Майкл Вуд – A Room Full of Killers: A gripping crime thriller with twists you won’t see coming (страница 15)

‘Why not?’

‘It just wouldn’t.’

‘But you’re my mum. We should be living together.’

‘Don’t start this again, Mark. Just leave it for now.’

I took my coat off and started taking off my jumper and T-shirt too. Mum asked me what I was doing. It was October, and I’d catch a chill.

I showed her the cigarette burns; the scald marks; the bruises from his shoes with the steel toecaps that wouldn’t fade; the bite marks on my arms. I turned around to look back at Mum; her face was blank. Didn’t she care? Wasn’t she interested in what was happening to her only son?

‘Did you honestly think he wouldn’t start on me if you left me alone with him?’

A tear fell down her face but I think it was a habit; there was no emotion on her face at all.

I told Mum everything. It wasn’t just the beatings; Dad used to swear at me and call me names. I’d be sat eating my tea and he’d walk past and spit in it and still make me eat it. There are refuges for Mum to go to, but where do I go? I get put into care. I get sent God knows where to another family and live with complete strangers. I should be living with my mum.

‘Mark, I’m sorry, I can’t deal with any of this right now. I’m not strong enough.’

She wouldn’t even look at me.

‘So what am I supposed to do?’

She didn’t answer. She shrugged. Thirteen years old and my mum was leaving me to suffer at the hands of an evil bastard. Mum started to walk away. I asked her where she was going and she said back to the refuge. I told her we’d only just met up; she’d promised me a panini in Costa. She said she couldn’t handle it and she wanted to go back.

For the second time that day I saw red. I snapped. I had an evil father and a pathetic mother. I know it wasn’t Mum’s fault she was pathetic; Dad had turned her that way, but I was her son. She should have helped me. She should have saved me, and she was turning her back on me. I called her a selfish bitch.

That stopped her. She turned back to look at me. She was about to say something when I grabbed her by the throat and started squeezing.

‘I’ve killed Dad, you know,’ I told her as the life drained from her. ‘About an hour ago I went into his bedroom with the carving knife and I stabbed him repeatedly, over and over and over again. It felt good. You should have done that years ago. You should have stopped him instead of leaving him to turn on me. I hate you. I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done, what you’ve forced me to do.’

I removed my hands and she dropped to the cold, wet ground.

I looked at my watch. The bus to take me back home wasn’t due for another thirty-five minutes. I took the change out of my pocket and counted it – there wasn’t enough for a panini.

EIGHT

The boardroom on the top floor of Starling House was large and dark. It was rarely used, and there was an underlying smell of dust and damp. The decoration was simple and neutral: light cream walls, dark cream carpet, pastel-coloured Roman blinds, and reproduction prints on the walls. In the corner was a fake potted palm with a thick layer of dust on each leaf.

Richard Grover, a heavyset guard with a dour expression and sad eyes led the way into the room and turned on the lights. His breathing was laboured after walking up four flights of stairs without stopping. He went to the back of the long room to pull up the blinds and open a few of the windows.

‘As you can tell, we don’t use this room too often. Only for the larger, more formal staff meetings, and we don’t have many of them.’ His voice was monotone and lacked an accent.

‘This will be perfect. Thank you,’ DS Sian Mills said.

‘The large table is detachable if you want to have smaller working areas. I can show you how if you like?’

‘Thanks,’ Sian placed her laptop and folders down on one of the hardback chairs. ‘So, what’s it like working here?’ she asked, helping Richard pull the table apart.

‘It’s interesting.’

‘Have you been here long?’

‘Three or four years, give or take.’

‘You must have met some dangerous boys over the years.’

‘They’re all dangerous. They wouldn’t be here otherwise.’

‘How do you feel when you see another fresh-faced inmate arrive?’

‘Trust me, they’re anything but fresh-faced. By the time they get here they’re hardened. They may have the face of an angel, but I can see right through them. There’s evil in their eyes.’

Sian stopped what she was doing and looked at Richard’s cruel expression. She felt a chill run through her. ‘How does that make you feel?’ she repeated, slower and quieter this time. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer.

‘Part of me feels sad that they’ve ruined their lives. Part of me feels sick to my stomach. Part of me feels hatred.’

‘Hatred?’

‘Of course. These boys are killers. Why would I feel anything else?’

The boardroom door was kicked open by Aaron Connolly. Sian was relieved. For some reason, she didn’t like the thought of being alone with Richard Grover.

It didn’t take long for Sian, with the hindrance of Rory, to fill the boardroom full of detectives and computers from HQ. The usual suspects from the old Murder Investigation Team were there: Aaron Connolly, Scott Andrews, along with Sian and Rory. DI Christian Brady was also in attendance, and he had brought some of his more dedicated detectives with him, like DC Faith Easter.

Matilda Darke made her way up to the boardroom. She took long strides and her facial expression was tense with determination. She had received a warning from the ACC and already a wall of silence was in place among the staff of Starling House. On the one hand, this could be a difficult case to crack; on the other, this was the kind of case Matilda loved. It would be all-consuming and require a great deal of her time. This was going to be a distraction she needed right now as the book about Carl Meagan was hitting the shelves and once again her competence would be called into question.

At the top of the room, standing next to her was her second in command – DI Christian Brady. He was a natural-born copper who always stood tall and erect. With the firm jawline of an Action Man (and matching crew cut) he was an imposing figure. When riled, his deep, terrifying baritone could strike the fear of God into God himself.

Sian had made a good attempt at turning the boardroom into a makeshift briefing room. The wall behind Matilda had a police mugshot of Ryan Asher Blu-Tacked to it and his basic information underneath.

‘We all know why we’re here,’ Matilda began. She spoke louder than usual to reach the back of the room. ‘Fifteen-year-old Ryan Asher was found stabbed to death this morning in the recreation room on the ground floor,’ she paused while all this was taken in. She half-expected someone (possibly Rory) to have muttered ‘good riddance’ but nothing was said. ‘Sian, would you like to tell everyone what led Ryan to being at Starling House?’

Sian struggled with the files on her desk. She eventually found the one she wanted and joined Matilda at the top of the room. She cleared her throat several times before beginning.

‘Ryan Asher was born and raised in Norwich to Paul and Belinda Asher, who have since left the area and changed their names. At the age of fourteen, Ryan burgled his grandparents’ house while they were sleeping. During the event, his grandfather woke and decided to fight back. According to his statement, Ryan was masked but his grandfather pulled it off during the fight. His grandmother started to scream when she saw it was their only grandchild who was robbing them. Ryan said he panicked. He hit his grandfather, knocking him to the ground. This made his grandmother screamed louder so he hit her too.’

The silence around the room was heavy as shocked and appalled officers looked at the floor. They often questioned how anyone could attack a vulnerable and innocent elderly person, but when the attacker was a relation it made the crime more difficult to come to terms with.

‘Ryan was obviously aware the bedroom would be covered in his fingerprints and DNA so he set fire to the duvet. He waited until the room was ablaze before fleeing. The post-mortem examination on his grandmother showed smoke in her lungs. She was still alive when he started the fire.’

‘Bastard,’ someone muttered.

Sian closed the file but remained standing. It was difficult to listen to but it was just as difficult to describe.

‘Thank you, Sian,’ Matilda said after a short silence. ‘Now, I’m sure the majority of you are thinking Ryan Asher got what he deserved and that his killer deserves an OBE. However, we are police officers and our task is to find the perpetrator of this crime and prosecute him to the full extent of the law. We cannot allow our feelings to cloud our judgement on this. If you think you’re unable to detach yourself enough to find Ryan’s killer, you need to speak up now.’ She paused and looked around the room at a sea of blank, expressionless faces. She continued: ‘good. Now, any questions?’

‘Yes,’ DC Scott Andrews raised his hand. ‘Why was Ryan burgling his grandparents’ house?’

‘They were due to go on holiday the following morning,’ Sian said. ‘Ryan had overheard his parents talking about how his grandmother had drawn all their holiday money out of the bank in cash – five thousand pounds.’