Michael Wood - For Reasons Unknown

MICHAEL WOOD

an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

Killer Reads

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollins Publishers 2015

Copyright © Michael Wood 2015

Michael Wood asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers 2015

Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2015 ISBN: 9780008158668

Version 2020-01-23

To Mum

Thank you. For everything, thank you.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Read on extract from The Hangman’s Hold

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

It could have been any sitting room in any house throughout the country but it wasn’t. It was a room in the middle of South Yorkshire Police HQ, designed to give a relaxed, homely atmosphere. From the outside, it looked friendly and inviting, but if walls could talk they would tell a different story. Here, parentless children were comforted; victims of rape and sexual abuse were given tea and sympathy; and elderly victims of brutal crimes were consoled by fresh-faced WPCs with soothing tones and a never-ending supply of tissues.

Sitting on the floor was a blond, blue-eyed eleven-year-old boy dressed in a grey tracksuit that didn’t belong to him. He was surrounded by blank sheets of paper and an array of wax crayons, coloured pencils, and felt-tip pens. Squatting next to him was a young PC, who, against orders from his superiors, had not changed out of uniform.

The door opened and in walked Dr Sally McCartney. Unlike the PC, she had softened her appearance. Gone were the severe ponytail and conservative jacket. She had removed her glasses and suffered the anxiety of touching her eyes to put in contact lenses. She shot the PC a look of indignation. He could have at least taken off his uniform jacket.

‘Hello Jonathan,’ she said. The young boy didn’t look up from his drawings. ‘My name is Sally. I’ve come to have a chat with you if that’s all right?’

He continued to scribble on the paper. Sally McCartney knelt down to his level and looked over his shoulder. He had drawn a house and was colouring in a large tree next to it.

‘Is this your house?’

Jonathan nodded.

‘It’s very nice. That’s a lovely tree too. Do you climb it?’ No reply. ‘Which room is yours?’

He pointed to the top right window with the blue curtains, then went back to colouring in the tree.

‘Is the room next to yours your brother’s?’

He nodded again.

‘Jonathan, we’ve been looking for your brother but we can’t seem to find him. Do you know where he might be?’

Jonathan stopped drawing and looked up as if in thought. He looked across to Dr McCartney and fixed her with an expressionless stare, then returned his attention back to his drawing.

‘Jonathan, we need to find your brother. It’s very important. Do you know any of his friends?’

The door opened and Detective Sergeant Pat Campbell popped her head into the room. She looked haggard, having been on duty for more than twenty hours. She signalled for Dr McCartney to join her in the corridor.

‘Why didn’t that PC change out of his bloody uniform as I told him to?’ she asked before the DS could speak.

‘I don’t know. He should have done.’ The DS sighed and looked to the ceiling. ‘Has the boy said anything?’

‘Not yet.’

‘It is paramount we find his brother.’

‘I heard that his mother was still alive. How is she?’

‘I don’t know where you heard that from. Both parents were pronounced dead at the scene. They were hacked to death.’

‘Jesus. Well he doesn’t need to know any of that. Not now at any rate.’

‘We’ve managed to locate a relative in Newcastle. She’s coming straight down, but it’ll be a few hours before she gets here. Look, whatever happened in that house, he saw it, or at least heard it, and I need to know.’

‘I’m aware of that.’

Pat Campbell looked over the doctor’s shoulder, through the narrow glass window in the door, and into the room at the young boy drawing as if nothing extraordinary had happened. ‘How does he seem?’

‘He’s in a complete shutdown, which isn’t uncommon. When it comes to anything traumatic sometimes our brain takes time to come to terms with it and until it does, it shuts down. It’s a self-preservation thing.’

‘So he’ll soon come out of…whatever this is, and be able to tell us what happened?’

‘In theory, yes.’

‘Why only in theory?’

‘Depending on what he saw his brain may not want him to remember.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Campbell said, leaning back against the wall for support. ‘What’s with the drawings?’

‘It’s a way of helping young children come to terms with what they’ve witnessed. Whatever they draw is usually an indication of what’s going on in their heads. Hopefully it will help to understand what went on in that house, and then we can take our therapy from there.’

‘And what’s he drawn so far?’

‘He’s drawn his house with a tree next to it.’

‘Does that tell you anything significant?’

‘Not yet,’ she half smiled. ‘It’s early days. He’s clearly looking at what happened from the outside. If his next drawing is also a house, I’ll ask him about the inside and see what he draws when I talk about the rooms in the house.’