‘Right, Sian, talk me through it.’
‘Well, I’m sure you know who Ryan Asher is.’
‘Is there anyone in this country who doesn’t?’
‘Sadly, I did have to explain him to Rory. Anyway, Ryan Asher arrived on Sunday night. He spent the whole day yesterday being shown around, introduced to the various members of staff and the other boys. In the evening he and the others spent a few hours in here playing pool, watching TV or what have you, and then they were tucked up in bed by nine o’clock.’
‘Fast forward to this morning.’
‘The doors are unlocked and the boys make their way to the dining room for breakfast. However, one of them is missing. Off goes an officer to find him, and there he is.’ Sian pointed to the pool table.
Lying on his back in the centre of the pool table was the cold, lifeless body of fifteen-year-old Ryan Asher. He had been posed: legs straight and arms by his sides. His body was saturated in his blood, which had run into the pockets of the pool table and dripped onto the floor.
Matilda slowly approached the table. It was never easy attending a crime scene. It didn’t matter who the victim was: a person; a former human being with feelings and emotions who had been subjected to the most heinous crime imaginable. Their life had been tragically stolen from them and their body just dumped. The fact the body, in this instance, was that of a convicted killer made no difference. He was still someone’s son.
Matilda looked down at the pale face of Ryan Asher. He looked much younger than his fifteen years. His eyes were closed. He looked at peace, as if he were in a deep sleep. The splashes and flecks of blood on his face told her he would never be waking up.
‘I’ve counted twelve stab wounds,’ Adele said, breaking the silence.
‘Jesus.’
‘I know. A frenzied attack.’
‘Was he killed here?’
‘Yes. There’s far too much blood around to suggest otherwise. A lot has been soaked up in the – what is this, felt?’ she asked stroking the pool table.
‘Baize,’ Victoria Pinder replied.
‘What is baize?’
‘It’s a felt-like woollen material.’
‘What’s the difference between felt and baize?’
‘Can we do this another time?’ Matilda interrupted.
‘Sorry. Anyway, best guess is he was laid out on the pool table and stabbed to death.’
‘Surely he didn’t voluntarily lie down on the table while someone stabbed him.’
‘I don’t know about that. He may have been drugged. We’ll have to wait for toxicology before we find out.’
‘Any sign of a murder weapon?’
‘Not so far. The stabs are large and appear to be very deep. I’d say you’re looking for a seven-inch blade, smooth edges. A kitchen carving knife, perhaps.’
‘There are no splatter marks,’ Matilda said, looking down at the pool of blood on the floor. ‘It’s not been smudged in any way. It’s like he just bled out while lying on the table.’
‘It does look like it’s been staged, doesn’t it?’
‘I don’t like the feel of this at all.’ Matilda shuddered. ‘Sian, were those doors locked?’ she asked, moving away from the table and indicating the patio doors.
‘Yes. They’re double-bolted and there’s an alarm too. If they’re tampered with in any way, it’ll go off.’
‘And did it?’
‘No.’
‘Is it working?’
‘Apparently, yes.’
‘I want it tested.’
‘Will do.’
‘I see there are cameras in here too,’ Matilda said. She pointed to a couple of outdated CCTV cameras in the corners of the room. ‘I want the recordings. Not just from the ones in here but from everywhere else in the building.’
‘OK.’
‘Sian, I’m going to want to talk to the bloke who found him, and the woman in charge. Get a room set up for us to use too. All the staff and the inmates will need interviewing. I want you and Aaron to lead the interviews. Get all the files pulled on all the inmates. I want us to know everything about them, and their crimes, before we interview them. I don’t want anyone going in blind.’
‘No problem.’
‘DCI Darke?’ Matilda turned at the mention of her name to see ACC Valerie Masterson standing in the doorway of the recreation room.
‘Shit,’ Matilda said under her breath. ‘I’ll be back in a bit, Sian. Oh, find out if there are any knives missing from the kitchen.’
Matilda headed for the exit, ducked under the crime scene tape and followed the ACC down the corridor to a quiet corner.
‘It’s definitely Ryan Asher?’ Masterson asked.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Bloody hell. I always knew something like this would happen here. I’ve never liked this place. I want this solved quickly, Matilda. No pissing about.’
Matilda had to bite her tongue. A few months before she’d led a very prestigious Murder Investigation Team dedicated to hunting killers within South Yorkshire. Budget cuts, apparently, had called time on the MIT and Matilda, and her team, were transported back to CID. Suddenly, a major case occurs and she is expected to move heaven and earth without the necessary resources.
‘Ma’am, I never piss about on a murder case. This will get the full attention of my officers, and we will work to the best of our ability.’
‘You’re not giving a press statement, Matilda. Now, is there anything you need?’
‘I’m going to need the case files of all the inmates. These are dangerous boys here; I need to know who I’m dealing with.’
‘I’ll get them sent to you. Anything else?’
‘Just a full team at my disposal.’
‘You’re in charge of CID now, Matilda, use whoever you need on this. Just get it solved and get it solved quickly. Oh, and not one word to the media.’
With that, the five-foot-nothing ACC stormed past Matilda and disappeared around the corner.
It was no exaggeration to say that ACC Valerie Masterson had been under a cloud in the last year or so. She was criticized by the media for allowing Matilda to return to work following the collapse of the Carl Meagan case. Add to the mix the lengthy Hillsborough enquiry, the unprecedented levels of sexual abuse in Rotherham and the constant unrest at Page Hall, and the media was endlessly on Masterson’s case demanding answers. A murder in the most secure and controversial place in South Yorkshire could be the final nail in the coffin of her career if it wasn’t successfully solved. Matilda could understand her brusque behaviour.
Matilda walked back to look at the crime scene. With hushed tones everyone seemed to be engrossed in their task. Matilda went over to the pool table and looked down at the dead teenager. Ryan Asher, fifteen years old: face of an angel; soul of the devil, if the press were to be believed.
‘Why here?’ Matilda asked whoever was in earshot.
‘Sorry?’ Sian asked.
‘He was locked in his room at nine o’clock last night. If anyone was going to murder him surely the best time to do it would be while he was in bed. Why risk being seen bringing him down to the recreation room to kill him?’
‘I’ve