Page 22 of Glasshouses

There was a gate through to the neighbour and landlord’s garden, and I made a note to ask them if they’d allow forensics to check in there too. There were things in the fridge and freezer, and in the cupboards that I couldn’t see having originated from this garden.

“I think I’ve found something, Mia,” Verity stuck her head out of the shed, which hadn’t been locked.

“What?”

“A pot of keys but they look old. Come see – I don’t want to touch them.”

I headed over to the shed. “Why would she keep them somewhere that wasn’t locked up?”

“They were shoved at the back in this box. I only noticed where they were because I saw a spider and wanted to see where it had headed off to. Not keen on spiders.” She used the torch on her phone to illuminate a wooden box behind a stack of nursery pots.

I picked up the box and opened the lid, seeing the keys amongst small jars that were brown with age, containing something that looked like baby teeth.

“She’s only been here six years. These were either left here by the previous tenant or she brought them with her. Looks like a keepsake box with her children’s first teeth.”

“The previous tenant was the landlady’s daughter. She lived here with her son, but moved in with her new partner. I think the neighbour bought this house so her daughter could be close so she could help with the baby without them living together. The box could be hers.” Verity rattled the fact off like it was a test.

“Do you remember everything?”

“Almost. Anyway, I doubt these were her daughter’s, and the shed’s quite new.” She looked up at the roof. “There’s another spider. I think we should leave this to forensics.”

I agreed, wondering if we were searching around for leads so hard that we were uncovering rabbit holes that would take us nowhere.

The retired DCI Jones lived in the village next to Harrowclough, in a large home that was once a farmhouse. I chose to go on my own because I didn’t want this to feel formal, like I was reinvestigating the original fire or Lily’s conviction, and I also had a feeling – based on what I’d heard through the twisted grapevine that was threaded through the Fishbowl, he didn’t think much of female detectives, which meant he’d underestimate me.

“Mia, is it?” he said as he answered the door. “I can always tell a copper by the way they walk up to a house.”

“Really?” I stepped into a house that had last been decorated a couple of decades ago. “Thank you for sparing the time to speak with me.”

“It’s not a problem. I believe young Lily has got herself into a spot of bother again.” He saw me through to a lounge with a leather sofa and chair, coffee table in the middle. An empty mug was on the table, not on a coaster, and I wondered if he was living here by himself.

“We don’t know yet. The only link with Lily and the fire two nights ago is the previous fire and her mother being the victim. We’ve nothing to connect her with this crime.” I sat down in one of the chairs, the nearest to the door out of habit.

“It’ll have been her. She’d have wanted to finish the job.” He nodded, so sure of himself.

“Maybe you can help then. I’ve started to go through the case from seventeen years ago, but I wonder if you could summarise it. How Lily presented, what you thought her motive was, how she might’ve gotten hold of the accelerants.” I gave him what I thought was a winning smile and hated myself for it.

Jones stretched his legs out, pressing a button on the sofa so it tipped back, and made himself comfortable, like he was getting ready to tell me a bedtime story. “Lily was wild. Shoplifting, vandalism and underage drinking. I’d seen her in the station a couple of times for shoplifting, and once we’d brought her in to keep her safe while she sobered up – she was asleep on a bench in the town centre. Her parents were good people; kept themselves to themselves apart from being known for helping out those worse off – Amanda Goodhew would take home cooked meals to anyone who was on their own or too sick to cook, that sort of thing, and her husband used to have a gardening business – all cash in hand but he said he files his taxes. A few of the elderly ladies he’d do for free, help them out a bit and all that. I don’t know what they’d done to deserve Lily.

“We got the call about the fire at three in the morning. It was anonymous and the call handler thought the person was disguising their voice. She couldn’t tell if it was male or female but she thought they were young. All they said was ‘the Goodhews are on fire’. A fire engine went out straightaway and the building was knackered. They went it to try and save the family, but only Amanda was alive. She’d been in the living room when the fire took hold, asleep on the sofa. The eldest son was in the kitchen; he wasn’t meant to be at home – we think he’d snuck in because he was meant to be staying at a friend’s house but for some reason left in the middle of the night. We never found out why. The dad was in the little boy’s bedroom; we think he’d gone in to try and get him out of the house, but the fire trapped them in the room and they couldn’t get out of the window. Lily wasn’t there. Some officers went out on foot and combed the area, finding her in a church graveyard, hiding next to one of the mausoleums where she’d have been sheltered. She was wearing a nightdress – it was really old fashioned, I seem to remember, and her hands smelled of petrol. She never said anything. Didn’t speak one word from the moment we found her to when she appeared in court.” He pressed another button on the chair and eased himself up. “Do you want a drink? Tea?”

“Tea would be great, thanks. Just milk, no sugar.”

I didn’t follow him to the kitchen, having no desire to see what it was like or potentially be in an even smaller enclosed space. I looked around the room, seeing some photos, possibly of his children and grandchildren, one of him on his wedding day. Maybe Mrs Jones was still about.

He returned with a teapot, jug of milk and a plate of biscuits on a tray with a couple of mugs. “The missus would kill me if I didn’t use a teapot for guests.”

“Where is Mrs Jones?”

“She’s gone on a cruise with her sister, so I imagine she’s currently buying a load of tat from whatever tourist trap they’ve stopped off at.” He laughed at himself. “Oh well, I’ve no one to nag me for watching the cricket all day.”

I softened slightly towards him, seeing a man who was stuck in his ways and probably reliant on a woman without realising it.

“When’s she back?”

“Four more days. Then my peace will be shattered.” He poured the tea. It was a little weak but was more drinkable now I’d seen another side to him.

“Have you been together long?” I accepted my cup, pouring my own milk.