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

the building. I’m not accusing anyone at this stage.’

‘I’m sorry but I think you are.’ She folded her arms in defiance. ‘I think you’re purposely trying to find something so you can accuse one of my staff. I am aware the people of Sheffield don’t approve of Starling House but I thought the police would at least be on our side.’

‘Kate, we have interviewed all of the boys and they have all said the same thing. By nine o’clock last night they were all locked in their rooms and didn’t leave until they were unlocked this morning. If one of them was the killer, then someone with a key had to have let them out. That would be one of your staff.’

‘You seem to be looking at the inmates like they’re boys at a camp. They’re killers. They’re manipulators. How do you know one of them didn’t have a key hidden somewhere?’

‘If one of them did have a key then where did he get it from?’ Matilda asked, raising an accusatory eyebrow.

‘I will not stand for any of my staff accused without evidence. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.’

Matilda stood up slowly to leave. ‘We’re still waiting for that CCTV footage.’

‘I’ll get onto it.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be upstairs in the boardroom.’

The inmates of Starling House had been transferred to the library. The tables had been pushed back to create more space but it lacked the relaxed atmosphere of the recreation room. There was no pool table, no table tennis, and no football tables. There was no television and no drinks. It was wall-to-wall books.

Thomas Hartley was in his element. He took a Paul Torday from the shelf and tried to make himself comfortable in a lumpy armchair. A few of the other boys helped themselves to graphic novels. Nobody could concentrate on reading. Speculation was rife.

‘Come on then; now we’re all alone, who did it?’ Callum said, breaking the heavy silence with his gruff accent.

Eye contact was avoided wherever possible. Nobody dared look at anyone else, in case they were accused of pointing the finger at a fellow inmate.

‘Well, I didn’t do it,’ Jacob Brown said. ‘Them tablets I had for that eye infection make me drowsy. I’m asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow,’ he chuckled to himself.

‘It can’t be any of us, can it?’ Lewis Chapman asked. ‘We’re all locked in. The locks are on a timer. There’s no way we can get out of our rooms until morning.’

‘So, one of the guards wants to see what life is like on the other side of the bars, does he?’ Callum said, relishing the situation. ‘Hartley, you’ve always got your head in a mystery, put your Poirot hat on and tell us who did it.’

Thomas didn’t say anything. He looked up then back down at his book.

‘Suit yourself. It’s a frightening thought though, isn’t it? Say one of the guards is the killer, well, they’ve got keys to every room in this place. They could creep up in the middle of the night, unlock the door to one of our rooms and strike while we’re asleep.’ He leaned over the edge of the sofa and lowered his voice. ‘We’d all better start sleeping with one eye open. Who knows which one of us could be next.’

‘Oh piss off, Callum.’ Jacob jumped up.

‘Have I scared you?’ He smiled.

‘No.’

‘I bet I’ve scared Lee though, haven’t I? You’re frightened of your own shadow.’ He went over to the skinny blond boy sitting at one of the tables. He looked as if he was concentrating on his magazine but he hadn’t turned the page once. He had been listening the whole time. ‘How you managed to set fire to your parents’ caravan is beyond me. Are you sure you’re guilty? Would you like me to keep you company tonight?’ Callum said, whispering in Lee’s ear, trying to sound threatening and seductive at the same time. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucking gay boy.’ He pushed him in the head, almost knocking him off his chair. The rest turned away. They would only intervene if it turned violent.

‘My money’s on Grover,’ Jacob said, trying to move the subject away from Lee. He felt sorry for him – always the butt of Callum’s cruel jibes. ‘It’s always the quiet ones.’

‘That puts Hartley to the top of the suspect list then,’ Craig grinned. ‘He’s very quiet. I bet he’s not reading at all. He just sits there, listening, plotting, choosing his next victim.’

Thomas looked up and saw Craig leering at him. He decided not to answer back and returned to his book.

‘Of course.’ Callum smiled. ‘Thomas Hartley, the machete man of Manchester. You’re very handy with a blade, aren’t you? According to Grover, Ryan Asher was stabbed twelve times. How many whacks did you give your family?’

Thomas remained silent.

‘He’s not biting, Callum. You may as well leave him alone,’ Jacob said.

‘Fair dos. So who else is handy with a knife? Apart from my good self, obviously.’ He bowed to the room. ‘Lewis Chapman.’ His eyes fell on the dark-haired teenager in the corner of the room. ‘What was it you did again: dressed up as Ghostface and stabbed your little brother? Ryan Asher’s killing is like something out of a horror film. Come on then, Lewis, how did you get out of your cell?’

‘Fuck off, Callum.’

‘Jacob, I’ve got one who’s bitten.’ He smiled. ‘I bet you think you’re a killer in a horror film, don’t you? What’s the guy in the white mask? He kept coming back from the dead, didn’t he? Do you want a high body count? Is that why you killed Ryan Asher? Do you plan on killing others?’

‘Leave me alone, Callum,’ Lewis said, barging past him and moving out of the corner of the room where he was feeling trapped.

‘You’ve hit a nerve there, Callum,’ Jacob said, egging him on.

‘It would seem so. Are you writing Scream 5? I suppose this is the