Читать книгу For Reasons Unknown: A gripping crime debut that keeps you guessing until the last page - Michael Wood - Страница 17

The journey from Whirlow to Jonathan’s apartment was a short car drive away, conducted in silence. When they arrived at the building Matilda was shocked to find he had moved so close to the house where his parents had been brutally murdered. He’d obviously not laid his demons to rest even after twenty years. Would she still be living in anguish at the loss of her husband two decades from now?

Jonathan pointed out the living room to his guests then hurried into the kitchen to prepare coffee for them all.

‘He doesn’t have a TV,’ Rory said straightaway in hushed tones.

‘Trust you to notice that,’ she replied, and she smiled.

‘Look at all these books.’

Both Matilda and Rory were agog at the collection. They were even more surprised by the neatness of the display.

‘Do you think he’s read them all?’

‘I doubt they’re there for ornamental purposes.’

‘I’ve never seen so many outside of a branch of Waterstones.’

‘Come off it Rory, when was the last time you stepped foot into a bookshop?’

A blank expression swept across his smooth face as he tried to think. Matilda thought she detected the smell of burning as the cogs turned in his pretty little head.

‘I bought the Guinness Book of Records last Christmas.’

‘Hardly a Booker winner.’

‘A what?’

Jonathan entered carrying a tray with three mismatched cups and a cafetière full of black coffee. He made for the middle of the room then turned away, setting the tray down on a small table in the corner. He looked down at the carpet and unconsciously put a hand to his neck. Matilda followed his gaze and noticed four indentations where a piece of furniture used to stand; probably an old coffee table.

‘We were just admiring your collection.’ Matilda pointed to the bookcases as if they needed pointing out. They dominated the whole room.

‘Thank you.’

‘Have you read them all?’ Rory asked, still bewildered by the display.

‘Of course,’ Jonathan replied harshly.

‘Where’s your TV?’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Why not?’

‘There’s nothing of interest I want to watch. I believe that if you’re not a fan of soap operas or reality shows you’re not catered for.’

‘I have to agree with you there,’ Matilda said. ‘I pay my TV licence and a subscription to Sky but I certainly don’t get my money’s worth.’

‘I expect being a detective takes up a lot of your time too.’

‘You tell me,’ Matilda said. She nodded towards the crime fiction collection with a smile.

‘Would you like to take a seat?’ Jonathan smiled back at Matilda.

Matilda and Rory both unbuttoned their coats as they sat on the leather sofa. Jonathan remained ready to leave the house; coat buttoned, scarf wrapped around his neck.

With slightly shaking hands, he poured them both a cup of coffee. He told them to help themselves to milk and sugar while he drank his black. Rory looked disappointed at the small plate with half a dozen boring digestive biscuits; he’d been hoping for something chocolatey, a Hobnob or a Bourbon. Jonathan sat on a matching armchair next to a small wooden table that held about twenty paperback novels.

‘Why aren’t those on the shelves?’ Rory asked.

‘Because I haven’t read them yet.’

‘Where do you work?’ Matilda asked, taking a lingering sniff of the coffee.

‘Waterstones in Orchard Square.’

‘Really?’ Rory laughed.

‘Yes,’ Jonathan frowned.

‘Would you mind if I recorded this conversation?’ Matilda asked. She took a digital recorder from her pocket. Jonathan shook his head, so she pressed a couple of buttons then set it down on the small table between the two of them. ‘I’d like you to tell us your story.’

Jonathan sighed. ‘Why?’

‘As I said, we’re having another look at the case and I’ve been through the statements, reports, and paperwork and there doesn’t seem to be a statement from you. Did you ever make one?’

Jonathan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Subconsciously he was tapping each of the four fingers on his left hand against his thumb. After tapping twice with each finger, eight taps, he stopped for a second before starting again.

Matilda recognized the signs of anxiety; she should do, anxiety was a permanent house guest for her. She looked across at Rory but he was still staring at the books. She wondered if her traits were as obvious.

‘After it happened,’ he began. His voice broke. ‘After it happened I was in a state of shock. I didn’t speak for a very long time. The police came to see me many times. They kept bringing different kinds of specialists, all of them trying to get me to talk in their own unique way but it didn’t work. I seem to remember one woman using hand puppets.’ He gave a nervous smile at the memory.

‘How long was it before you talked again?’

‘About eighteen months.’

‘And you’d left Sheffield by then?’

‘Yes. I was living with my aunt up in Newcastle.’

‘When did you move back to Sheffield?’

‘About five years ago I think.’

‘Why did you decide to come back?’

Jonathan lowered his head. ‘My aunt died, and as much as I enjoyed living in Newcastle it was always her home, not mine. Sheffield is all I know.’

Matilda nodded then changed the subject. ‘On the night your parents died…’

‘They were killed,’ Jonathan interrupted with a solid, almost stern voice. ‘They didn’t die; they were killed.’

‘Sorry. On the night they were killed, you were all getting ready to attend a carol concert, weren’t you?’

Jonathan rolled his eyes. ‘Do I really need to go through all this again? I’m sure with all your reports and Charlie Johnson’s book you can piece it all together.’

‘Have you read Charlie Johnson’s book?’

‘Yes. My aunt bought a copy. She wanted to know how accurate it was.’

‘How accurate is it?’

‘In places it’s so spot on it’s like he was there making notes.’

‘Did you talk to Mr Johnson at the time of him writing it?’

‘No. He tracked me down to Newcastle and wrote to us and phoned us a few times. He even sent a signed blank cheque in the post asking us to name our price.’

‘Did you?’

‘No. Aunt Clara tore it up and posted the pieces back to him.’ Jonathan smiled at the memory. ‘I received a letter from him a few days ago actually. He’s working on an updated version and wants to interview me. How he found out I’m back in Sheffield is beyond me.’

‘Did you reply?’

‘Why would I do that?’

Matilda took another sip of her coffee, it was delicious. ‘Getting back to the night of the murders, where were you in the house at the time?’

‘I was in my bedroom,’ he replied, taking a deep breath, preparing himself to relive the horror.

‘And what happened to make you leave your bedroom?’

‘Nothing. I was getting ready and my dad was going to tie my bow tie. I went across the landing and into their bedroom and just found him slumped over the desk.’

‘Was he dead?’

‘I think so.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘I’m not sure. The next thing I remember is my mum coming up the stairs having a go at me for not being dressed. Somehow I’d got blood on my hands. She looked at them and asked if I’d cut myself but I didn’t answer. She looked at me and I guess she could tell by the look on my face that something must have happened. She sent me back to my room.’

‘Did you go?’

‘Of course. She told me to go to my room, close the door behind me, and not to come back until she came for me.’

‘What happened then?’

‘In my bedroom there was a closet with a chest of drawers in it. I used to hide behind it from my brother. I closed the bedroom door and hid in the closet and waited for my mum to come back for me.’

‘How long were you there?’

‘I’ve no idea. I came out because I was cold.’

‘Did you hear anything?’

‘No.’

‘Anything from your parents’ room?’

‘No.’

‘I’ve seen the crime-scene photographs and judging by them your mum must have put up quite a fight against her attacker. She must have screamed or shouted. Did you not hear anything?’

‘No. Nothing at all.’ Jonathan’s replies were cold and lacked emotion.

Matilda and Rory exchanged a glance.

‘OK. What happened when you came out of your bedroom?’ Matilda asked.

Jonathan took another deep breath. It was as if he was preparing himself to walk along the landing all over again, dreading what nightmare waited for him in his parents’ bedroom. ‘To be honest I can’t remember much after that. I know I was taken to the hospital but I don’t know how long I stayed there. My aunt came down to see me but, again, I don’t know how long it was between what happened and her arriving.’

‘Now, on the night of the killings, where was Matthew? Where was your brother?’

The very mention of his brother’s name hit Jonathan like a slap in the face. He looked up quickly from the floor where his gaze was fixed during his reverie. The expression on his face was one of sadness. He had a slight furrowed brow and his eyes were filled with tears.

‘He was at a friend’s house,’ he said eventually, his voice falling in volume slightly.

‘Can you remember which friend?’

‘No,’ he said, not giving it any thought. ‘I didn’t know any of his friends.’

‘Why not?’

‘There’s four years between me and my brother. We didn’t mix.’

‘According to his statement, when he arrived home, later than he was supposed to, he saw the police cars and assumed your parents had called them to report him missing. Is that something they would have done if he was only an hour or so late?’

‘I’m not sure. My brother couldn’t do anything wrong in their eyes. They’d have called out the coast guard, army, and MI5 to look for him if they couldn’t find him.’

‘Your brother went missing for three days. Why would he do that?’

‘I really don’t know. You’d have to ask him.’

‘Do you see him much now?’

‘Not at all.’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘I’ve no idea. I can’t remember.’

‘When you left Sheffield you were split up weren’t you? Why was that? Why didn’t Matthew go with you to live in Newcastle?’

He shuddered at the mention of Matthew’s name, which caused Matilda and Rory to exchange bewildered looks. What had happened between the siblings to cause such a reaction?

‘Well, my brother was at a critical stage with his schoolwork. It would have been silly to disrupt him. Whereas I had just started secondary school; it didn’t matter much to move me. Also, we didn’t get on, and my aunt didn’t want me upset any more than I already was.’

‘But surely it’s more important to keep two brothers together after losing their parents.’

‘I suppose it depends on the brothers,’ Jonathan said looking deep into Matilda’s eyes for the first time.

‘Where did Matthew go to live?’

‘With the friend he was with on the night of the killings; the family took him in.’

‘That was very generous of them. Did you see much of Matthew once you’d moved away?’

‘Not much. We met up once around Christmas a couple of years after but we didn’t get on. There was an atmosphere.’

‘So you just lost touch.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know what happened to him?’

‘Well my aunt kept in contact with the family, and they kept her up to date on his life and education. He did well at school and college and moved to Manchester to go to university.’

‘And after university?’

‘I’ve absolutely no idea. He could still be in Manchester for all I know.’

‘Why didn’t you get on? Surely it wasn’t just the age thing. You’re blood relatives; you must have had something in common.’

‘My brother wasn’t a very nice person. He was a bully. We were poles apart.’

‘In what way?’

‘He was confident, outgoing, very popular and I…well I’m not any of those things am I? You see it at school don’t you, all the good-looking, popular, confident boys picking on the weak. I was a very easy target.’

Matilda noticed he was scratching his left hand vigorously. It was red and it wouldn’t be long before he broke the skin. ‘Did your parents know what was going on?’

Jonathan scoffed. ‘It would have been hard for them not to. He did get into trouble once. He pushed me down the stairs and I broke my left arm.’

‘What happened?’

‘My dad actually saw him do it. There was no way he could allow him to go unpunished. He was grounded for a weekend while I spent the whole summer struggling to wash with my arm in a plastic bag.’

‘Why did he push you down the stairs?’ Rory asked. The first time he had spoken since the questioning began.

‘Because I was there,’ he replied as if it was obvious.

‘What else did he do?’

‘How long have you got?’ Jonathan adjusted himself in his armchair. He was clearly uncomfortable with these questions regarding his brother. ‘Actually, no offence, but I thought you wanted to talk about my parents?’

‘We’re trying to establish a motive for the murders. Having read the reports and witness statements nobody stands out as having a reason to kill your parents.’

‘So you’re looking at my brother?’ he frowned.

‘Do you think it’s possible?’

‘I don’t know. He bullied me but does that make him a killer?’

‘You tell me,’ Matilda said with a hint of a smile. ‘You read a lot of crime fiction. Do bullies usually go on to murder people, especially if they think they can get away with it?’

‘I suppose it depends on the kind of bullying.’

‘And what kind of bully was your brother?’

‘It was both physical and mental. After the broken arm incident he made sure my parents never saw the bruises. He became more inventive, sneaky.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He used to spit in my breakfast and make me eat it. He’d steal things from around the house and hide them in my room so when they were found I’d get into trouble. One time I woke up in the middle of the night to find him standing next to my bed and urinating all over me.’

‘Oh my God. Surely that constitutes abuse?’ Rory asked.

‘Well I thought so.’

‘Did you ever tell your parents?’

‘What was the point? They always took his side. I wasn’t wanted. My mother didn’t find out she was pregnant with me until it was too late to do anything about it. Even if she had known she could hardly have had an abortion. How would it look for a GP who specialized in family planning to kill her own unborn baby?’

Matilda leaned forward. ‘Jonathan,’ she said, using his first name for the first time. ‘Do you think your brother killed your parents?’