A Room Full of Killers: A gripping crime thriller with twists you won’t see coming. Michael Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ course. I’ll get whatever you need,’ Kate relented with a painful smile.

      ‘I’ll need the files on your staff too.’

      ‘Now steady on—’ Oliver Byron chimed in.

      ‘And you are?’ Matilda asked, looking across at the grey-haired man with the shocked expression on his face.

      ‘Oliver Byron. I’m head of officers here. Why do you want to see the staff files?’

      ‘Mr Byron, my job is to interview everyone involved, and eliminate where possible. My team will be interviewing everybody on-site. That includes all staff, all officers, yourself, and even Ms Moloney.’

      Kate stood up. ‘Oliver, it’s fine. DCI Darke, I’m sorry. As I’m sure you can guess, emotions are running high at present. Don’t worry, we will all cooperate with your investigations.’

      ‘I appreciate that. I’ll need our forensics team to go through the CCTV footage from all the cameras throughout the building.’

      Matilda noticed Kate and Oliver exchange glances briefly. For a single moment, they looked worried.

      ‘Is that a problem?’

      ‘No.’ Kate smiled nervously. ‘Not a problem at all.’

      ‘Thank you. I’ll need a room for my officers to work in while we’re here. Would that be possible?’

      ‘That’s not a problem. We have a boardroom we use for staff meetings. Oliver, can you make sure it’s suitable for DCI Darke and her team?’

      ‘Of course,’ he said reluctantly.

      ‘Thank you. Now, what can you tell me about Ryan Asher?’ Matilda leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. She was going to be here for a while so she may as well make herself comfortable.

      ‘There’s not much I can tell you. He only arrived on Sunday night. I met with him on Monday morning. Told him about the place, what would be expected of him; showed him around and that was it.’

      ‘How did he seem?’

      ‘Like all the other boys who arrive here, he was nervous. He didn’t speak much, but he looked like he was paying attention.’

      ‘You know of his crime?’

      ‘Of course. I was sent his file before he arrived.’

      ‘What did you think of him?’

      ‘From my point of view he was another inmate. His crime has nothing to do with me. Like all the boys.’

      ‘You could get past what he had been convicted of?’

      ‘Yes. I look at it this way: without these boys being here I would be out of a job. They’re here, so am I. It’s that simple.’

      A tiny knock and the door opened to reveal an elderly woman struggling under the weight of a tea tray. Rory jumped up to take it from her. She thanked him and left, closing the door behind her.

      ‘Shall I be mother?’ Rory asked.

      Matilda tried to hide her smile. Kate’s face remained solid stone.

      ‘Did he speak to any of the other boys while he was here?’

      ‘Yes. I believe he spoke to all of them at some point.’

      ‘Any in particular?’

      ‘I saw him deep in conversation with Lee Marriott in the dining room last night.’

      ‘Lee?’

      ‘Yes. He was—’

      ‘I know of Lee Marriott, thank you.’ Matilda said, making a note of his name.

      ‘DCI Darke, the boys are currently all locked in the dining room. How long will it be before they’re allowed out?’

      ‘Until we’ve interviewed and been able to eliminate them from our enquiries. Of course the recreation room is going to be out of bounds for the foreseeable future.’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Is there anything you think we should know about any of the boys or the staff before we get started?’

      Silence. There was a look on Kate’s face that Matilda couldn’t quite make out. An expression flitted across it and disappeared just as quickly. Her stoical persona, for a split second, had dropped. Why? Had Matilda’s question conjured up something she wanted to keep private? Matilda decided not to push it – not yet. Whatever secrets were buried within these thick stone walls, Matilda would uncover.

       MARK PARKER

       Worthing. October 2014

      There was a story in the newspaper the other day about a woman in Leeds who had stabbed her husband 119 times. That was in the headline. I wouldn’t normally have read a story like that but it caught my attention. How could you stab someone that many times? It turns out she was being mentally and physically abused by her husband for the whole of their married life, and they’d been married for over thirty years. I kept thinking: why didn’t she just leave him? It’s not as simple as that, though, is it? I can’t just leave my dad.

      Mum was lucky, she got out before she snapped and stabbed dad over a hundred times. She’s now living in a woman’s refuge on the other side of town. I go to see her sometimes. I want to ask her why she didn’t take me with her but it never comes up. I could bring it up, I suppose, but I think I’m scared of the answer. Did Mum honestly think Dad wouldn’t start hitting me once she had left?

      I first noticed Dad hitting Mum when I was five years old. I was in the living room playing and went into the kitchen for a drink. Dad was sitting at the table and he had a face like thunder. Mum was at the sink; her face was red and she’d been crying. She looked in pain too. I remember asking her why she was crying, and she said it was because she was peeling onions. I don’t know why but that scene always stuck in my mind, and I kept looking back on it. It was a few years before I realized there were no onions. Dad’s face was like thunder because he was angry, and Mum looked like she was in pain because he’d hit her. I never found out why though.

      I often saw my mum crying. I thought she was an emotional person. I mean, she used to cry at soap operas all the time, but it wasn’t that – she cried for a reason.

      I don’t blame Mum for leaving. I don’t blame her for not taking me with her. I blame her for leaving me behind to take her place. I blame her for me being covered with burn marks and bruises. I blame her for me snapping and killing dad.

      I remembered the story of the woman in Leeds, and when I first started stabbing Dad I began to count the stab wounds. I lost count after thirty. I don’t think I made it to 119. It’s tiring stabbing someone over and over again.

      I left Dad in his bedroom. Someone will find him. I needed to see my mum, СКАЧАТЬ