Page 90 of Glasshouses

“No. But that’s not in the public domain yet.” Darcy had proven she would hold fire on publishing anything until I gave her the go ahead, and she was useful to me. “As soon as it’s going to be, I’ll give you the heads up.”

“How did he die?”

“He was strangled from behind, then the scene was staged to make it look like he’d hung himself.”

Her mouth made an ‘o’ shape, but she stayed silent.

“It’s being treated as murder.”

“Is it connected to the deaths of Amanda Goodhew and Micky Mulligan?”

“Yes. Although there’s no evidence to link them, it’s too much of a coincidence. I saw Andrew Smith twice yesterday. He seemed pre-occupied and asked us to come back as he had something to tell us.” Which was still bothering me. What was it that he hadn’t said?

“Like he was getting something off his chest?”

“Kind of. Have you heard anyone mention Lily Goodhew?”

She shook her head. “Not so much. She was friends with Stefan, but you knew that anyway, I think. People felt sorry for her. They think she did set the fire though. Someone said that Amanda was trying to prove she didn’t, but no one really seems to believe that.”

“How did they know Amanda? She was from Thornley End?”

“Small villages. Everyone knows everyone in that neck of the forest - ”

“Woods.” I did wonder what had happened to the education system in the ten years between me and Darcy attending school.

“Woods, then. Although forest is more apt for round there. Those small places are toxic; everyone has an opinion on everyone, and everyone thinks they know what’s going on.” She sat back in her seat, checking her phone.

“Any speculation about the fire at Micky Mulligan’s? Harrowclough’s one of those villages too.”

“Some. Micky wasn’t well-known. He spent most of his time at The Holding and kept himself to himself otherwise. There was gossip him and Amanda were having an affair; she was seen at his a few times and early in the morning too, so it looked like she’d stayed over.” Her nose wrinkled again. “Do people that age have affairs?”

“Technically it wasn’t an affair as neither were married, and yes, age doesn’t necessarily stop people having sex.”

She looked like she was about to vomit. “Well, who knows? Oh, someone – Janette Fields again - did say they saw a man they thought was Stefan Taylor. He was on his dad’s doorstep. She was driving past and noticed a man there having a heated conversation. She thought she recognised how he moved as being Stefan.”

“When was that?”

“Two nights ago. Do you want Janette’s number?”

“Absolutely.”

Darcy read it to me. “She’s away though now. Gone to France to see her sister and she did say that her phone doesn’t work abroad.”

“Fuck.” I put my phone back down. “She’d have been useful.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realise that Stefan would be such a person of interest.” Her interest was swiped from me to whoever had just entered the café.

I turned around and saw Lachy, dressed for an evening out already.

“I’ve come to get you, boss. We’re waiting for you to get a round in.” He stood over our table, exactly like a cop.

Darcy’s eyes widened at Lachy, the epitome of surfer-boy scruffiness with broad shoulders, a perma-tan he swore was real, and eyes as blue as the Med.

“Oh, no.” I shook my head and stood up. “No.”

She glared at me.

“Journalists and cops are not a good mix, so no. Just no. My round; let’s go. Darcy, I’ll text you. If you find out anything else about Stefan Taylor, you need to call me.” I left the remainders of my sandwich.