims. Blood had seeped in between the floorboards and was coming through the ceiling into the living room below.
One of the first detectives on the scene, John made his way around the bed and tried to identify the victims. It took him almost half an hour to realize there were three bodies on the bed. Limbs were entwined and broken and everything was covered in blood. There wasn’t an inch of flesh that didn’t have a speck of blood on it. It was everywhere. Saturated was the only word he could use, and even then it
didn’t seem strong enough to describe the amount of blood.
‘I remember when Thomas Hartley was brought into the nick,’ John began. ‘He looked lost. His expression was blank. He was in total shock. His life had been torn apart in the space of a few minutes, and he had no idea what was going on around him.
‘I sat with him in the interview room while DI Spicer was called. I tried talking to him. I asked if he wanted a drink or something to eat but he didn’t reply. He was physically there, but his mind was elsewhere.’
‘What was his alibi for the time of the murders?’
‘Time of death was put down at between two and four o’clock in the morning. Thomas was asleep at that time.’
‘Whereabouts in the house was his bedroom? Next to the room the bodies were in?’
‘No. He wasn’t sleeping in his bedroom. He woke up in the early hours and was sick. He went downstairs to take something to settle his stomach and decided to sleep on the sofa.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. He just did.’
‘Surely when you’re feeling ill you want to be in the comfort of your own bed.’
‘Sometimes when you’ve just vomited up your internal organs the last thing you want to do is climb a flight of stairs,’ said Anton. ‘Remember how I was after that quiche at your sister’s? Nothing could have moved me off that sofa.’
Pat nodded her agreement. ‘So he didn’t have much of an alibi then?’
‘Not as such.’
‘What did your DI Spicer think?’
‘DI Spicer took it very hard. He has a son the same age and name as Thomas. It got to him. He wanted Thomas to be innocent.’
‘Was he innocent?’
‘Thomas said he was.’
‘What were the other lines of investigation?’
John looked down at the floor. ‘There weren’t any. There was no sign of a break-in, no forced entry, nothing. If it wasn’t someone already in the house – Thomas – then it was someone who had a key and made sure they didn’t leave a single trace of themselves.’
