Page 96 of Glasshouses

“Are you asking me to go to the Maldives with you?” I had no idea if we were flirting right now.

Taz laughed, amused. “I wish. Two weeks away somewhere like that would be a fucking boon, but the new job starts.” Sidestepped again. “When are you next off?”

“I was going to book leave after this case.”

“What will you do with it?”

“House stuff. I need to get properly stuck in. Thank you for that – sorting the bathroom and the plastering.”

“Take a proper holiday. Get a flight somewhere. Don’t think about anything for a few nights.” He slowed as we came to a road, now out of the park and on our way back to mine. “If you don’t want a beach holiday go somewhere like Rome or Madrid, or Oslo or Copenhagen.”

“Is that a personal recommendation?”

“It is. My favourite was Copenhagen.”

“You’ve travelled with your job then?” I tried digging again.

“With a knapsack over my shoulder and a pair of good shoes. I need to talk to you about the stairs. We’ve had an idea.”

The rest of the conversation remained on my house, my legs feeling solid but sore by the time we got back and I dragged myself to the shower on the top floor, while Taz made a couple of calls and a mate of his came round to help with the flooring.

By the end of the weekend, I’d have a fully finished bathroom. But by Monday, life would’ve shuffled the hand I’d been dealt one more time.

There was still no sign of Lily. We’d requested her mobile phone records, along with recent bank transactions, concern rising. There was one bank transaction for a supermarket totalling sixty-five pounds twenty-three, timestamped, which gave us a possible location, so Verity and Lachy had headed off to the Stockport-Derbyshire border in the search of CCTV, to see if we could validate the transaction being made from her.

If it was, she was alive and shopping at twenty to seven last night, which would make me less concerned that she was now a victim, but possibly something else.

I settled at my desk, sipping water and digging for information on Stefan Taylor without much success when Taz’s message came through, meaning I now also possibly had a phone number. It was brief but not cryptic, not like his emails had been earlier in the year, giving me employee details for Ste Taylor the fire scene technician.

Or Stefan Taylor.

The fizz of a key piece clicking into place was kicked out as I kicked myself. We’d speculated about it being a firefighter; someone who understood how a flame would take hold and destroy whatever was in its path. The rope used, the different accelerants - it made sense now. Why hadn’t I seen it earlier?

“Boss, I need to speak to you.” Wrigley had just crossed the office, heading to his den, probably hoping to go and check the sports news in peace for half an hour. I stood up and rushed over to him. “Ste Taylor – the fire technician who attended the fire at Micky Mulligan’s is Stefan Taylor.” Taz had sent me where to look to show I’d found the connection legitimately.

Wrigley’s face started to redden. “Are you sure?”

“Certain. He went after work for a leaving do, and he was asking a lot of questions about the case, suggesting that the fires were started by different people because each has had a different profile. He was keen on the idea that another kid had started the fire in the outhouse where Cade was, an urban explorer rival, but it was a little too much.”

Wrigley checked his phone, not responding for a moment. “I’ll speak to his supervisor, get their take on him. Is there any way of linking him with Lily since she’s been released?”

“No. She’s sworn she’s got no contacts other than her psychiatrist, the other professionals still involved, and her clients. When I spoke to Doctor McKay, she confirmed Lily hadn’t mentioned anyone. But I don’t think Lily was as compliant as she’s made out to be.” Although to maintain that over such a long period of time was unlikely.

“Try the probation officer – what was she called?”

“Tabitha Smithson. She was weirdly invested in Lily.” Something had never seemed quite right with her.

“I’ve come across her a couple of times, but years ago. She was always for reform, that with proper support most people didn’t need to spend time in prison. She was an idealist and I was always surprised the system didn’t finish her off.” He looked almost wistful. “She’ll be on Lily’s side, to the extent she’ll omit information if she doesn’t think it necessary. Go and speak to her again – we need to let her know that Lily’s missing.”

“What about Stefan Taylor?”

“Let me start the digging. No one likes it when one of their own has the finger pointed at them.”

Tabitha Smithson was just leaving Manchester’s central library when I found her, wearing a jacket even though there was no sign of rain and it was in the mid-twenties. St Peter’s Square was covered with pissed off office workers, overheated people in suits and those bored enough to come to Manchester for a day out.

She stood out from the crowds, her back slightly stooped and her walk slow, purpose in every step for the energy it required.

She spotted me, pausing on a step, her eyes already knowing that this wasn’t going to be good.