a weekend break here if you like?’
Adele picked up the nearest novel. ‘So how is the humble pathologist represented in crime fiction then? Am I a maverick who works outside the rules to nail the killer at any cost?’
‘No. You’re either grumpy, moody or an alcoholic.’
‘Oh, not like me at all then,’ she smiled.
By the time the evening was at an end, Adele was in no fit state to drive so Matilda said she could stay over. Adele went up to one of the spare rooms while Matilda went around the ground floor to make sure all the windows and doors were locked. As she whispered goodnight to James in their wedding photograph on the mantelpiece, she shed a tear. Every night, she cried for the man she loved who had been taken from her far too soon.
The following morning, Matilda was woken to the unfamiliar sound of life going on in another part of the house. It had taken her a long time to adjust to living on her own after James’s death, especially as James had been a noisy bugger. She had discovered new sounds – the clocks ticking, the fridge humming, and the house settling. At first, they scared her: they were the sounds of loneliness. Now, she was used to them.
As Matilda descended the stairs she recognized the noise straight away – Adele was on her treadmill. She went into the conservatory to see Adele running at speed; yet she didn’t have a hair out of place and there was just a hint of sweat on her forehead.
‘This is actually quite a good treadmill. I might have to get one myself.’
‘I thought you enjoyed going to the gym?’
‘I do. Especially when that Scottish bloke is working there. I love a man with a Scottish accent.’
‘You’re a tart, Adele. Are you nearly finished? I’d like to get 5k in before work.’
‘Almost.’
Matilda stood back and watched while Adele slowed down to a trot. She turned the machine off.
‘I just did 5k,’ she said, barely out of breath.
‘How long did it take you?’
‘Twenty-two minutes,’ she said, reading the display. ‘What are you on?’
‘I can’t remember off the top of my head,’ Matilda replied, trying hard not to be jealous that Adele was ten minutes faster.
The phone started ringing just as Matilda stretched her limbs.
‘Would you like me to get it?’ Adele asked.
‘Please.’
By the time Adele returned, Matilda was trotting on the treadmill to give her legs the chance to wake up properly. Her left leg felt a bit stiff this morning.
‘Matilda, you’re not going to believe this …’ Adele began. The look on her face said it all.
Matilda turned off the treadmill. ‘What’s happened?’
‘There’s been a murder.’
‘Someone I know?’
‘What? No, nothing like that. An inmate at Starling House has been killed.’
There was nothing Matilda could say. Starling House was a bone of contention for Sheffield. Everyone would prefer that it was closed down. They hated the fact their city was synonymous with a home for evil young boys. This could be the answer to their prayers.
‘How long has Starling House been open, now?’ Adele asked from the front passenger seat of Matilda’s silver Ford Focus.
‘I’ve no idea. Mid ’90s wasn’t it?’
‘Something like that. Have you ever been inside?’
‘No. I know people aren’t too happy about it being used as a prison. However, there’s never been any trouble – no riots, no break-outs, no deliberate fires or anything.’
‘Until now.’
Matilda looked across at Adele. ‘The press are going to have a field day, aren’t they?’
‘They certainly are. If this isn’t a hot topic I don’t know what is.’
Matilda turned down Limb Lane. With drystone walls and tall trees on each side, they were plunged into darkness as the thick branches blocked out the autumn sun. On the right was farmland, on the left was an open playing field. Matilda indicated left and they turned onto a dirt track. The car struggled over the cavernous potholes and breaks in the single lane road. They pulled up at the security gates, and Matilda leaned out of the window to press the intercom.
‘Yes?’ asked a tired voice.
‘DCI Matilda Darke from South Yorkshire Police and Doctor Adele Kean.’
There was no reply, just a long wait while the gates slowly opened. The second set of gates were already wide open to avoid any delay to the emergency vehicles.
At the end of the long drive, a fleet of marked and unmarked police cars, along with a Crime Scene Investigation van were parked haphazardly. All vehicles were empty. As Matilda pulled up, DC Rory Fleming stepped out of the building as if he had been waiting just inside the door. Always the gentleman, Rory opened the door for her.
‘Good morning, Rory.’
‘Morning, boss. Nice day off yesterday?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘You know, I’ve never taken much notice of this building before. It’s gorgeous. Have you seen those gargoyles?’ He looked up at the imposing building and marvelled at the intricate architecture. ‘According to one of the staff, this place was built in—’
‘Perhaps we can save the history lesson for another time, Rory. I’ve been told there’s a little matter of a dead body?’
‘Yes, sorry. He’s through here. Follow me.’
Rory led the way with a scowling Matilda and a smiling Adele following.
This was the closest Matilda had ever been to Starling House. Up close it was an ugly, dark, crumbling building. The brickwork was gnarled from centuries of harsh Yorkshire weather battering it. The features on the gargoyles had almost been rubbed away; yet their unwelcoming stare and toothy grins were frighteningly detailed. Matilda turned to look at an upstairs room and saw a curtain twitch. Alfred Hitchcock would have loved this place.
‘Where are all the inmates?’ she asked as she looked around the large open foyer, finding nobody.
‘There are currently only eight boys staying here – well, seven now – and they’re all in the dining room.’
‘Staff?’
‘The
