‘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?
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.