Page 30 of Glasshouses

“You don’t buy what she told us?”

“I think it was a sales pitch. She remembers a lot more, she just doesn’t want to tell us.” He started the car, the engine purring. He tapped the side of the door, thinking. “Let’s get to the school where Lily went, find whoever was safeguarding lead at the time and see what their take was and whether they were aware of The Holding and any other children involved. It was the school who raised a concern with social services.”

“And you don’t just do that because of behaviour. We agree that this fire is connected to the one seventeen years ago but do you still think Lily is responsible for the fire at Micky Mulligans?”

“So did she strangle her mother?” He indicated and drove off slowly and carefully. “I’m not ruling her out, Mac.”

“But her CCTV shows that she didn’t leave the building other than to put her bins out.” I’d had an email from the tech team to say they were sure the footage hadn’t been doctored and dates hadn’t been changed.

“There’d still be a way out of the property, and she knows exactly what ground the cameras cover. I’d like to search her house and wherever she uses as a store for her plants and equipment – do we know where that is?” He shot daggers into my neck.

“It’s on Carly’s to find out list. We really could do with a few more DCs on this, sir. It’s not as straightforward as we thought it was going to be. With almost nothing online it’s going back to old fashioned policing.” I wondered if this was how slow policing had been in the eighties and nineties, before you could find out who was friends with who just by clicking.

“Less of the old.” He sighed, slowing down for lights that were still on green. “I’ll see who we can pull from Operation Hawthorn, or if any of the other teams have someone going spare. Carly’s meant to be going back to her base on Monday, so I’ll see if we can keep her for a bit longer.” A chuckle. “It doesn’t matter if I fuck the budget up; it won’t be my problem in three weeks.”

“It’ll mean we’re shorter on another case later though.” It would be my problem, because we’d end up either under pressure to produce results when we didn’t have resources, or I’d end up working for free.

“Like I said, I won’t be around. I’ll be either at the cricket club, or on a cruise.”

“With all due respect, I can’t imagine you on a cruise, sir.” I looked out of the passenger window, not wanting to see Wrigley’s expression.

“I’m not sure I can, but the missus has it all planned out.” He was quiet for a moment. “You could speak with someone from Lily’s support team. She’ll still have sessions with a psychiatrist. See what they can tell you in general about her life before the Goodhew fire.”

“I’ll add it to the list.”

“I’ll get you more bodies.” He shook his head. “This is going to be one of those cases that takes time. It’s a slow burn.”

“You don’t think we’ll solve it?”

“I’m not saying that, just it might rely on a sudden breakthrough and you never know when they’re going to come.”

“Like another death.”

“Or fire. It might not have been personal.”

“The strangulation suggests otherwise. I don’t think we’ve missed out considering those angles. I think it is connected to what happened seventeen years ago.” I’d put my mortgage on it.

Chapter Eleven

I didn’t hang around the Fishbowl once we’d gotten back, having arranged to see someone who I thought might be able to help. Darcy Harrop was an investigative journalist by ambition, if not trade. She ran her own podcast, Her Final Hours, which looked at cases where women had been murdered, taking a feminist angle.

“You look well.” She was sitting on a bench in Piccadilly Gardens, drinking from a travel mug.

“Thanks, just got back from Greece. Debated staying. You look like you could use a holiday.”

I sat down next to her, watching a group of teenagers meander across the space, all of them dressing in black with hoods up or almost up, more of a uniform than what they used for school.

“Maybe someday. How busy are you at the moment?”

“Ah, I had a feeling this wasn’t just a welfare check.” She put her mug down next to her and took out her phone. “I won’t record you, don’t worry.”

“How busy?”

“Well, I’m now the lifestyle reporter for the Manchester Mail, with lots of time spent exploring cafes and restaurants so I can report back to the discerning middle-aged reader. I have time.” She opened the notes app on her phone.

“Are you paid to do that?”

“Minimum wage and expenses paid, so I’m almost eating for free. I am definitely after new material for my podcast though.”