A Room Full of Killers. Michael Wood

a killer with a message. And if we don’t understand the message straightaway, there’ll be another body.’

       SEVEN

      The staffroom was usually a quiet, lifeless room. As their breaks were staggered there were rarely more than two or three people there at any one time. It was a case of make a coffee, drink your coffee, rinse your cup, then leave. The room wasn’t enticing either. Painted in drab creams and browns almost a decade before, it was dirty and there was a smell of rubbish coming from an overflowing bin. The painted door was covered in handprints, the mis-matched chairs were rickety and the table wonky. Even the microwave was ancient and when in use loud enough to shake the foundations.

      Now, it was a buzz of conversation and gossip as officers, cleaners, and cooks gathered to talk about what had occurred overnight.

      ‘You know what he did, that Ryan Asher, don’t you? He killed his grandparents. I remember reading about it in The Sun – he beat them to a pulp, the bastard.’

      ‘He got what he deserved then, didn’t he? Some of the lads in here – locking up’s too good for them. They ought to bring back hanging for some of these killers,’ one of the cleaners, Roberta Del Mar said. ‘I hate having to go in that recreation room, especially when they’re in there. I just give it a quick flick then come straight out.’ She shuddered at the memory.

      The door opened and a slim, short officer in her mid-twenties entered the room, closing the door behind her.

      ‘Rebecca, I didn’t know you were back,’ Doris Walker said, cheering up at the sight of one of her favourite co-workers.

      ‘I came back yesterday.’ She smiled.

      ‘You picked a great time, didn’t you? What’s going on out there?’

      ‘The police have arrived and they’ve sealed off the room. The inmates are all in the dining room.’

      ‘I hope they’re not making a mess,’ Roberta said. ‘I only polished that floor last night.’

      ‘Is it true he was stabbed twenty times?’ Doris asked.

      ‘I’ve no idea. Nobody’s saying anything. The police are all talking in hushed tones.’

      ‘They would do,’ Roberta said, taking another biscuit from the tin and dipping it in her tea. ‘When we were burgled a few years ago and the coppers came out, I heard a few of them whispering. They were only criticizing my carpet, cheeky buggers.’

      ‘I hope you put a complaint in,’ Doris said.

      ‘I bloody did. I got a half-hearted apology from some short woman in a hat about three sizes too big.’

      ‘They’ll have a lot to criticize about this place. It’s a dump,’ Rebecca said.

      ‘Don’t go looking at me. I work my fingers to the bone here,’ Roberta defended herself. ‘I can only work with the equipment I’m given. I’ve been asking for a new mop for three months.’

      ‘Did you see the body?’ Doris asked Rebecca eagerly, wanting to get back onto the more exciting topic.

      ‘No. You should have seen Oliver’s face though; he was so white, bless him. He could have had a heart attack.’

      ‘Who do they think’s done it?’

      ‘I’ve no idea. It’s got to be one of the other inmates though, hasn’t it? They’ve all got form,’ Rebecca added.

      ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t that lad with the Liverpool accent,’ Roberta said.

      ‘What makes you think it’s him?’

      ‘Well, you’ve only got to look at him. He’s a cocky little shit in my book.’

      ‘To be honest,’ Doris began, ‘I blame the parents, these days. They don’t correct their kids. If they gave them a slap from time to time instead of pandering to them the country wouldn’t be in the state it’s in. My dad hit me when I was a lass. I knew never to step out of line. It didn’t do me any harm.’

      ‘Parents don’t hit their children anymore,’ Rebecca said, looking shocked. She was a generation younger than the cook and the cleaner and, with a new-born, the thought of raising a hand to her child sent a shiver down her spine.

      ‘And that’s why some of them grow up to be killers, like that Callum Nixon,’ Roberta said. ‘I’ve seen those profiling programmes on Sky.’

      ‘So, tell me about that new baby of yours, Rebecca,’ Doris said. She saw how Rebecca was getting uncomfortable about the topic of children becoming killers and decided to give the new mum a break. ‘Keeping you awake at night?’

      Kate Moloney was stood at the window in her office looking out at the lawn. Her face was its usual stony expression, giving nothing away. She knew the people of Sheffield didn’t want a youth prison in their city.

      Over the years there had been a number of campaigns to have Starling House closed down. When a high-profile murder case hit the headlines, and the perpetrator was under the age of eighteen, it was obvious he would end up here. Ryan Asher was such a child. He had been snuck in under cover of night like a secret SAS mission, and, up to now, his presence had gone undetected. Now he was dead, the entire country would know where he had been sent following his very public trial.

      The firm knock on the door brought Kate out of her thoughts. She sat down behind her desk and tried to look busy. She had a difficult job and could never allow her emotions to show through – something she perceived as a weakness. She presented herself to the world as cold and hard-hearted. It wasn’t easy to keep up but it worked.

      ‘Come in.’

      The door opened and Oliver Byron poked his head through the small gap. ‘Have you got a minute?’

      ‘Yes. Come on in. How are you feeling now?’

      Oliver was a tall and wiry man in his late-forties. He was dedicated and efficient. As head of officers, it was his duty to sort out any disputes before Kate became involved. Oliver was the man for the job. He didn’t stand for any nonsense and soon ironed out any issues the officers had. It wasn’t easy to pacify the staff as well as keep the inmates in line but Oliver was more than capable.

      ‘I’m OK,’ he said, though his colour hadn’t come back. He sat down with a heavy sigh and took a deep breath. ‘I think the main detective in charge has arrived.’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘They’ve sent DCI Matilda Darke. You’ve heard of her, I’m guessing.’

      ‘Isn’t she the one who couldn’t find Carl Meagan?’

      ‘That’s the one.’

      ‘Oh, bloody hell.’ Kate rolled her eyes.

      ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.’

      ‘It’s not that. I think the press like to follow DCI Darke around just to see if she’ll slip-up again. I don’t want them sniffing around here,’ she said, lowering her voice.

      ‘I think it’s safe to say the press are going to be crawling over each other to get here. What are we going to do, Kate?’

      ‘About what?’

      Oliver looked at her with a furrowed brow. Was she in denial about what had happened in the past few hours? ‘Ryan Asher has been murdered. We’ve got seven obvious suspects. Police and press are going to be swarming for days, weeks, months even. We’re going to be under some intense scrutiny.’

      Kate took a deep breath while she took his words on board. ‘Starling House has been open for almost twenty years. In that time, we have not had a single issue to bring this place into disrepute.