For Reasons Unknown. Michael Wood
son, Jonathan, had been left to his own devices and was getting changed in his bedroom. However, he still wasn’t dressed with only fifteen minutes before they had to leave. His mother harshly chastised him to stop playing with his Lego and get dressed.
The Harkness family never made it to the carol concert. Their absence was noticed by many.
After the children had finished singing, a reading was given and the vicar spent ten minutes congratulating everyone involved for such a splendid evening. He then went on to read out the events due to take place over the next few days culminating in midnight Mass on Christmas Eve followed by a very special service on Christmas morning. In the hall at the back of the church, a buffet had been laid on by the Women’s Guild. Once everyone had aired their views on the angelic singing and choice of carols, the conversation turned to the absence of Stefan and Miranda Harkness.
On her way home from the concert, family friend Aoife Quinn drove to the Harkness’s house in Whirlow to see why they hadn’t attended. When she arrived the house was in darkness apart from one room at the back of the house, Jonathan’s bedroom. Ms Quinn knocked on the front door several times without any reply before going to the back of the house and knocking on the kitchen door. Again, she received no answer. She looked up at the window, seeing the light seeping through the gap in the curtains; she knew something was wrong. She tried the handle but the door was locked. She could not leave and go home without finding out what, if anything, had happened. Aoife crossed the road to neighbour Andrea Bickerstaff, and asked if she had a spare key. She did but they decided to phone the house first rather than just walk in. Andrea admitted she had not seen any member of the Harkness family leave the house since Miranda had come home earlier in the afternoon. She telephoned and waited as it rang continuously. The answering machine was not turned on; something Miranda always did when they left the house. It was obvious something was amiss. By now it was almost ten o’clock. Andrea Bickerstaff joined Aoife Quinn and together they went back across the road. Andrea only had a key to the back door. As she put the key in the lock she found there was an obstruction. She forced the key hard and a clang was heard on the other side. A key was already in the lock and Andrea had pushed it out. Andrea went in first and made her way through the ground floor of the house, first calling out for Miranda and then for Stefan. Aoife followed and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Sitting on the top step was eleven-year-old Jonathan. He was pale and cold and in a state of undress. Aoife called Andrea over and they both looked up at the boy. He was unresponsive to their calls. Aoife walked up the stairs slowly and tried to get the boy’s attention. She asked if he was all right and where his parents were, but he did not reply. Eventually, she was close enough to see the dried blood on his hands. Fearing the worst, she instructed Andrea to take Jonathan downstairs but not to touch anything or allow him to wash his hands. Tentatively, she placed a comforting arm around his bony shoulders and eased him up. She almost had to carry him down the stairs. Once they were out of sight, Aoife continued her climb. She had been in the house many times before and knew her way around. At the top of the stairs she turned left and entered the main bedroom where Stefan and Miranda slept. She was stopped in her tracks by the sight of horror which opened out before her. Stefan was slumped over his desk. He was dressed in a white shirt, black socks and black boxer shorts. His back was covered in blood. He had been stabbed once in the back of the neck. A pool of blood surrounded him on the floor. Aoife steadied herself by putting a hand on the door frame. After a moment to compose herself she walked further into the room. Her eyes were drawn to the high blood sprays on the wall and ceiling above the bed. As she made her way around the bed she saw Miranda on the floor. She was dressed in a conservative floor-length ivy-coloured dress. It was soaked in her blood and torn where the knife had cut through to slash at her body. She had been stabbed eight times in the chest and fourteen times in the back. Aoife was brought back to reality from her state of shock by Andrea calling from the bottom of the stairs. She wanted to know what was happening. Aoife quickly ran out of the room and said they needed to call the police.
A murder investigation was launched and Jonathan was taken to hospital. He had no physical injuries but he was unresponsive. He did not react to any test by doctors and did not blink when a light was shone in his eyes. He was in a catatonic state. He was placed in a private room at Sheffield’s Children’s Hospital and guarded by a police officer who stayed with him all night. A missing person investigation was simultaneously launched to seek the whereabouts of fifteen-year-old Matthew Harkness. Neighbours saw him leave the house that morning to go to school but nobody remembered him coming home. In the days that followed, police investigated the lives of the Harkness family both personal and professional. Media interest was high and the story had the whole country gripped. Stefan’s sister Clara came down from Newcastle to look after Jonathan, who, after three days, had not uttered a word. Matthew was still missing.
‘I don’t like this,’ Rory said, putting the book down.
‘What? Is it badly written?’
‘Not just this book, the whole true crime thing. I find it gruesome. It’s so detailed and graphic. And another thing, how did Charlie Johnson know all the little details, like Jonathan’s mum shouting at him for playing Lego? Who told him that?’
‘I thought the same thing. Maybe he’s just using creative licence. Have you noticed what’s missing out of all of these files?’
‘No. What?’
‘A statement from Jonathan.’
‘Well, he went mute didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but for how long? Surely he started speaking again at some point. There’s a psychiatric report on him suffering from shock but that’s it. From the file’s point of view his aunt took him back with her to Newcastle and that’s it. I’m beginning to see why this case was never solved.’
Rory went back to reading the book, his lips moving slightly over each word. ‘Do you have those photographs of Jonathan taken at the scene?’
Matilda had been reading the post-mortem reports. She lifted a folder and then another, eventually finding the pack of pictures he wanted.
Rory rifled through them. He was unfazed by the blood-stained bed, the saturated carpet, and blood-spattered ceiling. Towards the back of the pack he found the pictures of Jonathan he was looking for.
Jonathan had been dressed like his father: white shirt, underwear but no trousers. They were caught by their attacker unawares. The pictures of the eleven-year-old showed him with a blank expression on his face. His hands were red with drying blood.
‘What do you make of this?’ He held up one of the photographs and waited while Matilda marked her place in the report with a Post-it note. She took the picture from him and studied it carefully.
‘What am I looking at?’
‘His hands.’
‘OK. Go on.’
‘Why are his hands covered in blood?’
‘Put yourself in his position, Rory; he’s just found his parents dead, he’s frightened. What does any small boy want when he’s frightened? His mum. He’ll have run over to her and tried to rouse her in some way. Of course his hands are going to be covered in their blood.’
‘Yes, fair enough. It wasn’t long after Stefan was killed before Miranda was killed. If Jonathan had gone into the bedroom then surely the killer was still in there too. Why didn’t the killer murder Jonathan as well as his parents?’
Matilda frowned. ‘Maybe the killer’s gripe wasn’t with Jonathan. Maybe it was all about the parents.’
‘But Jonathan must have seen the killer if he’d gone into the room.’
‘Well, according to Jonathan’s aunt, his mother came up the stairs and saw Jonathan on the landing with blood on him. He’d obviously gone into the bedroom and come back out again.’ She thought for a moment and then continued. ‘Remember back to when you were a kid and you wanted your parents’ attention? You don’t just walk into the room and wait until you’re allowed to speak; you call for them on your way to the room don’t you?’
‘I