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‘Craig, I won’t tell you again. Don’t speak to me like that.’
‘You can’t do anything right, can you?’ I shouted at her. ‘All you do is cook, clean, and wash and you balls that up too.’ I snatched the torn shirt from her and looked at it.
‘Calm down, Craig, it’s only a football—’
She didn’t finish as I threw my arm out and slapped her hard across the face with the back of my hand. She fell against the fridge, held a hand to her face and ran out of the room crying.
She must have called Uncle Pete as he came straight home from work and had a go at me for hitting Aunt Susan. I just sat there and let him rant.
Aunt Susan didn’t speak to me much after that. It was like she was scared of me.
I lost it again with my aunt over Christmas. I can’t remember what happened. I’ve tried but I just remember shouting at her and her cowering when she thought I was going to hit her again. Uncle Pete said he wasn’t going to put up with my outbursts anymore. He didn’t care if I was grieving or suffering from a head injury, I couldn’t keep getting away with it. They were going to see someone about me.
At the end of January, Aunt Susan said they’d got an appointment with a specialist at the hospital. I was going to have a brain scan and see a therapist. It was a day off school so I wasn’t bothered.
I’ve no idea of the results of the scan, even to this day, and I don’t know what the therapist thought about our session as we didn’t have a second appointment.
Everything was quiet on the way home in the car. Uncle Pete was driving, and keeping an eye on the road; Aunt Susan was looking out of the window, chewing on her fingernail.
‘What did you talk about?’ Aunt Susan eventually asked me.
‘Not much,’ I replied.
‘What did she ask you?’
‘Just about school and stuff.’
‘Did you talk about us?’
‘A bit.’
I could see Uncle Pete shaking his head at my answers. He looked across at Aunt Susan and she nodded once. He nodded back. Something was going on. They’d planned something while I’d been having tests and talking to that therapist woman with one blue eye and one brown. I bet they were going to send me away, get me locked up or something. Talk about déjà vu. This is exactly what Mum and Dad had done, and here we were again on the same stretch of road. Talk about history repeating itself. I wondered if I could get away with it a second time. I took off my seatbelt and leaned forward. I grabbed the handbrake and pulled it up.
I leaned back in my seat, quickly put my seatbelt back on and bent forward into the crash position. I closed my eyes as the car swerved, hit an embankment and ploughed straight into a tree.
I opened my eyes and saw Uncle Pete with his head bloodied and slumped over the steering wheel. Aunt Susan was breathing heavily. Her head had smashed against the window. She turned around to look at me. Her face was covered in cuts where shards of glass had hit her. I looked at her and saw the large piece of glass sticking out of her throat, blood was pouring out and down the front of her white shirt. She tried to say something but she couldn’t speak. Eventually the blood stopped flowing and she died. I’d banged my head and was slightly dazed, but I’d be all right. I was trapped in the back of the car though. It took over half an hour for another car to come along and find us. Just like last time.
TWELVE (#ulink_bd43c834-f6ac-5765-9262-33afbdc45ca3)
With DS Aaron Connolly out of action, Matilda sat in for him during the next interview alongside DC Scott Andrews. The door to the poky room opened and in walked Thomas Hartley. The timid sixteen-year-old had his head down and he took small steps to the table. He perched on the edge of the seat and nervously adjusted himself until he was comfortable. The female officer who accompanied him plonked her ample frame down on the seat next to him.
Matilda waited and studied the young man in front of her. He had shorn mousy hair, and his grey sweater was a size too big for him. He had a slight frame and the large wide eyes of a rabbit caught in the headlights.
‘Good morning,’ he said to them both. The first one of the inmates to make a polite gesture.
He made eye contact with Matilda, and the DCI stared back, mouth open. Matilda had sat opposite many killers during her time in the force. She had looked into their eyes and seen the violence and horror they inflicted on their victims and the lack of remorse. She knew evil and hatred when she saw it. When she looked across the Formica table at Thomas Hartley, she saw someone who did not belong in Starling House.
‘Ma’am,’ Scott urged when Matilda didn’t begin the proceedings. ‘Ma’am,’ he repeated.
‘Yes?’
‘Shall we start?’
‘Oh. Sorry. Right. You’re Thomas Hartley, yes?’
‘That’s right.’ Thomas was holding himself rigid: hands clasped between his legs, arms held taut. His shoulders were hunched.
‘Did you … did you speak to Ryan Asher yesterday?’ Matilda was distracted. Thomas’s name was familiar but she couldn’t quite remember the crime he was guilty of. She tried searching her memory but nothing came up. She really should have read Thomas’s file before the interview. She’d glanced at a couple but wanted to get them over with.
‘No. Well, only briefly in the dining room.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I asked him to pass the water jug.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you know Ryan Asher before you saw him yesterday?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know what crime he had committed?’
‘No.’
‘What did you do in the evening after your tea?’
Matilda, pen poised over an A4 writing pad, looked down. She wasn’t writing a single thing. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the biro firmly in her shaking fingers.
‘We all went to the rec. room.’
‘But what did you do?’
‘I usually just sit and watch television.’
‘Usually? Did you do that last night?’
‘Yes. We were watching all the Star Wars films on DVD.’
‘Are you a Star Wars fan?’
‘No.’ He gave a nervous smile, quickly looked up to Matilda then put his head down again.
‘Do you play pool or table tennis with the other boys?’
‘Not really. I’d rather just watch television. Or read.’
‘So at nine o’clock you all go to your rooms?’
‘Yes. We’re locked in from nine until seven the next morning.’
‘Do you sleep well?’
‘I do now.’
‘Have you had problems sleeping?’
‘I did when I first got here. I’m OK now.’
‘Did you wake up at all last night?’
‘No.’
‘Did you hear anything unusual?’
‘No.’
‘When did you first hear about Ryan being killed?’
‘Just as I was finishing breakfast. I overheard a couple of the officers talking. One of them mentioned something. I don’t know.’
Thomas’s replies were baseless. There was no emotion to his voice: he spoke in a flat drone. He looked downtrodden, as if every ounce of fight and drive had been drained out of him. This was not a sixteen-year-old boy who revelled in the glory of his crime, or a boy who felt remorse for his victims; this was an empty shell of a boy who had no idea what had happened to bring him to the dark world of Starling House.
‘Who do you think might have killed Ryan Asher?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘One of the other boys?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Thomas, is there anything you would like to tell me?’
Thomas made eye contact with Matilda again and neither of them wanted to be the first to look away. The silence was palpable.
‘Like what?’ Thomas eventually asked.
‘Anything at all.’
He looked over to the officer whose stare was like acid burning into him. He turned back to Matilda. ‘No. Nothing.’
‘What was that all about?’ Scott asked Matilda when the door closed and Thomas was being taken back to the dining room.
‘What?’
‘Asking him if he had anything to tell you. Do you think he knows something?’
‘No. I don’t think he does. I’m going to give DI Brady a call. He can conduct the rest of the interviews with you.’
Matilda stood up and left the room with a perplexed look on her face. She had just interviewed a young man who did not belong here. Which begged the question: what the hell was he doing in Starling House?
THIRTEEN (#ulink_6b1e8b8e-0b24-5e98-a7d9-d34fa791aec2)
Matilda went back to HQ alone. It was a good twenty-minute drive from Starling House on the outskirts of Sheffield to the city centre; longer, if traffic was bad. Fortunately, luck was on Matilda’s side (for once) and she managed to sail through. Her mind was on Thomas Hartley. She knew the name, and vaguely remembered the case, but she would have to look him up.
Matilda’s office was smaller than the one she was used to in the Murder Investigation Team, and she had only one window. The view wasn’t inspiring as it overlooked the back of the station and the large car park. She kicked the door closed and sat behind her desk.
Thomas Hartley was the first inmate of Starling House she had spoken to on their own. She had no idea if all the other inmates gave off the air of nervousness and appeared terrified of their own shadow. From what Aaron had said about Callum Nixon she didn’t think so. She had, however, spoken to many criminals in prison and not one of them had an ounce of innocence about them. Many claimed to be innocent; for some, it was a coping mechanism. Most were lying.
Matilda booted up her computer and brought up Thomas’s file. She was taken back to Manchester in January 2014 in the grip of a bitter cold snap for the north of England.
WITNESS STATEMENT
Name: Thomas Hartley
Date: 7 January 2014
My name is Thomas Hartley. I am the son of Daniel and Laura Hartley. My sister is Ruby Hartley.
I wasn’t feeling well. I’d eaten some left-over curry for my tea and I don’t think I’d heated it up enough because it made me sick. I couldn’t sleep and it was gone one o’clock by the time I was actually sick. It woke my sister up. During the Christmas holidays she’d promised us that she would try and sleep in her room all night without going to mum and dad’s room. She used to have nightmares quite a lot. Anyway, whenever she woke up she’d just go along to our parents’ room and they’d let her in. That’s what she must have done when I woke her up. If I hadn’t been sick she would have probably slept through the night and wouldn’t have gone to their room. She would still be alive now.
I took something to settle my stomach and I let the dog out because he was fussing. Then I went into the living room to lay down on the sofa. Max, he’s our dog, he woke me up by barking and nudging me, and I heard dripping. I thought we had a leak or something. I turned on the light and there was blood all over the coffee table. It was dripping onto the carpet. It was coming through the light fitting. I had no idea what was happening. I ran upstairs to get mum and dad and when I opened their bedroom door I saw that … oh my God. All I saw was red. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, the bed, it was all just red. It took me a while to work out what I was seeing. I didn’t think my parents and sister were there at first. It didn’t seem possible but when I looked closer I could see them. I recognized the watch on my mum’s arm and Ruby’s pyjamas and then I saw my dad’s face.
I didn’t know what to do. Usually if anything happens my mum or dad take control but they couldn’t so I called my Auntie Debbie. She’s my dad’s sister. She doesn’t live far away. I can’t remember what I said but she said she would come straight round. I sat at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her and saw her coming up the road. I opened the door and she came straight in and went upstairs.
I don’t know how long she was up there for. She came down and went into the kitchen to phone for the police. Then she came and sat with me until they arrived. I don’t think we spoke to each other. I can’t remember. I can’t remember much of anything.
WITNESS STATEMENT
Name: Debbie Hartley
Date: 7 January 2014
My name is Debbie Hartley. I am the sister to Daniel Hartley, sister-in-law to Laura Hartley, and aunt to Thomas and Ruby Hartley.
I was asleep when the phone rang. It woke me up, and I didn’t answer it at first as it scared me but it kept on ringing so I answered. I remember looking at the clock on my bedside table. It was almost eight o’clock. It was Thomas. It didn’t sound like him because he was talking fast and loud, and I think he was crying. He said everyone was dead and there was blood everywhere and he didn’t know what to do. Then he hung up.
I got dressed, and I went straight round. There are three different buses to get to Daniel’s house so I didn’t have too long to wait. It’s only a ten-minute journey. Thomas opened the front door as soon as I got onto the street. I think he’d been waiting for me to arrive. He was literally covered in blood. I pushed past him and went straight upstairs to the bedroom.
It looked like a horror film: one of those slasher films that’s all blood and gore. It was horrible and smelled really bad as well. I saw Daniel straightaway on the bed. I saw his head. It didn’t look as if it was attached to his body. Then I saw Ruby. She’s only eight years old, bless her. My legs felt wobbly and I had to lean against the wall. I didn’t know it was covered in blood, and I got it all over me too. I felt sick. They’re my family. I don’t have anyone else.
I went downstairs, and Thomas was sitting at the bottom. I went into the kitchen and dialled 999. Then I went back to Thomas and put my arm around him. We waited until the police arrived.
The case appeared to be open and shut. There was no evidence of a break-in. None of the windows had been tampered with. Thomas’s fingerprints were all over his parents’ bedroom. There were no other foreign prints anywhere else in the house. However, there was one very important aspect missing from the case – a confession. Thomas vehemently denied killing his family. He stuck to his story, and it never varied no matter how many times he said it. Throughout the trial he maintained his innocence. There was absolutely no evidence to prove Thomas Hartley didn’t kill his family. A negative could not be proven.
What was Thomas’s motive for killing his family in such a disturbing and shocking way? Nobody knew. Almost three years later and still nobody knew.
