A Room Full of Killers

by Michael Wood

  She was glad she didn’t have to go out anymore tonight. When she opened the door for Pat and Adele to leave, the rain had intensified. They didn’t linger on the doorstep. A quick goodbye before they ran to their cars. Matilda waited in the shelter of the doorway before they drove away. She closed the door on the foul weather and shivered.

  Adele and Pat had long since gone home leaving Matilda alone in the living room with her thoughts on Thomas Hartley and the riddle that was Debbie Hartley. Thomas was obviously anxious to see his aunt, so why hadn’t she visited? If she believed him to be guilty then why not reply to his letters asking him not to write anymore? In fact, why had she kept the letters at all?

  ‘I’m going to drive myself insane with all this, aren’t I?’ she said aloud to James’s photo on the mantelpiece. ‘What do you think? Is it Thomas or Debbie or someone else completely? I know what you’d tell me to do – concentrate on the Ryan Asher case and move on.’

  Matilda sighed and hoisted herself up from the sofa. The living room was warm and comfortable. It was homely and felt lived in. The heat from the fire and the presence left by two good friends made the house feel like a home for the first time in more than eighteen months. She left the room and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

  The kitchen was large with more fitted cupboards than was necessary. A handmade oak breakfast table and chairs in the corner of the room had been a gift from one of James’s friends when the house was complete. She flicked the kettle on and opened a cupboard for her mug. It wasn’t technically her mug; it was James’s but she used it all the time. While waiting for the kettle to boil she rested against the marble worktops – again this had been a dream of James’s. She smiled at the memories. James may no longer be with her in person but he was still in this house, and in her head. He was still looking after her; she could feel it.

  She was settled in the large sofa with her tea, a packet of biscuits and the last hundred pages of a Val McDermid novel when a loud knock on the front door frightened the life out of her. It was just after eleven o’clock. Who called at this time of night?

  Quietly, she walked to the solid windowless door and looked through the spyhole and instantly relaxed when she saw her caller. She pulled back the bolts at the top and bottom of the door, took off the security chain and unlocked the Chubb.

  ‘Dad, what the hell are you doing here at this time of night?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you,’ he smiled.

  ‘You’re soaked.’

  ‘That’ll be due to the rain. I’ll probably dry off if you let me in.’

  ‘Oh God, sorry.’ She stepped to one side. ‘Come on in. I’ll get you a towel. Is Mum with you?’

  ‘No. I dropped her off at her sister’s this lunchtime in Kettering. I thought I’d call in on my way home and see how my favourite daughter is doing.’

  ‘Don’t let Harriet hear you say that,’ Matilda said, handing him a towel she’d fetched from the kitchen. ‘Go through to the living room, the fire’s on. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  Harriet? She hadn’t thought of her sister in a while. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to her. Didn’t one of her nephews have a birthday coming up? At some point, she must pop over to Grimsby and visit them.

  When Matilda returned her father had pulled an armchair close to the fire and had his legs raised, warming his cold, damp feet.

  Frank Doyle was tall and looked after himself. He walked whenever possible and played tennis three times a week. He had a sensible diet and had given up alcohol since a close friend had died from liver cancer three years before, not that he was big drinker to begin with. He was sixty-eight and had only recently started losing his hair.

  ‘Why has Mum gone to see Aunt Sophia in Kettering then?’

  ‘Sophia has got to have an operation and, well, you know what she’s like, bloody drama queen; she’s asked your mother to go and stay with her for a few days.’

  ‘What kind of operation?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I was sent out of the room so I’m guessing it’s a woman problem.’ He smiled.

  ‘So you’ve got a few days of freedom?’

  ‘I certainly have.’ His smile grew. ‘I’m not sure whether to invite some of the lads round for an all-night poker game or throw a house party.’

  ‘You’ve not played poker for years and you hate parties.’

  ‘Yes, those are the only drawbacks.’

  ‘So I’m guessing you’ll be letting the dirty laundry pile up while you eat takeaways until Mum comes back.’

  ‘Very probably.’

  ‘Dad, I’m not on your way home.’

  ‘Sorry?’ he asked, innocently looking over his mug of tea at his daughter.

  ‘You have to pass the turning for Bakewell from Kettering to get to me. In fact, I’m quite a distance out of your way. And at this time of night, in these conditions, you’ve obviously come for a reason. Has Mum put you up to this?’

  ‘You’re a suspicious woman, Matilda Darke, do you know that?’

  ‘It’s my job.’

  ‘Take a night off.’

  ‘Come on, Dad, what’s the reason for your visit?’

  ‘Sophia asked how you were. We said you were fine. We know you don’t like people prying. Anyway, she’d bought that book about the missing boy, and while your mother and Sophia were talking I started reading it. It made me feel sad for you; the things that are said about you. I wanted to come and see how you were coping.’

  Matilda swallowed hard and broke eye contact with her dad. The last thing she wanted him to see were tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Well, it’s not going to be a happy story, is it? Carl’s still missing. I failed to find him. It’s only natural that the parents are going to blame me.’

  ‘There were extenuating circumstances, Mat. James had just died.’

  ‘They don’t care about that. Besides, I should have handed the case over. I should have taken time off when James went into hospital that last time, but, as usual, I thought I could do a thousand things at once. It backfired and I lost the Meagan’s their son,’ her voice broke and she couldn’t hold on to her emotions any longer.

  Frank went over to the sofa and put his arm around his daughter. He pulled her into him. Matilda allowed herself to be comforted. The tears came and refused to stop. This wasn’t just a short cry while she looked over her wedding photos, this was months of pent-up grief and anger finally flowing free.

  ‘Oh God, Dad. I didn’t get Carl back,’ she was barely audible through the tears. ‘He’s dead. I know he’s dead, and I let that happen.’

  Frank didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say. He sat back with his daughter in his arms and allowed her to cry herself out. This is what she needed.

  Matilda was shocked awake. She looked around wondering for a brief second where she was.

  She had cried herself to sleep on her father’s lap. He had obviously managed to wriggle himself free and place a blanket over her, not that she had noticed. There was a note on the coffee table written in her father’s flowery handwriting:

  I didn’t want to wake you. I was going to go home but the rain is biblical out there. I thought I’d sleep in one of your spare rooms. I hope you don’t mind. Dad, xx.

  Matilda smiled. The relationship she had with her mother had always been fractious. It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other or get on, they did, they were just two very different people. It was the same with Harriet. They may be sisters but they weren’t close at all. With her father, Matilda felt more relaxed. She could say anything to him without feeling like she was being judged. She could announce she was giving away all her money and possessions to charity and spend the rest of her life in a kibbutz in the third world and Frank wouldn’t bat an eyelid. In fact, he’d probably ask if he could join her.

  The fire was dying, just a few embers remained. It was cold. The wind was howling and the rain lashing against the windows sounded like someone was tryin
g to break in. She felt safe knowing her father was asleep upstairs. Although how he could sleep through what seemed like the end of the world was beyond her.

  She pulled the heavy curtains back and looked out. The road was a torrent of fast-flowing water. There was bound to be flooding in some parts of the city. She cast her mind back to the floods in June 2007 and tried to remember which parts of Sheffield had succumbed to the elements of a freak summer storm. Meadowhall had been closed for days. The River Don burst its banks, Heeley and parts of Milhouses Park flooded too. Hadn’t someone died at Milhouses?

  Her mobile phone burst into life on the coffee table. She looked at her watch. It wasn’t quite three o’clock yet. The screen informed her Rory Fleming was calling and she’d missed five calls from him already. So it wasn’t the weather that had shocked her awake.

  ‘Rory, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Ma’am, I’m on my way over to yours,’ Rory was screaming down the phone over the sound of the weather that was obviously buffeting his car. Matilda could hear the windscreen wipers thrashing loudly in the background.

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Jacob Brown has escaped from Starling House.’

  FORTY-TWO

  While waiting for Rory to arrive, Matilda scribbled a quick note to her father and ran upstairs to make herself look more presentable. A quick wash, a comb dragged through her hair to untangle the knots, and a pair of waterproof trousers and she was ready. She ran downstairs as the doorbell chimed.

  ‘I think you’re going to need something better than those,’ a soaked Rory Fleming said looking down at Matilda’s walking boots. ‘Don’t you have any wellies?’ He was soaked despite only being in the elements from the top of the drive to the front door.

  ‘I’m not sure. Come in. I’ll have a look. What’s happened anyway?’

  ‘We had a call about half an hour ago. Kate Moloney was frantic. She said an alarm had gone off. At first, she thought it was the weather. She went around the building with the two night guards – Jacob Brown’s door was wide open and a window in the recreation room had been smashed from the inside.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  Matilda was in the cupboard under the stairs looking for something, anything, that would protect her in the harsh weather outside. ‘Anyone on-site yet?’

  ‘Apart from a couple of PCs parked outside, DI Brady is going to wake up a few DCs and meet us there. He’s organizing a full search of the house and grounds and he’s going to try and scramble SY99. Though in this weather I’m not sure it’ll be safe enough to take off.’

  ‘Probably not,’ Matilda said from inside the cupboard. ‘Jesus! How could the uniforms have missed this?’

  ‘They were parked at the front. Everything happened around the back.’

  ‘Matilda, what’s going on down there?’

  Frank Doyle stood at the top of the stairs wearing only the white towelled dressing gown that had been on the back of the door in the spare bedroom he had gone to sleep in.

  ‘Oh, Jesus, sorry,’ Rory said, turning away in embarrassment. ‘I didn’t realize you had … you know … that you were—’

  Matilda scoffed. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Rory, he’s my dad. Dad, this is DC Rory Fleming. Rory, my dad, Frank Doyle.’

  Rory’s red face turned almost purple as he flooded with embarrassment. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to … well … it’s nice to meet you, sir.’

  ‘You too. What’s happening, Mat?’

  ‘Long story, Dad. Go back to bed. I’m not sure when I’ll be back but help yourself to anything in the fridge.’ She had found some wellington boots and was quickly pulling them on. Time was of the essence.

  ‘Drive carefully,’ was the last thing she heard as she slammed the door shut behind them both.

  ‘I’m really sorry, ma’am. I had no idea you had a dad,’ Rory said, driving as fast as he was able through the treacherous conditions.

  ‘Of course I have a dad. How did you think I got here? Trust me, my mother was no Virgin Mary.’

  ‘No. I just meant, I’d never thought of your dad as—’

  ‘What? Being still alive? How old do you think I am, Rory? Don’t answer that.’

  Matilda looked out of the window as Rory drove the police Land Rover towards the outskirts of Sheffield and Starling House. Drains at the edges of the road were already overflowing because the torrent of rain was too much for them to cope with. Abbeydale Road was, thankfully, empty of traffic as it was so early in the morning. However, it was flooded and impassable. Rory took the side roads, which were on a slight incline. In the distance, there were blue flashing lights from a fire engine heading in their direction.

  ‘This is worse than 2007,’ Matilda said to herself as she looked up at the dark sky.

  The rain continued to fall, and the windscreen wipers were useless. Driving down Ecclesall Road South, once past the houses, Matilda looked at the fields submerged under water. Rory turned into Limb Lane and immediately slammed on the brakes. Up ahead was a similar police Land Rover. DI Christian Brady was outside talking loudly to another officer. Both were in thick waterproofs. Matilda jumped out.

  ‘Christian, what’s going on?’ she had to shout over the noise of the rain.

  ‘We can’t get through. The road’s flooded.’

  Matilda looked round the front of the car. Water from the saturated farmland to the right of the lane was pouring through the gaps in the drystone wall. The whole of Limb Lane was cut off by a deep pool of dirty water.

  ‘Is there another way to get to Starling House?’ she shouted.

  ‘No. This is the only road in.’

  ‘Can’t we risk driving through?’

  ‘It’ll flood the engine.’

  ‘What about SY99? Can’t they fly us closer to the building?’

  ‘I’ve just got off the phone to HQ, ma’am,’ Scott Andrews said, who had been talking to DI Brady when Matilda joined them. ‘It’s too windy for them to take off.’

  ‘What are we going to do? We can’t just stand here.’

  ‘We can walk across the field, ma’am,’ Rory said, pointing through the trees to Starling House in the distance.

  ‘The fields are saturated. It’s not safe,’ Christian said.

  ‘We don’t have much choice. Jacob Brown is missing. He’s an escaped killer. He could be anywhere.’

  ‘In this?’ Christian looked up at the sky. ‘I doubt he’ll be wearing waterproofs and wellies. If he has escaped, he’ll be hiding somewhere waiting for all this to die down.’

  ‘What do you mean by “if”?’

  ‘We don’t know he’s escaped. We’ve only got Kate Moloney’s word for it. He could still be in there somewhere. We need to search the house before we put any officers at risk searching in this weather.’

  ‘All the more reason for us to get there as soon as possible. Christian, there’s no alternative. We’ll have to walk.’

  Rory helped Matilda over the drystone wall. Together, the four of them set off through the squelching field to Starling House.

  ‘Kate, it’s DCI Darke,’ Matilda shouted into her mobile phone. She was surprised it was still working as it had been floating around in a puddle of water in her pocket. ‘We can’t get to you by car; we’re walking across the field. Can you make sure the gates are open for us?’

  ‘Of course. Jacob’s escaped. I don’t know how or what or … this is a nightmare,’ she broke down.

  ‘Kate, I can’t hear you very well because of the weather. Just have the gates open for us, and a few towels would be great too.’ Matilda disconnected the call before Kate could reply.

  ‘You should have asked her to put the kettle on,’ Rory said.

  After turning onto Limb Lane, the drive to Starling House should take less than three minutes. On foot it would probably take about seven. Crossing a flooded field in darkness in a gale-force wind took Matilda, Christian, Rory and Scott more than twenty minutes. By the
time they arrived at the front door they were freezing cold and soaking wet.

  They stood in the foyer and removed their wellington boots and waterproof coats. Kate handed them each a towel and told them Rebecca Childs was making tea and coffee for them all, which put a smile on Rory’s face.

  ‘Kate, what happened?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘I was in bed, asleep. I was woken by the sound of the alarm going off. By the time I was downstairs Peter and Rebecca were already at the recreation room. That’s where the alarm was coming from. The windows in the patio doors had been smashed.’

  ‘Smashed? I thought they had bars on them,’ she said.

  ‘It’s supposed to be toughened glass. The security company who fitted the doors said we didn’t need bars.’

  Matilda rolled her eyes. ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘We all went up to A corridor to check on the inmates. As soon as we went onto the corridor we saw one of the doors was open.’

  ‘Jacob Brown’s?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Had the door been forced?’

  ‘No. It had been unlocked.’

  ‘And they can’t be unlocked from the inside, can they?’ Matilda asked, double-checking what she already knew.

  ‘No.’ Kate shook her head and looked down. The weight of the situation was hanging around her shoulders. Matilda felt a great deal of sympathy for her. She was suffering from the collective guilt of everything that happened here, just like Matilda did with the collapse of the Carl Meagan case.

  ‘Right. Who’s on duty tonight?’

  ‘Peter McFly and Rebecca Childs.’

  Matilda turned to Rory. ‘Were they interviewed?’

  ‘Rebecca was but Peter wasn’t. He’d worked a long night shift and was sleeping.’

  Matilda gave him an annoyed look. They were investigating the murder of a convicted killer in a youth prison and Rory didn’t want to interview one of the guards because he was sleeping. Typical. ‘Get Rebecca and Peter isolated. I’ll interview them myself. Christian, you and Scott give this entire building a going over – see if Jacob Brown is still on the premises. Kate, get all the other guards to join the search too.’