unfold before him.
He was grateful for Aunt Clara, who took him away from Sheffield, but once the residents and local press in Newcastle realized who he was, the gossip began, the phone calls began, and they were all after his version of the events.
Eventually it died down and Jonathan could grow up in the shadows, just like he wanted. Now, with the stiff cream envelope in his post box and the logo of the company he knew all too well, his nightmare was about to return. He had been expecting this day to come and now that it had he was surprised by how sanguine he was about it all. It was only a letter after all. What damage could a letter do?
Richards and Rigby Publishing
3 rd Floor Muse House
Swansea Avenue
London
EC1 2BF
December 3, 2014
Dear Jonathan,
I hope this letter finds you in the best of health. As I am sure you are aware your childhood home is due to be demolished in the coming days. I have already had many journalists contact me asking if I will be willing to write a feature on the demolition and a review of the murder of your parents.
Coincidently, next summer I will be releasing a new book titled ‘Britain’s Unsolved Murders’ and will be revisiting some of the crimes I have covered in the past. Naturally I would like the Harkness killings to be at the heart of the book.
I have spent time looking online and chatting to journalists and I see you have never told your story. You must realize that yours is a story worth telling and the whole country would certainly still be interested in reading it.
For your own convenience I can be up in Sheffield in just a couple of hours and we can discuss your story and fees in person. Please contact me as soon as possible so we can get the ball rolling.
Kind regards,
Charlie Johnson
Bloody Charlie Johnson! Would he ever be free from this man? And how the hell did he know he had moved back to Sheffield?
Jonathan took Charlie’s letter into the kitchen and set fire to it over the sink. He dropped the burning sheet and watched as the paper curled and the yellow flames destroyed the neatly printed letter. He turned on the cold-water tap and flushed the scorched scraps of paper down the plughole. He knew more letters would come.
He looked at the calendar on the kitchen wall and saw the red ring he’d drawn around tomorrow’s date. He took a deep breath as he felt a tightness in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to get through this.
Tomorrow was a big day. The house he had been brought up in was being demolished. It was the end of an era and, hopefully, a chance to put the ghosts to rest.
He intended to visit the house in Whirlow and watch as it was razed to the ground. He was unsure how he would feel about it. He was never one for showing his emotions, not even in private. He doubted he would cry. There was one worry he had about tomorrow which he could not seem to come to terms with; would his brother Matthew attend the demolition? He hoped not. He was absolutely certain he couldn’t cope with seeing him again.
Matilda Darke tried to make it out of the station without anyone seeing her. She wasn’t bothered about being accosted and forced into a hug and asked how she was feeling; she just didn’t want anyone to notice the files sticking out of the top of her bag.
As she made her way to the car park she sent a quick text to Adele apologizing for missing lunch and wondering if she was still free for a chat over coffee. The reply came almost instantly: COSTA ON DIVISION STREET. TEN MINUTES. YOU’RE BUYING. Matilda smiled to herself as she left the building. The smile dropped as she passed the Audi still in her parking space.
Costa on Division Street was in Sheffield’s City Centre, on the cusp of the student district. It was a large coffee shop with friendly baristas and comfortable seats. Adele was already waiting outside for her.
Adele Kean was the same age as Matilda, forty-one. She was a single mother with a son in his early twenties. Her short, sensible hair, and her eyes, were dark brown.
As soon as she saw Matilda she stepped forward and opened out her arms, scooping up her best friend and gripping her tight.
‘First day over with,’ she said quietly in her ear. ‘I knew you could do it.’
Matilda looked at her with a tear in each eye. ‘You knew more than me then. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve wanted to cry today.’
‘And did you?’
‘Not once.’
‘Good girl.’ Adele took a step back and held Matilda at arm’s length. ‘You look different, brighter, more relaxed.’
‘Well I don’t feel it. I actually feel physically drained. I’m shattered.’
‘No. You look years younger. There’s a sparkle in your eyes I haven’t seen in ages. Come on, let’s get those coffees and you can fill me in.’
Adele took the lead, linking arms, and heading into the warmth of the coffee shop. She went to find a seat while Matilda ordered; a large latte each, a mozzarella and tomato panini for Adele and a meatball one for herself. She slowly made her way with the drinks through the maze of armchairs to the back of the shop. Adele had already shrugged herself out of her knee-length cream duffel coat and was rubbing her hands together to warm up.
‘It’s a shame they don’t do a latte large enough to swim in,’ she said, taking the two-handled mug from the tray and cupping her hands around it.
‘I don’t know how you can drink as much caffeine as you do. I’d be bouncing off the walls.’
‘Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to drink vodka at work so I have to make do with caffeine. I need something to give me a kick when I’m elbow deep in dead bodies.’
Matilda shrugged herself out of her winter coat and hung it over the back of her chair.
‘That’s new,’ Adele said, commenting on her outfit.
‘Well I had to make a good impression for the first day back. Do you like it?’
‘It’s very professional.’
‘That’s a no then.’
‘Well it’s not what I would’ve chosen, but you look good in it.’
‘I’ve gone up a dress size.’ Matilda leaned forward and lowered her voice.
‘We all put on a bit of padding in the winter. It keeps us warm when
