‘Yes. That’s true. I suppose that’s why paedophiles are kept apart from everyone else in prison,’ he said. ‘Hang on a minute, Jonathan’s aunt said his mother came up the stairs and found Jonathan with blood on him?’
‘Yes. So?’
‘Where did you get that from?’
Once again Matilda rifled through the mess of paperwork on her desk before she found the two-page document she was looking for. ‘A statement by Clara Harkness given in May 1995.’
‘That’s what, six months after the killings? Jonathan was living in Newcastle by then. So he was obviously talking.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Yet there’s still no statement from Jonathan Harkness. Why not?’
Matilda had to admit that she had no idea why Jonathan was never interviewed. On the other hand, maybe he had given a statement and it had somehow disappeared from the archive over the years. As she looked around the room at the opened boxes of evidence, the stacks of files and packs of photographs, she wondered if she had really been given all the information the ACC had promised. Already the case was throwing up more questions than answers. She was surprised to find DC Fleming so articulate. Where had this sudden intelligence come from?
Rory coughed. Matilda looked up and saw he was studying his watch. She turned back to her post-mortem report and was interrupted by a louder cough. Rory was still staring at his watch.
‘Is something the matter?’
‘Well, it’s just that…’ he seemed nervous and unable to make eye contact with his boss. ‘The thing is…the time.’
Matilda looked at her own watch. It was just after 4.15. ‘What about the…oh. You’ve been told about my curfew?’
‘Yes, sorry.’
‘Don’t apologize; it’s not your fault. Thank you for reminding me. I’d hate to get a detention on my first day back at school.’
They both laughed, but it wasn’t genuine.
‘Shall I continue reading up on the case?’
‘No. Why should you have to stay behind and I go home? Have an early finish. Go home to that girlfriend of yours.’
‘Oh. We’re engaged now, actually,’ he said, his cheeks reddening slightly in embarrassment.
‘Really? Congratulations. When’s the big day?’
‘We’ve not decided yet. Amelia is aiming for promotion so wants to get that out of the way before having to plan a wedding.’
‘What does she do?’
‘She’s a junior solicitor. She wants to specialize in criminal law.’
Matilda was tempted to say something about the potential for a conflict of interest in any of his cases going to court in the years to come, but the sweet smile that lit up his face was full of the innocence of youth. She didn’t want to spoil it for him. She found herself relaxing in Rory’s company. Before her nine month enforced sabbatical she saw Rory as just an annoyingly loud, over-eager DC who would need a serious change of personality if he expected promotion. However, cooped up in the broom cupboard and working on a one-to-one basis she was seeing him in a different light. He was warm and approachable.
‘So what have the others in the Murder Room been up to in my time away?’ The question surprised even Matilda. She had never engaged in gossip before, and although the personal lives of her team were important for her to know in order to find out how they were going to approach particular cases, she kept the majority at arm’s length.
‘Well Sian’s been bitten by the Great British Bake Off bug. She’s been trying out her skills on us, bringing in muffins and cakes. She’s actually quite good. She’s also just inherited a boat which she’s been harping on about for months.’
‘Yes, she mentioned that this morning. It was one of the first things she said.’ Matilda smiled.
‘We think Aaron may be going through a mid-life crisis. Ever since he turned thirty-four he’s gotten all moody. I think there might be trouble at home. I know his wife wants a baby. I’m guessing he’s not playing with a full load.’
‘Blimey Rory, you’re worse than a bunch of women at a school gate.’ She didn’t tell him to stop though.
‘Oh, big news about Scott. You know we all thought he was gay? Well he went out with the blonde one from the press office for a couple of weeks but it didn’t last. Still, I won a fiver off Aaron so I wasn’t complaining.’
‘What’s the new girl like? Faith is it?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘She’s a bit of an enigma. She seems to think she’s been hand-picked to join the team, like she has something special to offer. She’s not even trying to fit in with us and she got Sian’s back up straight away by helping herself to the chocolate drawer and replacing what she took with nut bars and packets of seeds.’
‘How’s her work?’
‘She’s good at what she does; she’s just not much of a team player.’
‘Maybe she’s nervous.’ Matilda found herself sympathizing with a woman she didn’t even know. She could certainly understand what it was like entering an already established team. Even though she’d been with the Murder Investigation Team from day one, she found herself feeling like an outsider again.
She didn’t want to dwell on this for too long; her mood was beginning to sink again. ‘Look, you get off. I’ll tidy up in here. Tomorrow is the demolition of the Harkness house. We’ll meet there at nine o’clock; watch the house being torn down, then plan what we’re going to do next in the pub. OK?’
‘Fine by me. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
As soon as he had gone Matilda closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. The stale air in the room was not helping. She put the post-mortem report, a pack of crime-scene photographs, and witness statements in her bag. She may not be allowed to be in the station past four o’clock, but nobody had said anything about working from home.
Jonathan Harkness was a timid, frail figure of a man. Standing at six foot tall and a little under ten stone, he looked almost emaciated. His icy blue eyes were sunken and his cheekbones prominent to the point of bursting out of his skin. His thin lips were red and dry. His skin was pale and lacked life, as did his unruly dull hair, which wasn’t styled, merely combed into a neat passable excuse.
He held himself rigid and constantly looked about him, as if frightened of the world he lived in. His body language was cold and unapproachable and his shoulders were permanently hunched. He never allowed himself to relax, not even for a second. He was constantly on his guard.
Jonathan hadn’t been a confident child and preferred his own company to that of his contemporaries. Twenty years ago, when he was eleven years old, his entire world was torn apart with the brutal murder of his parents in cold blood. Everything that happened to him after that night, every decision he made, was born from the fragile mind of a young man who was still unable to break free of that night in December 1994 when he had stood in the doorway of his parents’ bedroom and seen the nightmare unfold before him.
He was grateful for Aunt Clara, who took him away from Sheffield, but once the residents and local press in Newcastle realized who he was, the gossip began, the phone calls began, and they were all after his version of the events.
Eventually it died down and Jonathan could grow up in the shadows, just like he wanted. Now, with the stiff cream envelope in his post box and the logo of the company he knew all too well, his