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

the book was released it felt like she was the only one to have a copy and nobody else but her would ever read it. It seemed like the private thoughts of Sally Meagan had been written just to torment Matilda. Now it was on the shelves, anyone could get their hands on a copy – family, friends, neighbours, colleagues, even journalists. This would be the first phone call of many.

‘I’m sorry Ms McDermid, but I have no comment to make.’

‘DCI Darke, you must have some thoughts on the book. Were you consulted at all during it being written?’

‘I had no input into the writing of the book, and I haven’t read it,’ she lied.

‘I’m just over halfway through it, myself. I have to say, you, and South Yorkshire Police, don’t come across as very competent. Given the negative press the force has received in recent months, are you worried for the future of South Yorkshire Police?’

‘I’m not at liberty to answer any question on the future of the force—’

‘What about your own future?’ the journalist interrupted.

‘I’m going to hang up now, Ms McDermid. I’d rather you placed any further questions you may have through the press office.’

Matilda hung up and found her hands were shaking. Her palms were sweating and she could hear her heart beating rapidly. She took a deep breath to control her breathing but it didn’t seem to work. She felt hot.

‘Sir Robert Walpole, Spencer Compton, Henry Pelham … ’ she began reciting the names of the British Prime Ministers, which was an exercise she used whenever she felt a panic attack coming on that was taught to her by her therapist. She hadn’t had an attack for months, and she hadn’t needed the support of the Prime Ministers for a very long time. ‘Thomas Pelham-Holles, William Cavendish – don’t start all that again, Matilda, for fuck’s sake,’ she chastised herself.

She kicked back her chair when her phone started to ring again. She wanted to ignore it. She wanted to rip the phone off the table and throw it out of the window. Unfortunately, her new office in CID had glass walls and she could be seen by anyone who happened to look up from their work. At the sound of her phone ringing three times, four, five, people had started to take notice. She could already feel their eyes glaring at her through the glass.

‘Yes,’ she said quietly into the phone.

‘Matilda, I’m glad I’ve caught you. Can you come up to my office when you’ve got a moment?’ ACC Valerie Masterson said.

‘Sure. Not a problem,’ Matilda said, trying to sound relatively normal – feeling anything but.

SIXTY-FOUR

Starling House often had an eerie air of the macabre about it. Maybe it was the gargoyles; the turrets; the high ceilings and gothic windows; the history going back hundreds of years; the long, echoing corridors. Or maybe it was the fact it housed the most dangerous boys Britain had ever known.

With the inmates no longer there the building took on a darker tone. The boys may have left but it felt like the evil they embodied remained. For twenty years, Starling House had been home to murderers, rapists, and arsonists. Their crimes, their dark personalities seemed to have leeched into the fabric of the building.

The remaining staff felt self-conscious. They were in limbo and didn’t know if their jobs were safe or if they had all been made redundant. Until a representative from BB Security arrived from Ireland they had to continue as normal. Normal? Nothing about this place was normal. Every sound, smell, creak, and groan had a hidden meaning. Fear and danger lurked around every dark corner. There was a permanent sense of foreboding. Two inmates had been murdered, and despite the killers being removed the atmosphere at Starling House still felt incredibly bleak.

Kate Moloney was silently walking through the corridors. There was nothing for her to do apart from wait to be told her twenty-year career with BB Security was at an end. It was sad it had come to this. She had enjoyed her time here. It hadn’t been an easy job. Some of the staff had been difficult, the inmates less so, surprisingly, but it had been interesting and she had relished the responsibility and freedom given to her by head office.

She walked along A corridor, where the inmates had their rooms. The doors were open and the light from the small windows came out into the usually dark corridor. Kate didn’t bother locking the gates behind her. What was the point? This was no longer a prison. It was a shell.

Kate stopped outside Callum Nixon’s room. She stood in the doorway and surveyed the mass of belongings he had accumulated. She entered the room and smiled at the Liverpool FC posters on the wall. His bed was unmade so she tidied up the duvet and plumped the pillows. She’d disturbed a smell. It was Callum Nixon’s scent. She lifted the pillow, held it to her face and took a long, lingering sniff. She smiled.

Further down the corridor was the room Ryan Asher had been allocated on Monday morning. It was difficult to believe all this started less than a week ago. It was Ryan’s arrival, and someone who thought he should be sentenced to death, that had kicked off a chain of events that led to Starling House being closed.

With Richard Grover being charged and Fred Percival handing in his notice, the staff at Starling House were small in number. The cooks and cleaners had been dismissed and told their services would no longer be required. The guards were also free to leave if they wished, and some of them couldn’t pack and get out of the building fast enough. The ones who remained had very little to do.

Oliver Byron entered the staffroom and found Rebecca Childs and Peter McFly having a quiet chat over yet another cup of coffee.

‘Is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?’ he asked, helping himself