Page 16 of Glasshouses

“What is it?” He was checking his phone on his desk.

“Do you know who your replacement’s going to be yet?” I’d heard rumours about who was taking over as our DI. It was a key position, one that I knew a lot of DS’s were interested in, as well as rumours that other current DI’s wanted to move over.

“I do. You’ll find out in a couple of weeks.”

“Why not earlier?”

“They’re finishing up on a case; it wouldn’t help that if it was known they were moving.” He sat down at his desk and folded his arms. “Mia, Lily Goodhew was trouble. She’d been picked up by local cops a dozen times at least before the fire. There were charges of shoplifting and vandalism, and she’d been brought home in a police van a couple of times when she’d drank that much alcohol she couldn’t walk.”

“Had she previously started a fire?”

“No.” He sighed. “But not everyone follows the same pattern. Maybe she had and it just wasn’t picked up.”

“True. Why did she behave that way?” Because it wasn’t just because she was bad or naughty. There was always a reason.

Wrigley shrugged. “They said she was disturbed. Her parents always appeared caring and supportive and they seemed to not know what to do with her. Social care had just gotten involved – I think the school had referred them. The family were well thought of and the boys were no trouble at all. Don’t discount Lily. I know she came across like she’d been at a finishing school yesterday, but don’t be fooled. Leopards and spots and all that.” He looked at the door that was now being opened with some force and Vinny rushed in.

“We’ve got Dean Monroe, Sir. You might want to come down to the custody suite.” Vinny was out of breath and flushed.

Wrigley was up and away from his desk, Lily Goodhew forgotten in the midst of one of Manchester’s finest a hair’s breadth from being locked down for some time.

I made the decision to go through the old case notes first, even if it was an initial skim through. Lachy and I sat down with a couple of fancy fresh juices and our laptops, splitting folders between us to digest what we could in a couple of hours before we went to Amanda’s house.

I’d always been a good student. I’d grown up on Anglesey in a small town by the sea, living with two foster parents after my mother was arrested on a variety of charges. I’d wanted to please them, to not be a bother so I could carry on living there. I’d figured that love was conditional and they spent time showing me it wasn’t, but I still needed to prove to them and then to me that I was worthwhile, so I’d been an excellent student, flying through exams and making my way to university for my degree and then a masters. I learned to read quickly and take it in, which left me more time for running and climbing and Muay Thai. Movement helped me process, staying still for too long made me twitchy and irritable.

This morning would need to be a blend of the two.

“She didn’t speak.” Lachy pushed his chair away from his desk. In a minute he’d start to spin on it, which was his brain’s way of helping him regulate. “From being arrested, she refused to speak. She offered us access to all the files on her – should we not ask for those now?”

“We have nothing to connect her apart from a crime she was convicted for. She’s done the time. If we’d seen her leave the house on Monday night then yes, absolutely, but we can’t let this look like a witch hunt.” Although I could sense the pressure from Wrigley to pin this on Lily Mayhew.

Lachy spun the chair around a couple of times.

“I wish they’d built outside gym equipment nearby.” I glanced over to the window as if it would magically appear. “You need a roundabout.”

“I used to love roundabouts as a kid. I’d make myself sick going round that fast.” He spun again.

“Colour me surprised. Okay, what evidence did the jury convict on?” Lachy had been going through the court transcripts. I was starting with the reports from the responding officers and working my way through to forensics.

“She was found with petrol on her hands, curled up in a graveyard two miles away from home, barefoot and wearing a nightdress. It was nine degrees outside – she must’ve been freezing.” He shook his head. “The irony. That was pretty much it. There were statements about her behaviour in school and in the community. She was on the verge of being permanently excluded from the private school she attended due to refusal to attend lessons and truancy. Other parents were saying she was a bad influence. One of the teachers gave a statement about their concerns for her welfare, that they suspected something was happening to her outside of school that was causing her to display this behaviour.”

“A cry for help.”

“Pretty much. There were statements from family friends about how difficult she was at home.” He was back staring at the screen. “What was the name of Micky’s wife?”

“Ursula. Why?”

“Because Ursula Lamond was one of the witnesses who described Lily’s behaviour at home. She said, and I quote ‘Lily was volatile in the house. She would deliberately play music at night as loud as possible stopping her parents from sleeping. She was deliberately untidy and also refused to look after her hygiene. I don’t know why her parents didn’t have her put into care.’ What a lovely take on a fourteen year old girl.” He stretched backwards in the chair.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Where to?”

“Coffee shop. Or somewhere that has something drinkable that doesn’t have caffeine in it.”

“A pub?”

“Too early and I need to keep my job. I have a mortgage.” I was fascinated with how the word mortgage contained mort, a homage to death of some sorts.