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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.’

‘Is there any chance I could speak to DI Spicer?’

‘I very much doubt it. Last week he became Superintendent Spicer. He’s very busy learning his new role. Besides, I don’t think he would be too happy to find out you’re meddling in one of his cases.’

‘I’m not meddling,’ Pat protested. ‘I’m … concerned,’ she said, choosing her words carefully.

‘Why does DCI Darke think Thomas Hartley is innocent? What’s she got to do with this?’

Pat leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘There’s been an incident at Starling House. She met Thomas Hartley and believes him to be innocent.’

John thought for a while. ‘There is someone you can talk to.’

‘Who?’

‘Thomas’s father, Daniel, had a sister, Debbie. I think she still lives in Manchester.’

‘Could you get me her address?’

‘Mum, I don’t want you stirring anything up here.’

‘I’m not going to stir anything up. I just want to satisfy my own mind. I don’t like the thought of an innocent man – or in this case, boy – imprisoned for something he didn’t do. If he is innocent then the killer is still out there. And judging by how disturbing that crime was, who knows if the killer will strike again knowing he got away with it the first time.’

THIRTY

As she made her way to leave Starling House for the day something caught Matilda’s eye. She looked into the room through the small glass window in the door and saw one of the inmates sitting alone at a table. His head bowed over a book. Matilda moved closer to the door and looked through the glass. It was Thomas Hartley.

She opened the door to the library and stepped inside. The door closed behind her with a bang but didn’t seem to register with Thomas, so engrossed was he in whatever he was reading. Looking around her, Matilda saw the library was empty apart from Thomas. She wondered where the other inmates were until she heard laughter coming from the small gymnasium.

It wasn’t a large room and there couldn’t have been more than a few hundred books

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