Page 106 of Glasshouses

“Exactly,” his grandmother chirped in. “But you now have a council allotment so you can grow your things on that, and you’re going to be joining the local historical society. They take an interest in old buildings in the area and can use your computer skills.”

“And I’m going to get picked on so much at school now.”

She made a noise that sounded inhuman, and I pitied anyone who tried.

I stood up. “I’m glad you’re getting better, Cade.”

He picked up his games console again. “Thanks. When can I have my computer back?”

“I’ll find out. I’ll make sure it’s back for when you get home.” Which meant I’d be calling in more favours. “You’ll need it for your historical society work.”

There was always a certain feel to the office on a Friday if we’d solved a case and today was no different. There was an air of joviality, lifted further by the bright sunshine, although I felt an undercurrent of sharpness because Stefan Taylor had almost been one of our own.

“Mia, you’re not meant to be here.” Wrigley clocked me first. He was wearing jeans and a smart shirt, looking fresh, as if he’d just showered.

“I wanted an update.”

He frowned at me. “I told you not to enter the house until back up had arrived.”

“And I was concerned for Lily Mayhew’s welfare.”

He shook his head. “Your report is going to make for interesting reading, but for someone else. My last official day is Monday.”

“Cricket and cruises.”

“Cricket. Maybe no cruises yet. I think we’ll winter in Australia for twelve weeks.” He wiped his hands on his shirt.

“Is that because the Ashes are on?”

“Maybe. The wife prefers a warmer climate. I was thinking of her.” He led me into his office, his desk cleared of personal belongings, ready for someone else to move in. DI was what I was aiming for, but this hadn’t been the right time. I just hoped that whoever my new boss was, he would give us the space to think for ourselves like Wrigley had.

“I’ll miss you.” The words came out without me expecting them.

He nodded, opening his arms to give me the first hug I’d had from him in the seven years he’d been my boss. “I won’t miss you not following instructions, Mia Mac, but I will follow your career.”

“What’s happening with Graham Mercer?” I stepped away from the hug.

“He’s under investigation. The Holding is as well; the after-effects from this are going to carry on for a while. Don’t expect any easy resolutions. Your new DI will be overseeing part of the case, so they’ll give you updates. Do you want to know about Stefan Taylor?”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“How did you know?”

“I just did.” I wasn’t sure how, just gut. “When’s the postmortem?”

“Monday morning. It’s a nice, calm activity so you could occupy yourself with going straight there, if you’ve not decided to take medical advice.” I hoped my new boss would learn me like Wrigley had.

“Not sure I’d call a PM ‘nice’. Who’s doing it?”

“Saira Mizra. Now go home, Mia. Rest this weekend. You won’t be missing anything.”

I had dinner at my brother’s house with him and Jenna, putting together all the pieces of the case, or what we could find. We still didn’t know if Lily had anything to do with her cameras not working on the night her mother was killed; we didn’t know how long she’d been back in touch with Stefan, and how she knew about the message on the rock thrown through her window. There were other fires from around the time Stefan was staying with his father that we were now questioning if they were set by him, but we’d never know if that was him or not. It was unlikely that Lily would ever be able to give us an account we could verify, and as far as narrators went, she was one of the most unreliable. Some mysteries would remain and I had learned to accept that.

Taz had already left for the day by the time I got home, panelling done, a second fix on some wall lights going up the stairs that I hadn’t asked for but were a good idea, and my banister had been stripped back completely of the build-up of decades of paint. There had been a note on the table to say he was taking his mother for a meal and would be back in the morning, if I could refrain from getting stuck in any burning buildings until then.

My dreams were dramatic, snippets from the last few days blurred between scenes that’d never happened; my foster father’s school burned down in one, and I was growing a forest inside, which survived because of something I couldn’t attach my brain to. I woke ratty and sore, my throat still feeling scratched and the knowledge that I wouldn’t be running or training for a few days at least as annoying as a nettle sting.

I spent the weekend at home, eating pierogi and gołąbki that Taz brought from his mother’s kitchen, and picking out wallpaper for the hallway as well as choosing wall lights that I hadn’t planned for. Jenna dragged me shopping for new towels and bathroom accessories, while I tried not to think of Lily and how she was coping.