A Room Full of Killers: A gripping crime thriller with twists you won’t see coming

‘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. Yes, we have a high turnover of staff, and, yes, there have been some problems, but we have always managed to sort them out internally and with the highest professional standards.’

Kate’s voice crackled with tension and nerves. She may have said the words but did she believe them herself?

‘Kate, I don’t want to speak out of line here, but you’re going to need to practise that speech a few more times before the detectives turn up.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You sound like you’re giving a statement you don’t believe. You sound like you’re hiding something.’

Kate’s eyes widened. ‘I have nothing to hide,’ she said with severe conviction.

‘What about Elly Caine?’

‘Elly Caine has no bearing on what has happened.’

‘If the police don’t dig her up then the press will. You know they’ll go over everything with a fine-tooth comb. They’ll want to tear this place apart.’

‘Oliver—’

A knock on the door silenced Kate. The manager and head of officers looked at each other. They both recognized the heavy knock of an official. There was a detective behind the door. The nightmare was about to begin.

‘Come in,’ Kate managed to force out despite her rapidly drying throat.

The door opened and a dishevelled-looking woman entered followed by what seemed to be a male model.

‘I’m DCI Darke and this is DC Fleming from South Yorkshire Police. Kate Moloney?’

‘That’s right. Please, come on in. Can I get you a drink of tea or something?’