Page 21 of Glasshouses

“Do you think she sells them?” Verity lifted one out.

“No. If she sold them as a small business, she’d have printed labels with a logo on them or a way to reorder. But there’s too many here for them to be just for her.” I looked in the freezer; several labelled boxes of homemade casseroles and meals were there, all labelled with the use by date and what they were.

“Mia, she has a landline.” Verity sounded like she’d just seen something that was rare enough to be in a museum. I was only three years older than her but sometimes it felt like three generations.

“She was in her sixties, so that doesn’t surprise me. Let’s get the phone records – that may give us a lead.” Because nothing here was, apart from creating the picture of an isolated woman who was fairly self-sufficient. “Let’s check upstairs.”

The kitchen led back into the hallway, the stairs facing the front door. There was a door to the space under the stairs, which could also have been steps down to cellars, but I was pretty sure these houses didn’t have them. I was right; the cupboard was filled with gardening equipment, all well looked after and clean, and clearly too precious to leave in the garden shed.

The carpet was old and worn in places, but immaculately clean and I could still see the lines from the vacuum in places. All four doors were closed making the landing dark.

“A room each?” I wanted Verity to gain more confidence checking things without me looking over her shoulder. “I’ll take the front room.” I figured that would be where Amanda had slept.

It wasn’t, or at least it didn’t seem like it. There were no personal effects in the room, nothing on the side table other than an old lamp, and the wardrobe was empty. The furniture was old, reminding me of an old lady who lived in the town where I grew up, her house a relic of fifty years ago back then. I checked under the bed and the mattress, everything coming up clean.

“Have you found her bedroom?” I went back onto the landing.

“I think so,” Verity’s head popped out of one of the rooms at the back. “Come and have a look.”

It was a small room with a single bed that was made, but looked slept in. A single wardrobe and small chest of drawers were against the opposite wall, no photos anywhere so far.

Verity opened a drawer and found neatly folded underwear, the drawer below perfectly pressed blouses and tops, and the third drawer trousers and jeans, all tidy.

“This was her bedroom, and I think we can say she lived alone and didn’t have anyone staying with her.” Verity looked around the walls, all bare aside from one oil painting of a vase full of flowers. “What a life. Do you think what happened to her family led her to this?”

“Or maybe this was what life was like before. We need to get into what’s left of Micky Mulligan’s house and see what that was like, or at least get the crime scene photos.” I opened the wardrobe and found a row of plain dresses hung up, all fairly old with some signs of them having been mended. “Grew her own vegetables, made everything from scratch or local, made do and mended – why would you choose that life?”

“Avoiding reality? Or maybe it was penance for what had happened. I know she didn’t start the fire, but maybe she blamed herself?” Verity peered out of the window. “The garden is lovely.”

“I wonder if this is why she chose this room to sleep in, so she could see the garden. She could admire her work.” I took out my phone and called Jenna Osei. “Hi Jenna, I’m at Amanda Goodhew’s house. Is there any chance you could get a CSI over here to dust for prints, check rubbish and particularly the garden and the couple of outhouses?”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” She sounded like she was eating.

“Any accelerant or signs of someone else being there – not sure what. Have you gone through the greenhouses at Micky Mulligan’s yet?”

“It’s tomorrow’s job. Paul’s happy to sign off the site as being safe later, so we’re going to start combing through in the morning. Why?”

“Both Amanda and Micky were keen gardeners. I’m looking for a connection – they both buy their seeds from a certain shop or something like that.” I felt like I was trying to plait fog, searching for something that may or may not be there.

“I’ll send Fonz over. He likes plants, just not the sort most gardeners specialise in,” Jenna said, chuckling.

“Don’t tell me shit like that.”

Another laugh. “Don’t make assumptions. He is actually really knowledgeable about plants and pollen and stuff so he’ll be a good person to spot anything like you’ve mentioned. Do you want to meet me at the Mulligan house tomorrow at eight and we can go through it? Ste will be there and he can talk us through what they’ve found out so far about the accelerant and the path it took.”

“Definitely. I’ll see you there at eight.”

Verity came back in the room; I’d barely noticed she’d left.

“I’ve been in the bathroom. It’s basic, like a nun used it, with plain soap, a basic moisturiser, weird shampoo which looks like it’s homemade and not much else. Everywhere’s spotless like she cleans it every time she uses it. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house so clean.” She pulled a face as if she was questioning her whole world order.

“Any sign of her working from home?”

“The last room. It’s big enough for a single bed and not much else, but there’s a desk in there. No laptop, no mobile phone chargers anywhere - ”

“She didn’t have one. Neither did Micky Mulligan – not a smart phone anyway. His daughter said he had a basic model and only because she made him. Another thing in common.” We headed downstairs and back into the kitchen, using the backdoor key provided by the neighbour to get into the garden.

It was stunning. The bright days of summer sunshine followed by decent deluges of rain had served it well. There were rows of lavender, calendula and a couple of others I recognised and I wondered if any were medicinal or if that was how she made her shampoo. Another part of the garden was filled with raised beds, growing veg, I suspected, recognising some potato plants.