‘The first thing you were told upon being released from prison was that you must never contact Thomas Downy,’ Amy said quietly yet firmly.
‘I know that. But when you’re desperate you’ll do anything.’
Matilda was reminded of the inmates of Starling House and the crimes they had committed. Some of them found themselves in desperate situations and felt murder was the only solution. It could happen to anyone. That thought sent a chill straight through her. Was she capable of murder given the situation? She hoped not.
‘How did you know where to find him?’ Amy asked.
‘He was in the newspaper. I can’t remember the story, something about a protest over immigration. There was a group of people standing in front of a banner. I recognized him straightaway.’
‘But you hadn’t seen him since you were both thirteen. You went to different Young Offender Institutes. Surely he’d changed?’
‘It may have been thirty years but some things don’t change. The eyes never change,’ Samuel said. He was smiling. He seemed to be enjoying his audience.
Amy was disgusted. ‘The newspaper wouldn’t have given his address though.’
‘No. The protest was in Heaton Park in Manchester. The picture that went with the article had the names of the people in it. He was calling himself Daniel Hartley now. He wasn’t too difficult to find.’
‘So what did you do?’ Matilda asked. ‘Did you just knock on his door and ask if he wanted to reminisce about old times?’
‘No, nothing like that. I had to do my homework. I found him, followed him, worked out his routine. He’d done all right for himself. He was married, had a nice house, new-ish car, two kids. He was fit and healthy, wore designer clothes, cufflinks, the latest mobile phone. To look at him you wouldn’t have thought he’d helped butcher an innocent child.’
Samuel’s words were making Matilda and Amy uncomfortable. They tried not to make it obvious but it was difficult. He was revelling in his captive audience. He appeared to have no remorse over the killing of Felix Myers and would probably have given them an intricate account of the gruesome murder if they’d asked. He really was a disturbed individual.
‘One evening he pulled up outside his house and got out of the car. I’d been waiting for him all day. I was freezing. I called his name, his new name, and he turned around. You should have seen the look on his face when he saw me.’ Samuel laughed as he relived the memory. ‘He recognized me straightaway. It’s like I said, the eyes are a giveaway.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He was full of questions: What do you want? How did you find me? What are you doing here? He was stuttering and sweating and practically pissed himself. I told him I wanted to talk, that it was important. He told me to meet him at the bus station in an hour.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yeah. We went for a drive. We were driving for ages and didn’t say a word. I could see he was seething; he was itching to ask me all kinds of questions but he didn’t know where to start. We drove into the middle of nowhere. I think we were on the moors or something.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘I told him straight – I needed money.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He asked how much, and I told him a grand a month would be good to start with. He said he couldn’t afford that, and he saw no reason why he should give me any money at all. I told him he had three good reasons – his wife and two kids. He called me a few names, which I won’t tell you as they were pretty harsh. He said he’d give me two grand right there but I had to promise to fuck off and not come back.’
‘Did you agree to that?’
‘Two grand’s better than nothing. We went back to Manchester. He went into a bank and got the cash. He drove me to the bus station and practically threw me out of the car.’
‘Please tell me that was the last you saw of him,’ Amy said. She was still in blind hope that it was the extent of Samuel’s breaking of the rules.
‘Not exactly.’ he grinned. ‘I went back a few weeks later.’
SEVENTY
While Faith concentrated on driving through another heavy rain storm, Christian and Sian were busy with their mobile phones.
Christian had tried to call Matilda three times; each time it went straight to voicemail. On the fourth attempt he left a message. His voice was terse and there was anger behind his words. ‘Matilda, it’s Christian. I really need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Call me immediately.’
In the back seat, Sian was feeling guilty. She should have lied and pretended she had no idea where Matilda was. Why did she say she was still grieving over her husband? She thought she knew Christian. She thought he was one of the good guys who would understand what Matilda was going through. Surely, he wouldn’t use her fragility to further his career? With nervous, shaking fingers, Sian sent Matilda a series of text messages. All of which went unanswered:
I told Brady you were taking some time out. Thought he’d understand. Typical bloke he doesn’t. Sorry.
Brady has been trying to ring you. He’s pissed off. Think he might go to ACC.
You need to ring me, Mat. We’ve found John Preston. You’re not going to believe this.
Brady, me and Faith are going to Starling House. Brady is seriously pissed. You need to get here Mat. Where are you???
As the car turned into the grounds of Starling House, Sian looked at her phone one more time. It was five o’clock and almost dark. There were still no messages from Matilda. She looked around the headrest to see Christian also staring at his phone as if willing it to ring. Was he worried he would mess up without Matilda or was he angry she had abandoned him when the
