Читать книгу A Room Full of Killers: A gripping crime thriller with twists you won’t see coming - Michael Wood - Страница 9

Kate Moloney was a tall woman with long black straight hair which she wore in a severe-looking ponytail. Her skin was deathly pale and smooth. The red lipstick she always wore was striking and gave her a vampish air of power. She looked at least a decade younger than her forty-three years. She was curvaceous and wore long dresses or sensible trouser suits, yet made sure they were all figure-hugging to show off her natural assets. Her shoes were painful to wear but were part of her power outfit – impossibly high heels which echoed around the corridors as she walked with a straight back and her head held high. She was a woman on a mission.

Her office on the ground floor of Starling House was elaborate and necessary. The large mahogany desk with hand-carved detail dominated the room. The dark-red painted walls and cream-coloured carpet were expensive but a warranted luxury. The office made a statement to Kate’s position. She deserved everything in this room and had worked hard to get it.

Surveying her office, she stood with her back to the window, arms firmly crossed. A knock came on the door and brought her out of her reverie. Despite the fact she wasn’t doing anything, she waited a moment before telling her visitor to enter.

The door opened and Ryan Asher was led inside by an overweight man with greying hair, a pockmarked face, and grease stains on his shirt. He didn’t enter the room. He showed Ryan in and quickly closed the door without saying a word.

‘Ryan, nice to meet you. Please, sit down.’ Kate gestured to the uncomfortable-looking wooden chair in front of her desk. She waited for Ryan to sit before she sank into her high-backed leather seat.

Kate leaned forward on her desk and interlocked her fingers. Her nails were sharp and painted a vivid blood red. ‘Firstly, I’d like to welcome you to Starling House. I know it wasn’t ideal for you to arrive at the time you did last night, but we do that for security purposes. And for your own safety too. I hope you managed to get some sleep in the holding room. It’s draughty, I know, but I don’t like the accommodation block interrupted once everyone is asleep. Now, you’re going to be with us until you’re eighteen, at least; it could be longer. From here you will go to Wakefield Prison where you will serve out the remainder of your sentence. I’m sure you’ve already had all this explained to you.’

Ryan’s face looked blank. His brown eyes were wide and he wore a heavy frown, which suggested he was petrified of the nightmare he had found himself in. He nodded.

Kate dropped her voice for a softer tone. ‘Ryan, I know this is frightening. You’re away from home and your family. However, I know you’re fully aware of the circumstances that led you here. I will, of course, make your stay as comfortable as possible and, if you ever need to talk about anything, I am always available. OK?’ For the first time, she smiled. It wasn’t a reassuring smile, more of a threatening gesture – your time will be comfortable here, providing you don’t step out of line.

‘OK.’ His voice was high-pitched and it quivered.

‘Good. Now, I’m going to show you around – introduce you to some of the staff and the other boys. After lunch you will have a meeting with Dr Klein who will assess you for any specific needs you might have. Shall we?’

Starling House was a Victorian building on the outskirts of Sheffield. Formerly owned by boxing promoter, Boris Wheeler, it was bought by Sheffield City Council in the late 1980s, following Boris’s death. Unfortunately, maintenance and upkeep of the building ran into hundreds of thousands of pounds every year, and the Heritage Trust soon found themselves with a costly white elephant on their hands.

After years of wrangling, it was eventually sold cheap to a private organization who were able to adapt Starling House into what it is today – a secure home for some of the most violent boys in Britain.

Before it was due to open in 1996, almost every resident of Sheffield had signed a petition and staged protests outside the Town Hall demanding the council not allow it. The people of Sheffield boycotted Starling House. Nobody applied for a job there, so staff had to be drafted in from elsewhere and live on the premises.

During the summer months, when trees were in full bloom, Starling House was invisible from the main road running past it, and people could pretend it didn’t exist. When autumn came, and the leaves had died and fallen, Starling House could be seen through the barren branches for miles. It was difficult to avoid, and the imagination was left to fester and mutate and come up with all kinds of stories of what was going on behind those thick stone walls.

Kate Moloney had been at Starling House since it eventually opened in 1997; starting as a junior officer before working her way up the promotional ladder. She was the only original member of staff left. It wasn’t easy to keep people as many found it difficult to be surrounded by such evil on a daily basis. There was the odd security officer who had stayed longer than two years, but the majority moved on just as Kate was getting to know them.

Kate showed Ryan around Starling House personally. She wasn’t afraid to be left on her own with the teenage boys, despite the tabloid newspapers labelling them as the most disturbed children in the country. By the time Kate saw them they all had the same look – frightened, nervous, worried, petrified, and wishing they could travel back in time to undo their violent deeds.

She stole a glance at Ryan who, at first, dragged his feet with his head down, but eventually looked up and was either impressed or scared by the imposing building. High ceilings and ornate stonework adorned every corridor and room. Any removable original features had been taken out long before it became a home for teenage murderers – the sweeping oak staircase, the stained glass windows in the atrium were all gone. It was a bland, dull, lifeless building with very little character and charm. Depressing, cold, and stark, it was a building with no redeeming features.

The first stop on the tour was the gym. Kate didn’t linger too long in here. There was a damp problem which was getting worse; the smell was an assault on the nose. The library and computer room were adequately equipped but nothing was state of the art. Even the books looked like they belonged at a jumble sale. As they went from room to room Kate tried to engage Ryan in conversation: did he like computers? Did he read much? Was he a fan of the gym? Each question was answered with the same monotone grunt or shrug of the shoulders.

The recreation room was a large space with a pool table, table tennis and football tables, as well as worn sofas surrounding a widescreen TV with DVD player and games consoles attached. At the side of the room there was a bar (without alcohol). There were patio doors leading out into the grounds but these were securely locked and alarmed.

‘Most of the boys like to come in here when they’ve finished their lessons for the day,’ Kate said. They stood in the doorway.

At the top of the room four boys were standing around the pool table wearing the identical uniform of navy combat trousers and grey jumper. They weren’t close enough to engage in conversation. The four stopped their chatting and looked at the new inmate about to join them, then went back to what they were doing.

‘Craig,’ Kate called to one of the boys at the pool table and beckoned him over. ‘Craig, this is Ryan Asher. He arrived last night. Could you introduce him to the other boys – show him around the rec. room?’

‘Sure,’ Craig shrugged.

‘Excellent. Thank you. Ryan, it’s almost time for lunch. Afterwards, I’ll talk you through the timetable we have for your lessons then I’ll introduce you to the staff.’

‘OK.’

Kate smiled and left the room, closing the door behind her.

She made her way back to her office. It was difficult to take an impression of Ryan Asher. He had barely said a dozen words to her. She thought of herself as a good judge of character and hoped Ryan wouldn’t cause too much trouble.

‘Richard, you haven’t seen Oliver anywhere have you?’ she asked the fat guard who had shown Ryan into her office as she entered the main hallway.

‘He’s in the rec. room,’ he replied in his usual flat burr.

‘I’ve just come from there.’

‘No idea, then,’ he shrugged and went on his way.

‘Charm personified,’ she said to herself.

Craig walked slowly over to Ryan and eyed him up and down, taking in everything about him from his shaven head to his battered Converses. They were almost toe to toe, and Craig was still staring.

‘So … where you from?’ Craig asked. He had stale bad breath and his teeth were brown.

Ryan thought it best not to flinch from the smell. His fellow murderer may take offence.

‘Norwich,’ he replied with a catch in his voice.

‘Oh. I’ve never been there.’

‘It’s nice.’

‘Maybe I’ll go one day then. You could show me around.’

Ryan gave a nervous laugh, thinking Craig was joking. The look on Craig’s face told him he wasn’t. ‘Erm … OK.’

‘Well, let’s show you what’s what.’ He pointed to the various items. ‘Pool, football table, table tennis table. You know what they’re for. TV with PlayStation One and a Wii, for some reason. The DVDs are in the cupboard, but don’t expect any of the new releases. And, we’ve only got Freeview.’

‘OK,’ Ryan replied.

‘Let me introduce you to the other lads. You’re number eight, and they’re not all here at the moment as some are doing extra lessons. Anyway, playing pool is Lee and Jacob. Lee is the blond one. Thomas is sat reading as always—’

‘What’s going on?’

The door behind them opened and in walked Callum Nixon. Tall, well-built, heavy brow and swagger.

‘Just showing the newbie around.’

Callum circled Ryan, having a long, lingering look at the skinny young boy. He slammed his arms down, grabbed him around the shoulders and marched him off to the centre of the room.

‘Let me guess. Craig’s been pointing out all the features like he’s selling a house on one of those shit programmes on Channel 4. I’ll show you the real Starling House. This is the rec. room, which is our only private place. You’ll notice there’s no guards in here. That’s because this is our room. If you see a guard in here, you know there’s been some shit going off somewhere. I’m Callum. I’m from Liverpool, and I sit on the recliner next to the sofa. If I catch you sitting in it, I’ll gut you. Understand?’ Callum’s face remained stoic – he wasn’t joking.

With wide, frightened eyes, Ryan nodded.

‘Good lad. Now over there we’ve got Jacob. He raped and murdered his girlfriend. Next to him is Lee. He set fire to a caravan while his parents were sleeping in it. Killed them both. Craig killed his parents too, didn’t you, Craig?’

Craig gave Ryan a small smile which twitched at the corners.

‘Thomas, sitting down reading, as always, hacked his entire family to death with an axe, including his eight-year-old sister.’

‘Why don’t you tell him what you did?’ Jacob called out.

‘I don’t need to tell him what I did.’ He leaned in to Ryan and whispered in his ear, loud enough for the rest to hear though. ‘I’m Callum Nixon. That’s all you need to know.’

‘Leave him alone, Callum,’ Lee said, noticing the look of horror on Ryan’s face.

‘I’m just acclimatizing him to our little fun house. He needs to know who he’s going to be living with for the next few years.’

‘No, he doesn’t. None of us need to know.’

‘Look at him, Ryan, he hates horror films and practically shits himself whenever anyone talks about violence, yet he can happily kill his parents without giving it a second thought. Stick with me, Ryan. They’re a bunch of nutters in here.’

Ryan broke free of Callum’s hold and backed away. ‘I need the toilet,’ he said, barely above a whisper and ran out of the room.

‘You can’t leave it can you, Callum?’ Lee said.

‘What?’ he asked as if he’d done nothing wrong. He looked around at the accusing faces staring at him. ‘What?’

‘You’re a real dick, do you know that?’

Ryan entered the toilets. He didn’t need the toilet, he just wanted a few minutes to himself. He felt overwhelmed.

Ryan looked at himself in the mirror. He looked grey and drawn. How had he ended up here like this?

He turned on the cold tap and splashed his face a few times but it didn’t make him look any different. The main problem was how he felt on the inside. He felt sick, his stomach churning and performing somersaults. Ryan hadn’t been here a day yet and he was already panicking about the rest of the week, let alone the next three years. After that was Wakefield. He knew about Wakefield. It was category A – where all the serious criminals went.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum. Please come and visit me. I need you,’ he said to his reflection.