A Room Full of Killers - Michael Wood (motivational books to read txt) 📗

‘Thanks, Faith.’

‘However,’ she continued, ‘there was a man who attended the trial every day and sat in the public gallery next to Ryan’s parents. At one point he was removed by court staff for turning on the parents and blaming them for bringing a monster into the world.’

‘Do we know who he is?’

‘No. I suppose we could ask the court staff if they remember him, or if he’s been hanging around before or since.’

‘Good thinking. Scott, while you’re in Norwich tomorrow, pop along to the courts and have a word.’

‘Will do,’ he said, making a note.

‘What about Ryan’s Facebook page? I’m assuming he had one.’

Faith quickly flicked through her notebook. ‘He did. It doesn’t exist anymore. However, I’ve been trawling the internet and found a news story from around the time his trial started. His Facebook page was bombarded with death threats from all over the world: not just to him but to his family too. In the end Facebook closed the page at the request of the police.’

‘Great work, Faith, thank you. Rory, you seem to have had your nose stuck in Ryan’s file for most of the day. Is there anything else Scott and Faith can look into while they’re in Norwich tomorrow?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Rory replied, looking up from the file. ‘There are statements from a few of the neighbours saying he was a quiet lad, but that’s about it. I’ve found a newspaper cutting about him being involved in an attack on a teenager called Malcolm Preston, but I was thinking … ’ he sat back and folded his arms. He had a worried look on his face. ‘Ryan was an only child. His parents worked hard, and he was quiet. Maybe he was acting out of neglect, trying to seek some form of attention. He may not be the monster he’s being painted by the media. Couldn’t we run all this by a psychologist?’

‘Rory, whether he was trying to get his parents’ attention or not, he killed his grandparents. He’s still a murderer,’ Sian said. ‘When my kids want mine or Stuart’s attention they stop tidying their room or turn their music up loud. They don’t go around killing people.’

‘Sian’s right,’ Matilda said. ‘Don’t read too much into these inmates, Rory. The killer is in this building and we need to find him. That’s all you need to know. Now, Christian, how did the search of the grounds go? Any sign of the murder weapon?’

‘I’m afraid not. As you know the grounds are surrounded by high fencing, topped with razor wire. Nothing has been cut, and there is no evidence of footprints around the fence. We’ve found no weapon or anything.’

‘So the weapon is still in Starling House then?’

‘The kitchen isn’t missing any knives, and they’ve all been taken away for analysis.’

‘Thanks, Christian. Any suspects so far?’ There was no reply. ‘OK, tomorrow we move on to the staff. You may as well go home and get an early night. Don’t talk about this to anyone. We can’t afford to have this leaking out. The people of Sheffield already have a bee in their bonnet about Starling House, we don’t want to have a mob descending.’

As the room began to empty, Matilda called for Sian to stay behind.

‘Sian, do you know anyone in Manchester?’ she asked once the room was empty.

‘Yes, I know loads of people from Manchester. Stuart’s got family there.’

‘No, I mean in Manchester police.’

‘A few. Why?’

‘Anyone discreet?’ Matilda asked, ignoring Sian’s question.

‘That depends,’ she shrugged, looking perplexed. ‘Actually, remember DI Pat Campbell? I think her son is high up in Manchester police.’

‘Really? I didn’t know she had a son in the force.’

‘Yes. He moved away from Sheffield after university; trained in Manchester and decided to stay there. Any particular reason?’

‘No. Just being nosey. You have a good evening, Sian.’

Still with a face of confusion, Sian turned and left the small office, closing the door slowly behind her.

Matilda made a note on a Post-It pad to remind her to pay a visit to Pat Campbell tomorrow morning before work. She had been retired for more than ten years. Matilda hoped the passion for crime solving was still burning within. She needed the help of someone she could trust.

EIGHTEEN

Matilda arrived home to a cold and empty house. She threw her bag on the floor in the living room. It landed on the carpet with a heavy thud. The book about Carl Meagan was weighing it down. She had no idea why she’d felt the need to take it to work with her.

Most evenings when Matilda arrived home she wasn’t in the mood to exercise. She often looked at the treadmill and wondered if she could manage another five kilometre run, or maybe even a brisk walk. Her heart wasn’t in it. The weight of the day felt heavy on her shoulders; the stress and tension made her sluggish and lethargic. A run would help. She knew that. She just couldn’t find the motivation.

She had a quick meal of scrambled eggs on toast, which she didn’t enjoy, then went into the living room and lolloped onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. She looked across at the wedding photograph: James looking handsome and gorgeous with his beaming smile and his ice-blue eyes. Their arms were linked and they both looked happy. For the majority of the time Matilda was sad he had gone. There were times she was angry he had left her alone. She didn’t just want him here with her, she needed him. Right now she needed him to walk into the living room, put his arms around her and hold her tight. She needed to smell him, to feel him, to taste him.

Her eyes fell on her bag on the floor. Sticking out of the top the smiling face of Carl Meagan was looking at her with his innocent eyes. He was a beautiful little boy. She picked up the book and