Page 76 of Glasshouses

He folded his arms, resting back on his heels.

“We can talk about this inside if you like.” I could see his next door neighbour’s curtains twitch.

“How long is this going to take?” He looked at his watch.

“As long as it takes.”

“Come into the kitchen. Round the back.” He gestured towards the open gate.

We followed him round, his car left unlocked because this wasn’t the sort of area where you needed to worry about passing car thieves.

The back door was open and the radio on, set to a seventies station. Jones didn’t offer us a chair, or a drink. This visit wasn’t welcomed which made me wonder who he’d spoken to before I saw him last.

“Did you meet Andrew Smith during your investigation?”

“Once. Or one of the DCs did. We needed some information about The Holding, but we were satisfied that it was unrelated to the fire and the deaths of Peter, George and Joseph Goodhew.” A long answer with not very much new information.

“Did you look into the accounting at The Holding?” I already knew the answer.

“It wasn’t relevant so that would’ve been a waste of police time at the very least. This is all obvious stuff, Detective.”

“Did you speak with Lily’s friends who she was with the night of the fire?” There’d been no records of this in the files, even the ones Taz had gotten hold of.

“We weren’t able to identify them.”

“But you spoke to Graham Mercer and received intel on Lily’s behaviour. Did you not get the names of the other children she was with that night? I’m interested because her blood results came back negative for alcohol.” I watched, his eyes not leaving my face, reminding me of a dog before it pounced.

“The blood results were wrong. She smelled of alcohol and she was presenting as if she was intoxicated. Don’t start digging in old graves, Mia, you don’t know what other bodies you’ll find.” He barely blinked.

I didn’t move, didn’t even move my gaze from his. I heard Verity shift, footsteps on the tiled floor. I’d told her what I was going to ask and gave her the option of waiting in the car, knowing full well that Wrigley would not want me approaching Jones again. I’d get the flack anyway as the senior officer, and Verity had asked to come along.

“That’s kind of what I’m thinking; there are some skeletons in a closet that some people would rather stay hidden. Did you not get the names of the other kids from the safeguarding lead at Lily’s school? She was really helpful and remembered a lot.”

His face had gone pale, I suspected with anger.

“It wasn’t relevant.”

“How wasn’t it relevant?” I was pushing my luck and my career prospects. Terry Jones might have been retired but he still played golf with the high-ups, he still had their ear.

He sighed, long and loudly, as if he was tired of this and I was wasting his time. It was dramatic and fake. And obvious with it.

“It was obviously Lily. There were no other suspects. We didn’t need to panic other children. That wouldn’t have been fair on them.”

“Didn’t you think that maybe one, or more, of them could have had something to do with it?”

“Of course not, else we would’ve made further enquiries. Lily Goodhew was guilty. She was feral, and she hated her parents. The fire meant she got what she wanted – living somewhere else.”

“Don’t you think it was a bit extreme? She ended up incarcerated in a secure hospital for the rest of her childhood and all her early adulthood. She didn’t get freedom.” I took the heat out of my voice.

He gave a single nod; shoulders not quite wrapped around his ears. “But it was better than what she had with her parents.”

“But that doesn’t mean her only option was to kill her family. Services let her down.” It was a too common story.

He stayed silent, a nine-yard stare as if he was looking into the past.

“What can you tell me about her friend Stefan?”

His attention returned to me.