Page 60 of Glasshouses

I sat up, as if I’d just woken from a nightmare. “I meant to check in on Lily Mayhew. She rang me yesterday evening to say someone had been in her garden.”

“What did you do?”

“Had a response vehicle go out.” I looked around to see Lachy closing in, also eyeing my coffee. “I wasn’t going to go out myself.”

“Why? Hot date?”

“I was worried she was over attaching.” I slurped some of the coffee, scalding my mouth but it was worth it.

Vinny pulled out his mobile. “What’s her number. I’ll call her and check in. Lachy, can you find out what happened last night when they got there?”

I read out her number, leaving Vinny to call Lily, which I was thankful for. I’d had a couple of victims over-attach before and it hadn’t troubled me, but Lily was making me feel uncomfortable.

I didn’t listen to Vinny talking, just focusing on my coffee and wondering why I didn’t have Taz’s number to let him know what was happening. It wouldn’t matter; he’d be there as he’d planned, elusively reliable.

Then I had his pen drive to check, and the questions about how he’d gotten whatever information it was.

But first, sleep.

“She’s a fruit loop.” Vinny had returned.

“What did she say?” I managed to wake up.

“She really wants you to call her, although she appreciates you don’t work twenty-four seven. The police didn’t discount that someone was in her garden, but there was no evidence or sign of anyone.” Vinny sat down on the office chair next to me and swivelled round on it.

Just watching him made me feel sick.

“She sounds like a maiden that wants to be rescued.” Vinny pulled a face. “What did her psychiatrist say?”

“You can read my notes. They’re on the system.” I was too tired to explain it to him. “Or have them read to you if you’ve forgotten how to sound words out.”

“You have no idea how much I want to tell you that your coffee’s decaf.”

I checked the note of the side. “It’s not.”

“I checked last night’s log,” Lachy came over. “A female police constable stayed with her until just before midnight. No signs of anyone but they were concerned about her welfare, so remained until she felt safe enough, then did drive bys during the night. What that does do is rule her out for making the call from the phone box.”

I half listened to them bounce around different ideas, the office filling up as people returned for whatever they’d been doing. The team had grown, Wrigley pulling some officers in from the gang case, now it had effectively ended. More roles were allocated, a detective constable who was new to me was made disclosure officer, overseeing the chains of evidence; tasks were divvied out, Lachy was sent to check for vehicles heading that way, along with another constable to do door to door in the village, in case any cameras or people had caught anyone heading to Roselea, or at the phone box.

I was allocated to go home and sleep until coming back on shift at two pm tomorrow, but as I left the building, wishing I could click my heels and teleport into my bed, I couldn’t help but think how wonderful a coincidence it was that Lily had the police with her at exactly the same time as the fire was reported.

Taz was at my house when I got back and had introduced himself to what was pretending to be my kitchen, a room that looked like it had tumbled out of the nineteen seventies met the eighties in a nightclub, and pooled the worst of their resources. The stove had three hobs that were working, and an oven that was questionable at best, but the air fryer was new and the microwave could be vicious.

It was penance. I could’ve bought a smaller house that was already fixed and in no need of anything, even a period property two streets away would’ve cost me the same money, been smaller – it was just me so I didn’t need the space – and I wouldn’t have a project on my hands that I was unlikely to ever complete. But I didn’t deserve to move straight into a nice house, not with where the money came from to buy it.

Like Nate, I had a trust fund, set up by my accountant father, only Stan Garrity hadn’t just been a legitimate accountant. He’d been the money man for criminals, people traffickers and drug dealers, the sort of man you could really look up to, if you were criminally inclined.

The trust fund was clean. Stan had made money through legal means and this was what had been put away for his children. He understood the stock market and tax laws and after Nate had gone through it with me, and underlined that I was cutting my nose to spite my face by not accepting it, I used most of it to buy the house that I was existing in. I was punishing myself for accepting money from a man who’d fathered me but let me enter the care system.

The sensible part of my brain knew he’d done me a favour; I couldn’t have had better parents than Cassian and Romy Caddick, but the many grudges I had against Stan were stacked high.

“I have few words about the state of this place.” Taz had found a frying pan. “It’s like you’re squatting here.”

“I think I’ve only ever squatted everywhere I’ve lived. What are you cooking? Bacon?”

“Bacon and egg butties. You don’t look like you’ve done parkrun.” He broke an egg into the frying pan. “Do you want one?”

I still hadn’t eaten breakfast. “I’d love one. Then I’m going to sleep. Parkrun didn’t happen.”