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

laughing at her down the phone. She knew something had happened. She knew there was something wrong. On the sixth call, she asked where Malcolm was and a young voice said that as far as he knew Malcolm was lying dead somewhere.’

‘My Pauline was frantic. I couldn’t calm her down. I had a neighbour come round and sit with her while I went to find Malcolm. I sort of knew where he liked to cycle so I went on his route. I found his bike before I found him. The front wheel had been badly damaged and when I saw Malcolm’s leg sticking out from behind a tree I thought he’d had an accident.’

Doctors later described Malcolm’s injuries to be the most severe they had ever seen on a person to have survived. He had been kicked, punched, stamped on, been run over with his own bike, spat and urinated on. His trainers and mobile phone had been stolen.

Malcolm underwent four operations to relieve the swelling on his brain and to stop internal bleeding. He was placed in an induced coma where he has remained ever since.

‘Malcolm is breathing on his own.’ John said tearfully from his only son’s bedside. ‘He has regular brain scans to check it is functioning correctly but he just won’t wake up.’

At the time of the attack on Malcolm, rumours were rife over who the culprit was. However, with no witnesses and poorly stored forensic evidence, nobody was ever caught.

Malcolm is not the only victim in this senseless crime. A year after the attack, Malcolm’s mother, Pauline, was diagnosed with breast cancer. Despite extensive chemotherapy she lost her battle just three months later, never able to say goodbye to her son.

‘I still have hope. I have to have hope otherwise there would be no point in me being here. Malcolm will wake up again one day and he will tell me who did this to him and then we will have the proof we need to get a conviction. I don’t care how long that will take.’

Norwich Evening News – Friday 5 August 2016.

FIFTY

The water had been drained from Limb Lane and the fire crew had left, much to Matilda’s disappointment. Being carried over the pool of dirty water had been the first contact she had had with a man since James had died. It helped that he was young and good-looking too.

Matilda cursed herself. How could she allow herself to think about being with another man? It had only been eighteen months since James’s death. Maybe because she missed him so much, his touch, his body, his smell, his hands, his long fingers, that she just wanted to feel another body close to hers, even if it was a man young enough to be her son carrying her over dirty, smelly water.

She saw Starling House in the distance but didn’t turn left down the dirt track. Instead, she followed Rory’s directions and continued a mile up the road and turned right. The smooth tarmac gave way to a bumpy road of loose gravel. Matilda wished she’d returned in the Land Rover rather than her aged Ford Focus. Ahead, she saw Rory, still in his wet-weather gear. He flagged her down and directed her to a safe parking space.

He opened the car door for her. ‘I’m absolutely pissing freezing,’ he moaned.

‘Well, that’s not the worst greeting I’ve received today,’ she said, remembering the tirade the ACC burst into when she’d first entered her office. Don’t people say hello anymore?

‘My coat’s wet, my trousers are wet, my shoes are squelching. If I end up with pneumonia—’

‘Rory, go back to the station,’ she said calmly.

‘What?’

‘Go back to the station and get changed.’

‘But—’

‘Just go. Oh, there’s a police Land Rover outside my house that needs picking up too.’

Rory stood, mouth agape, as Matilda made her way over to where Christian and Scott were talking in hushed tones.

‘Give me the bad news.’

Christian smiled and led the way through a thicket of bare trees to a small opening. He didn’t need to say anything. Hanging from the thick branch of a gnarled oak tree swung the lifeless body of Jacob Brown. He was several feet from the ground, and he swayed gently in the stiff autumnal breeze.

Matilda stepped forward and looked up at the teenager. She tilted her head as she queried what she was seeing. The rope was expertly tied around the bough of the tree in a knot that would never come loose. Around his purple neck, the noose was perfectly drawn.

‘Why would he escape just to hang himself?’ Scott asked.

‘He didn’t,’ Matilda said.

‘Sorry?’

‘This is another staged death. Call a forensics team and get Adele Kean down here. Jacob Brown was murdered.’

It was early evening before the full forensic team was in place and floodlights had been drafted in. Heavy clouds were once again looming and, according to the BBC Weather app on Matilda’s phone, it wouldn’t be long before another downpour arrived. They needed to move fast before darkness fell, and Matilda wanted Jacob cut down as soon as possible.

A large plastic sheet was placed directly below Jacob in case any evidence came loose from the body. Matilda, Christian, Adele and scene of crime officers were dressed in white forensic suits. Scott had been sent back to HQ to change into warm, dry clothes, though he was reluctant to do so. Sian was on her way to relieve him.

A stepladder was placed next to Jacob’s hanging body, and Adele made her way cautiously up the steel rungs. Christian held onto the ladder as it was on rough ground.

‘What first made you think of murder, Mat?’ Adele said, always keen to see how other people’s minds worked.

‘His fingernails. They’re broken; there’s either blood or mud or fibres beneath them. He was very clean when I saw him last at Starling House. He’s obviously been in a struggle and it obviously happened outside.’

‘Anything else?’

‘His clothes are torn. Again, he was a neat and tidy lad while in Starling