Page 24 of Glasshouses

Chapter Nine

I left work with just enough energy to go to the gym where I trained in Muay Thai, expecting to see Jalen, my coach and sometimes my coach with benefits. It was going nowhere; he had a child with an ex-girlfriend and he was increasingly spending more time at her house, my spider senses telling me that they were probably going to get back together.

This was fine with me; I didn’t have time or the motivation for a relationship of sorts so it wasn’t like Jalen and I had ever gone on dates or spent weekends away, so this wasn’t going to break my heart. I did sometimes suspect that breaking my heart would be an impossible job, but I was happy to not find that out.

Sleep had come surprisingly easily, possibly something to do with the knowledge that my roof would probably no longer leak. I wasn’t sceptical of Atlas’ ability; just my understanding of water and roofs together didn’t always equal easy fixes.

We’d agreed to meet at midday at the Fishbowl, pending anything else coming up that was urgent. I started my day off there, looking at the incident board and adding some notes to it, including The Holding, which needed further investigation, if there was anything to be found. Carly was carrying on chasing both wills and accounts, which had come to a bit of a stop yesterday, so I added to her list, needing to find out if the old Goodhew house had been sold.

Then I headed to Harrowclough and our crime scene for my meeting with Jenna Osei and Paul.

The house looked fragile against a sky that promised rain. It was built from stone rather than red brick, white stone that was now charred from the flames and the smoke. The glass had been blown out of some of the windows, making the building look as if it had dark, empty eyes, traumatised by what had become of it.

I’d become sentimental about old buildings since moving into my home. Sometimes, when the house was quiet and still, it felt as if all the energy it had absorbed over the last hundred or so years started to pour out of the plaster and the wood, all the things that it had seen played out through the dust and shadows.

I hoped this house would survive, that it wouldn’t be demolished and become the home to box-like new builds with thin walls and low ceilings.

“Mia, how’s it going?” Jenna strode over to me, her dark hair tied back into what resembled a paint brush.

I shrugged. “I need a breakthrough. The only potential suspect is Lily Goodhew, but I’ve found nothing to link her.”

“Maybe something today will trigger a potential suspect. The building’s been signed off as stable for us to enter, but it’s still a hard hat job and don’t go anywhere that has been taped off.” She eyed me like I was a child with potential to be disruptive.

“I won’t.”

“I heard you were on your roof yesterday.”

“It’s my roof. I am allowed up there.” It was a childish response. I tried to correct myself. “A sort of friend offered to fix the roof. I wanted to see what they’d done.”

Jenna studied me, making me wonder what she really thought of me. I’d worked with her for a few years, finding out when Nate moved to Manchester that she was the reason, and they’d been seeing each other quietly for some time. That’d hurt; I didn’t like not knowing things and I didn’t think I would’ve had a problem with it. Jenna was kind and fun and excellent at her job. I was still struggling to work out what she saw in my brother.

“I’ve been at scenes where someone’s fallen from a three storey building. They’re not nice. I don’t want to be scraping your brain fragments from the pavement.”

“I don’t think you’d be allowed. Conflict of interest.” I did not want to think about my brain fragments on a pavement.

Jenna glared at me. “Anyway, keep to where you’re allowed, no acrobatics or scaling walls.”

“Girl guide promise.”

“Were you actually a girl guide?”

“Of course not. Where’s sexist Paul?” I looked around for my least favourite fire investigation officer.

“Somewhere about. It’s actually been Ste who’s done a lot of the investigating on this, so he’s going to walk us through the building and explain what we think happened.” She headed around the side of the house, me following her.

The scene was different from two days ago; there were fewer people there, just one or two remaining CSIs, and they were mainly clearing up their equipment and paraphernalia.

“Will you seal up the building?” It would be a hazard for any local kids who decided to get their kicks exploring it.

“The front door is locked and fairly secure because most of the damage is at the back of the house. The windows will be boarded up at the lower levels, and we’ll board up the back. Then it’s the responsibility of whoever owns it.” She looked at the building, the stubborn stonework the work of craftsmen that didn’t exist anymore. “I hope someone does something with it. Does Micky Mulligan have any relatives?”

“A daughter who lives in the Middle East. We’re still waiting to get hold of his will because his solicitor has been away and it’s one of those small, single practice firms.” We stopped walking a few minutes away from the back door that led into the dining room.

“I feel for her. Losing her dad and then having this estate to sort out. That’s not going to be fun.” She passed me a hard hat. “Put this on. And a high-vis.” A bright yellow jacket was held out for me.

It was a large and it swamped me, but I figured there would be no chance of being locked inside the house.

Ste arrived, smiling and laughing at something one of his colleagues had said, passing by them as they carried a box of whatever to one of their cars.