Page 37 of Glasshouses

He spun round to face me. “Lily. What you said about her, how she was. What if she wasn’t the person who started the fire at her parents?”

“Why are you suddenly thinking that?”

He sat back, making the chair squeak. “How she is. We spoke to her neighbours when they got home from work. One of them, a bloke who lives with his son, said she was timid, really jittery, so he did wonder whether she was scared of something.”

“She’s scared people will find out who she is.”

“The neighbours don’t know her; she hasn’t got any friends even though she was released years ago. What sort of life is that?” He seemed almost incredulous.

“Some would say it’s the life she deserves.”

“Harsh. If she did set the fire, she was a kid.” He tapped at a notepad with a pen, as if he was stabbing it. “Who put the brick through?”

“The same person who started the fire and strangled Amanda? It’s someone who knows who Lily really is. We need to unpick her life.” I sat down on one of the workstations, noticing Wrigley coming over with the two PCs. Verity was rushing through the doors, looking fraught.

“So who does know who Lily is? Either because they recognised her or they’ve worked it out.” Wrigley took a seat on another chair that also groaned.

I had to question the quality of the furniture they’d bought for the Fishbowl. It did not seem robust.

“We need to talk to her teachers and see if we can find anyone that remembers her. You okay?” I looked over at Verity who was standing behind Wrigley, looking puzzled.

“Yes, fine, but did you hear the local news this morning?” She took off her coat and hung it over a chair.

“Which part?” Wrigley said. “The corrupt politician or yet another crash on the M-Sixty?”

“The bit about firefighters putting out another fire. There have been three in the last four weeks and they’re up through Oldham way.” She looked over at me. “And I heard about it from my, erm, firefighter friend.”

I’d forgotten she was going on a date with one of the responders at Micky Mulligan’s. “You’re wondering if it’s someone with a thing for fire?”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean that’s the profile of our killer. They strangled Amanda.” This was the part that didn’t fit. “And restrained Micky so he had no chance of escaping the fire. Have we had anything back from the labs?” I looked over at Carly, who’d quietly logged on to the system.

“Fingerprints from outside the dining room where the fire was started only match what were inside the house; they’re the same as ones found in the kitchen on the cupboards, so we could assume they’re Micky’s.” She slowed down as she finished. “It’s an assumption, I know.”

“But probably the right one. What about the accelerant?” Wrigley said.

“Standard petrol. Easy to get hold of.” She kept her attention on her screen. Carly was doing a really good job, based in the Fishbowl, covering the admin. I was hoping that Wrigley, or whoever his successor was, would find a way to keep her on. I knew she was enjoying it.

“They entered through the back of the property, having walked across the fields from the outbuilding. Any luck with the quad bike theory, Lach?” I said, walking over to the murder board where we had a map of the area, the trail that the dogs had found plotted on it.

“One of the residents on the estate to the north of Micky Mulligan’s has one, or so one of the neighbourhood kids told us, but they’re away at the moment. Due home tomorrow, so it’s on my list to find out if they lent it to anyone.” He cracked his knuckles, one of his more annoying habits, which I was sure he’d caught from Vinny.

Wrigley shook his head. “It’s going to be a needle in a haystack. Say they did lend it to someone; that relies on the kids or someone remembering when and what they were like.”

“It could’ve been stolen and returned,” Lachy said. “Weirder things have happened.”

“But that would’ve needed to be at night, and quad bikes are noisy fuckers,” Wrigley argued back.

Lachy shrugged. “Around there it wouldn’t be that unusual. That field attracts them. I saw a load of notices up asking people to sign a petition to put up gates so they couldn’t get through.”

The skin on my back twitched. “Who put the signs up?”

“Why? Probably some do-gooder.” Lachy turned towards me.

“How were they getting people to sign up? Website?” I rolled my shoulders; probably looked like I was warming up for a run.

“A QR code.”

“Can you pass by there and scan it? Take a photo of the poster too. Protecting that field could be something The Holding are interested in doing given what we know about their ideology. I’m not saying it’s them organising the petition, but they might be connected.” Another long shot, maybe. Maybe not.