A Room Full of Killers, Michael Wood [best books for students to read txt] 📗

four weeks. And I’ve spoken to a lovely DC at Norfolk,’ Faith said as she flicked through her notebook, ‘who has been to John Preston’s house. It looks like he hasn’t been home for about that long either.’

‘What have the neighbours said?’ Matilda asked.

‘They haven’t seen him. The bloke next door used to notice him drive home late at night and go back out again early the next morning, but he hasn’t seen him for weeks.’

‘Does he know the exact date he last saw him?’ Matilda asked, scratching her head. She felt as if her brain was itching. This case was growing more and more confusing with every additional layer.

‘He just said a few weeks.’

‘Maybe he’s committed suicide,’ Sian suggested. ‘His son is in limbo, his wife has died, maybe he can’t cope with it any longer.’

‘No. When you love someone who’s ill,’ Matilda began, immediately thinking of James, ‘you stay with them until the end. You put all thoughts of yourself aside as you need to be strong. When they’ve gone, when they’re at peace, then you think of yourself and decide what you’re going to do next. Until that time, your life is virtually on hold.’

‘Anyway,’ Faith said, trying to bring the conversation back to topic, ‘there is no missing person report for John Preston. He seems to have just disappeared.’

‘There’s no missing person report because there is nobody to miss him,’ Matilda said. ‘All he has left in life is his son, and he’s hardly in a position to report his father missing.’

‘So where do we go from here?’

‘Is there any sign of life at all from his house?’

‘DC Jacobson had a good look round. It’s a bungalow in a cul-de-sac. He looked in all the windows, and he said it was clean and tidy but unlived in. There were letters piled up inside the porch, and the gardens were in need of mowing.’

‘I suppose we can’t just break his front door down in the belief that he’s lying dead in the bath or something,’ Sian said.

‘Not yet we can’t. Faith, check the PNC, see if there is a car registered to that address. If there is use the ANPR to track its last movements. Once we locate the car we’ll go from there.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Faith said, heading back to her desk.

‘Are you all right?’ Sian asked Matilda, lowering her voice and leaning across the desk.

‘I’m fine. Why?’

‘You went all wistful there for a moment.’

‘I’m fine,’ Matilda repeated, offering a weak smile. ‘I think I’ve got a headache coming on.’

‘Would you like a couple of paracetamols?’

‘No. I think I might pop out for some fresh air for an hour or so. I need to have a think.’

Slowly, Matilda pushed back her chair and left the CID. She could feel Sian’s eyes burning into her so she put her head down and pinched the bridge of her nose. She dragged her feet on the ground and paused as she left the room, as if wondering which direction to turn. She turned left and headed for the stairs. It was only when she knew she wouldn’t be seen by anyone that she stood upright and increased her pace.

Matilda needed to get to Wakefield.

SIXTY-SEVEN

‘Has anyone seen DCI Darke?’

DS Sian Mills signalled to DI Christian Brady to come over to her desk. The rest of the officers in CID went back to their work.

‘She wasn’t feeling too well,’ Sian said in hushed tones as Christian bobbed down next to her desk.

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘I think she’s feeling a bit … you know … ’

‘Not really, Sian. Are you trying to tell me it’s her time of the month?’

Sian laughed. ‘No, nothing like that. I think she’s a bit overwhelmed. Every once in a while she remembers James and she gets a bit down. Grief is a very strange thing. I think she just needs a few hours on her own.’

‘Oh. Does the ACC know about this?’

‘About what?’

‘Matilda taking a few hours off whenever she feels like it?’

‘You make it sound like she’s bunking off work to go shopping. She’s grieving.’

‘Hasn’t it been more than a year since her husband died?’

‘Well, yes, but you don’t just get over the death of someone you love in the space of a few weeks. It stays with you. It’s something you have to learn to live with.’

‘It doesn’t sound like Matilda has learned to live with it though, not if she’s taking random hours off in the middle of an investigation.’

‘Christian, you’re not going to say anything to the ACC are you?’ Sian asked, a worried expression on her face. ‘We stick together in the Murder Room. We’re a close-knit team and we help each other out. It’s what we’ve always done.’

‘Sian, the Murder Room no longer exists. We’re one big team now, and we all need to pull our weight to get the job done. We all need to be on the same page. Is that understood?’

Sian was hoping it was a rhetorical question but Christian stared at her and wouldn’t leave until she replied.

‘Yes,’ she said reluctantly.

Christian picked up the mug of tea he’d placed on top of a file on Sian’s desk (leaving a ring mark behind) and headed for his office.

‘That’s the last time I let you have the last Snickers out of my drawer,’ Sian said under her breath.

Detective Sergeant Amy Stringer was a short woman with long, dark hair. There was nothing memorable about her appearance. She was slim and sensibly dressed, plain-looking, and wore thick-framed glasses that didn’t suit her. She was already in the car park of Wakefield Prison when she saw Matilda’s Ford Focus pull in. Amy climbed out of her car and buttoned up her coat. There was a cold wind blowing around the building. She recognized Matilda immediately and held out her hand for the DCI to shake.

‘It’s nice to meet you DCI Darke. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

Matilda hated it when people said that.

‘Nice to meet you too,’ Matilda said. Amy Stringer’s