Page 7 of Glasshouses

“No, but it tells us that our arsonist was well planned. They’d have to have left the petrol there for a week or so else the dogs would’ve picked up the scent. The rain wouldn’t have helped either.” She sounded fairly cheerful, which I mentioned. “The view’s rather nice.”

I almost choked on laughter. “You’re not meant to eye-up the firefighters.”

“I’ve done more than that. I’ve got a date tomorrow.” She sounded entirely too happy.

“Good, but don’t be distracted. Have the dogs checked other parts of those paths? Are there any other buildings?”

“Two more and the dogs are heading to those first. The one I’m near now is obviously where local kids hang out – there are disposable vapes, remains of spliffs and food cartons. There’s also an area where we think a box or something like that was put. I’m thinking it was a locked box, maybe weighted down, where he stored the petrol so the local kids couldn’t set themselves on fire.”

“Or spoil his plan – hang on, I think we’ve got an identity for the first victim. I’ll call you back.” I put the phone back in my jacket pocket and focused on the tech at the computer.

“Do we have a name?” I asked, turning the speaker back on as I’d knocked it off while I took Verity’s call.

The tech spun round on her chair. “We do. Amanda Goodhew, aged sixty-two. The address I have is sixteen Middleton Court, Hyde.”

“Amazing. Thank you.” I was already typing it into my phone.

“Mia, you want to take note of this.” Nate had his serious face on. “This could be a two for the price of one.”

“How did she die?” The words snapped through the air.

“There’s evidence of injury to her neck, although it’s partially obscured by thermal change – so the heat is covering it up, but I can still document a neck injury before she died.”

“What are you saying?”

“Deep tissue bruising that suggests ante-mortem compression, it’s something that can’t be connected to the fire. She definitely did not die while the fire was ongoing – it was certainly before.” He took his gloves off and put them in one of the coloured bins, taking a drink out of a covered mug.

“She was strangled?”

“That’s where my money would be. She was strangled prior to the fire being started. There’s no way I can give you a time of death – you’ll have to find a window from when she was last seen.” He rested against a tiled wall. “I’ll have an initial report sent to you by the end of the day and the full one in a couple of days when we’ve got some further results back.”

“Thank you.” I dug around in my pocket for my keys. “I’m heading back to the Fishbowl.”

Chapter Four

The Fishbowl was the name our new building had been landed with mainly due to its walls being made of glass. It was privacy glass, so we couldn’t be seen from the outside, but when inside, you could watch everyone walking – or otherwise – past. There was something to be said for not being able to see; not witnessing something gave you a reason to not have to intervene, which lessened the amount of paperwork we had to do. But if you were in the Fishbowl on a Friday or Saturday night, or any other night for that matter, you saw too much. The building was fifteen storeys and looked out over Manchester’s booming city centre, located in Angel Meadow, the area that just over a hundred years ago had still been full of high deprivation, typhoid and overcrowded housing. Minus the typhoid, some parts of Manchester were still the same. Angel Meadow now had a fur coat, yet judging by the parade of things we tried not to see, still had no knickers.

The Greater Manchester Murder Investigation Team, known not so lovingly as the Mittens, were based on the seventh floor, which meant we couldn’t see who was stumbling past that well. Since we’d moved there a few months ago, I’d almost developed a head for heights, although I still refused to go near the full length windows.

Wrigley was waiting for me, Lachy and Verity sitting nearby with tall cans of energy drinks, and a couple of PCs that had been at the crime scene were there too, looking around the room as if they’d stepped into a Hollywood set.

In the corner, far too close to the window, was a large wipe board, names and locations already on there, scribed in Lachy’s handwriting because his was the most intelligible.

“Howdy.” I settled down on Vinny’s desk. He was one of the other DS’s, currently tasked with sorting out the gang murder that was taking up the headlines. “So we have a name and a cause of death.”

Wrigley folded his arms. “This is why working with young coppers is a pain in the arse.”

I wasn’t expecting that. I glanced at Verity, who shrugged and popped something sugary in her mouth.

“Amanda Goodhew has been the victim of a crime before. Mia, how old were you seventeen years ago?” He pointed at me, his face looking a little too red.

“Fourteen, sir.”

“Fourteen. Fuck me. Anyway, seventeen years ago I was a detective sergeant. This was before we had this team, and local areas on Manchester sorted their own murders. This one wasn’t mine; I was based in Salford for my sins, and this occurred over in Tameside, right near the Derbyshire border near Glossop. It was a fire; a house in the middle of nowhere went up in flames overnight, killing three of the five people who lived there – Peter, the dad; George, the eldest son who was fifteen; and Joseph, the youngest child who was five at the time. Do any of you remember it?” He looked around the room; we’d collected a few others now, such was Wrigley’s tone of voice, including Nick, one of the other DS’s.

“Just about,” Nick said. “I knew someone from football who was a friend of a friend of the eldest. Wasn’t the fire started by the sister?”

Wrigley directed his finger towards him. “Correct. Ten out of ten. The mother survived; she was in a different part of the house and although she ended up in critical care because of smoke inhalation, she made a full recovery. The daughter, Lily, was found guilty of arson and manslaughter. She was incarcerated in a secure hospital and as far as I know, was released some time ago.” He paused, clearly for effect. “Would anyone like to guess what the mother was called, the one who survived?”