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

this now,’ Matilda said, looking down at her curry.

‘OK, we’ll be sensible and toast achievements,’ she said, rolling her eyes. They clinked glasses and began to eat.

‘Do you ever hear from Robson?’

‘Any chance we can refer to him as The Bastard, please?’

Matilda sniggered. There was definitely no love lost between Adele and Robson. She had called him The Bastard for as long as Matilda had known her. It was a stark contrast to the relationship Matilda had enjoyed with her late husband. He had been dead almost two years, and she would give every single possession she owned to have him back.

‘Do you ever hear from him?’ Matilda asked, unable to refer to him as a bastard.

‘No, thank God.’

‘What about Chris?’

‘Not since he was ten. A couple of years ago, when I’d had a few to drink, I tried looking him up on Facebook.’

‘And?’

‘He wasn’t there. I thought he’d have gone in for the whole social media thing – an entire world of women at his fingertips. He’s either changed and is now a one-woman man, or he’s dead. I like to think it’s option two. More wine?’

‘Better not,’ Matilda said, placing her hand over the glass. When James died, Matilda had turned to drink to cope with the loss and it had got out of hand. Like she had saved Adele when she moved to Sheffield, Adele had returned the favour and helped her through the torture of losing the man she loved. Now, Matilda didn’t trust herself around alcohol. She never drunk when she was alone and only dared to have a glass or two with friends. Just to be on the safe side.

The conversation over dinner moved on to safer territory like Matilda’s visit to her parents earlier in the day and the prospect of Adele’s son, Chris, starting a new job, hopefully, as a teacher. However, during the quieter periods, Matilda could see the loneliness in Adele’s eyes. She always said she didn’t need, or want, a man in her life to be happy, but now that Chris was out of university and would be leaving home soon, the prospect of living alone and surrounded by silence was beginning to dawn. They would have to do more things together; Matilda would make sure of that.

Adele stuck to the wine while Matilda made herself a coffee, and they went into the living room.

‘Oh, I didn’t know this was out,’ Adele said, picking up the hardback copy of Carl from the side table.

‘It’s not. It comes out this Thursday. Sally Meagan left it on my doorstep this morning.’

Adele opened the cover and looked at the inscription. ‘Bloody hell, she’s not going to let you forget, is she?’

‘As if I could anyway. I think about him every day. I drove past Graves Park yesterday and I almost had to pull over I teared up so much.’

‘Is there no news?’

‘There’s no one looking for him. The case is shelved. There have been no sightings for months.’

‘It’ll get reviewed at some point though, won’t it?’

‘Oh yes, but not by me, and not for long either. I honestly don’t think we’ll know anything until a body turns up.’

‘You think he’s dead?’

‘As much as I hope he’s still alive, yes, I think he’s dead.’

‘Oh God, the poor mite,’ Adele said, looking at the front cover and the smiling little boy looking up at her. ‘God only knows what his mother’s going through. Are you going to read this?’

‘I read the introduction. I’ve looked in the index and I’m mentioned all the time, and it’s not going to be complimentary, is it? I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of character assassination just yet.’

‘Why don’t you put it away, then, instead of leaving it around tormenting yourself? You’ve got a library now, haven’t you? Oh, I thought you were going to show me around.’

Matilda had inherited thousands of books from a young man she befriended during a murder case she’d worked on the previous year. Jonathan Harkness had lived in self-induced isolation, surrounding himself with crime fiction novels to escape the reality of the outside world. When he died, he left his entire collection to Matilda. She wasn’t sure whether he was gifting them to her because she had shown an interest or it was his final act of sticking two fingers up to the police.

At first, Matilda had been so angry she had wanted to dump them all. On closer inspection she saw some were first editions and some were signed copies. They might even be worth quite a bit of money one day. She had read a few and become hooked and promised herself she would look after the collection and even add to it when new books were released.

Since James’s death, Matilda now lived alone in a four-bedroom house. She had ample space to turn one of the rooms into a library. She’d had floor to ceiling shelves fitted, a new carpet, and had replaced the glass in the window with an expensive tinted glass so the sunlight wouldn’t bleach the pages and spines of the books. Matilda had even treated herself to a comfortable Eames chair with matching footstool so she could sit in here of an evening and read whenever she wanted to escape from a difficult murder case for an hour or two. The irony of reading crime fiction while investigating real life crimes was not lost on her.

‘I’m impressed. It looks functional yet cosy,’ Adele said, standing in the doorway (shoes off, of course).

‘You don’t like it, do you?’

‘No. I do. I just think it’s a waste of a perfectly good bedroom.’

‘It was you who said I should keep them. What else was I supposed to do with them?’

‘No. You’ve done the right thing. I like it. I really do. Wow, this chair is very comfortable,’ Adele exclaimed, sitting back and putting her feet up.

‘It should be for the money it cost.’

‘I can imagine myself sitting here, glass of wine, maybe some sushi. I could actually