A Room Full of Killers by Michael Wood (spanish books to read .TXT) 📕

‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t get many letters so I like to keep the ones I do get. Would you like to see them?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘OK. They’re upstairs. You’ll wait here, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

Debbie shot out of the room and bounded up the stairs like an excited puppy. While she was gone, Pat took the opportunity to have a snoop around. There was an old veneer wall unit in the corner of the room. She opened one of the drawers which was chock-full of paperwork, bills mostly, by the look of them. The next one down was an odds-and-ends drawer. The third one held more paperwork – this time more interesting. The headings on the letters were of a firm of solicitors based in Cornwall. Underneath them was an old passport. Pat looked inside at the photograph of a young girl. Her face was round and her eyes were bright and sparkling. The passport had expired years ago and was in the name of Catherine Downy.

The sound of Debbie charging down the stairs made Pat cease her search and quickly return to the sofa. Debbie entered, red-faced and flustered.

‘Sorry I was a while; I couldn’t remember where I put them.’ She held aloft a battered cardboard shoe box. ‘I keep everything in here. It’s my treasure box. I’ve got postcards from Daniel and Laura when they went on holiday without me and pebbles and shells from the beach and tickets from the cinema when I was first allowed to take Thomas and Ruby on my own. I love the Toy Story films, don’t you?’ she asked, looking at the ticket stubs with wide eyes.

‘Yes, I do,’ Pat replied. Or, she used to before she had to endure them over and over again with her grandchildren.

‘I’ve had four letters from Thomas. Here you go.’ She handed them over carefully as if they were fragile objects.

‘Thank you. Would it be possible to have that hot chocolate now?’ Pat asked.

Debbie’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, yes, of course you can. I’ll join you if you don’t mind.’

‘No, I don’t mind.’

‘That’s great.’ Debbie jumped up from the sofa. ‘I’ll go and make them then.’

Pat waited until Debbie was out of the room before she opened the envelopes and took out the letters. Each one was only a single page long. She lined them up neatly on the coffee table and took out her iPhone. She selected the camera, turned on the flash as it was so gloomy in the living room, and began taking photos of each of the letters. Front and back. She had taken shots of the first two when the door to the living room was thrown open.

‘Would you like little marshmallows in your hot chocolate?’

‘Yes, please,’ Pat said, frozen to the spot. Had she been caught?

‘OK. I’ve got pink ones and white ones.’ She left the room in the same whirlwind she entered.

Pat blew out her cheeks and quickly took photos of the remaining letters before turning her phone to silent and placing it back in her inside jacket pocket.

The letters were written simply. Thomas had received a good education and had excelled at English. He had purposely written in a childlike language for the benefit of his aunt.

Dear Auntie Debbie,

I hoped you would have come to see me while I waited to find out how long I have to go to prison for. I really want to see you and tell you face to face what happened. They said I was guilty. They said I killed mum and dad and Ruby but I didn’t. I couldn’t have. You know how much I loved them all, how much I still love them. I haven’t done anything wrong yet I’m going to be locked up in prison for a very long time. I want you to come and visit me, Auntie Debbie. I need someone to talk to, someone who knows me, and you’re the only person left who really knows me.

My solicitor says that when I am sentenced I will most likely be going to a place called Starling House in Sheffield. Sheffield isn’t far from Manchester. It’s only about an hour or so on the train. You could come and visit me there.

I’m sorry you’ve been left on your own but if we see each other, send letters, talk on the phone, then we won’t be alone, will we?

I hope you come and see me soon.

Love,

Thomas.

THIRTY-FIVE

Matilda was alone in the boardroom of Starling House. Most of the work to be done by the detectives could be done back at HQ, and Sian and Rory were around somewhere having a more informal chat with the staff. Matilda was left with her thoughts – never a good idea for Matilda.

She looked out of the window at the grey sky. Both sets of security gates were closed and there was no one around. News of Ryan Asher’s death had obviously not been revealed yet or the press would have arrived by now. Matilda was grateful for that, although slightly suspicious at their absence.

Her mind kept returning to Thomas Hartley. She had sent a text message to Pat Campbell to see how she was getting on in Manchester but hadn’t received a reply. She knew she should be concentrating on the Asher case, but she couldn’t. An innocent boy was living in this prison and that was causing her great distress. She wondered where he was right now: the library, the gym, the dining room? Wherever he was, he was with six other boys who had either admitted their violent crimes or accepted their fate. Thomas didn’t fit into either of those categories. He was trapped in a building full of killers and nobody seemed to care. Nobody except Matilda.

‘Snap out of it,’ she told herself.

She turned away from the window and went back to the desk she was working at. The file Kate Moloney had given her on Elly Caine was open and the woman in question was staring up at her with