Page 38 of Glasshouses

“What about the other fires?” Wrigley chipped in. “The Mulligan house doesn’t fit with someone who gets their rocks off starting fires. It was done to cover up Amanda and kill Micky, but the person who started it knew what they were doing. The chances are they’d had some practice.”

“Like Lily Mayhew,” Verity added. “Didn’t she set a few fires off before her parents’ house went up?”

“She was suspected of it, but there was no proof. There was a lot of antisocial behaviour from her but no evidence for fire starting. I’m going to head to the school and see if there’s anyone still working there who taught Lily, and if I can get the contact details for the person who reported concerns through to social care.” We divvied out jobs, clutching at the thin threads we were working with. “I’ll pick Lily up on the way back here.” I planned to contact her this morning and arrange a time to bring her to the Fishbowl for an interview.

Lachy was still in his chair, swinging round slightly on it and lost in thought.

“Why aren’t you springing out of your chair?” He was meant to be on his way to track down the person who’d put up the posters about the potential housing development.

He tapped his pen against the worktop. “Just thinking.”

“Is it painful?”

“Funny. If it wasn’t Lily who started the fire at the Goodhews’, what was the motive for the person who did do it?”

“Something to do with the Holding? It’s got to play a part in this.”

He stood up, pocketing his phone. “I’ll go and start some digging.”

“Hilarious.”

Lily’s old school was in its last year inhabiting a building that was twenty years past its use by date. Across the road from its current crumbling state was a shiny new building, windows trying to shine through the film of dust in the June sunlight, a new sign stating that this was Barrowfold Academy, part of Waterford Learning Trust. The grounds of the new school were in the process of being landscaped and I wondered how long it would take before the school budget forgot them.

I paused at barriers into the school car park, letting whoever answered the buzzer know I was here. I’d called ahead, hoping that someone in the office would know a member of staff who’d worked at the school when Lily was a pupil, and I got lucky; Nicola Marriott, the senior administrator did.

I found a spot to park, not exactly a parking space because everywhere was already full, but from experience that was what schools were like. A few students walked along the other side of the fence, dressed in blazers and askew school ties, uniform expectations in place even though the day was already warm. They were late and didn’t care; life had more exciting things to offer than geography and rules about lining up.

I signed in at reception, a rather grainy photo on a sticker presented to me by a woman who looked young enough to actually be a pupil.

“I’ll let Mrs Marsh know that you’re here.” She stood up, and I realised she was a pupil. Maybe I wasn’t as ancient as I thought.

Another woman, one with her hair scraped back into what became a messy bun, came over to the glass window.

“DS McAllister?”

I nodded, flashing my ID.

“I’m Nicola Marriott – it was me you spoke to earlier. I’ll take you through to Anna Marsh, the safeguarding lead.” She looked smarter than most cops, a navy blue suit and pressed shirt fastened up to the collar.

I was buzzed through a door, meeting Nicola on the other side, and followed her down a short corridor to another fobbed door. The walls were peeling in places, the paintwork scuffed and tired.

“Are you looking forward to moving into the new building?” Small talk, but I was interested. My foster dad was a head teacher and I’d spent parts of holidays in the school building, myself and my foster sisters running in classrooms where we’d normally be forbidden, doing cartwheels across an empty school hall. When we’d gotten older, we’d sometimes meet him after secondary school had finished if he was working late, hanging around in bittersweet corridors full with the energy of the people who swarmed there in the days. I believed buildings stored the energy of the people who’d been there, the echoes of their words hanging in the air.

It was the same with this building, only soon it would be empty.

“Yes, I can’t wait to be in a modern office that’s functional.” She fobbed another door into another corridor, this one shorter and one side having windows that looked out into an overgrown courtyard.

“What’s happening to this place?”

“It’s becoming a new housing estate. A shame, but it’s not suitable as a school anymore and there’s such a shortage of housing in the area. It’ll be a short walk for some kids to get to lessons, but I bet they’ll still be late.” She knocked on the door at the end of the corridor. A voice shouted to come in.

Nicola led the way into a small office; a desk and chair, and a couple of old sofas facing each other with a table between them.

A woman with short blonde hair and a thin face stood up from behind the desk and slid out. “Detective McAllister, I’m Anna Marsh, the school’s safeguarding lead.”

“Thank you for finding time to see me.” I knew just how busy a school safeguarding lead could be.

“You got lucky. I had a child protection conference scheduled but it’s been postponed. The social worker has an emergency. Happened last week as well.” She gestured to the sofas. “Take a seat.”