Chapter 8
Nell re-read the press release she’d written one more time.
It confirmed that the Paignton fire was being treated as suspicious but didn’t offer further detail.
Police were asking for neighbours to check their doorbell CCTV, if they had one, and for witnesses who hadn’t yet spoken to police to come forward.
Hopefully, the update would keep the fire in people’s minds and give a push to the investigation, which was going slower than CID would like.
So far, two abusers of the women living at the refuge had been traced and provided firm alibis, while one alibi was still being checked.
Five men still had to be accounted for. The press release didn’t include specific reference to the house being a women’s refuge.
Nell tapped her pen against the desktop.
Would Mattie read it? A different journalist had reported on the fire for the lunchtime bulletin, and it’d barely merited a minute of airtime.
Nell preferred Mattie’s smoother, richer voice to her replacement’s higher-pitched one.
The latter lacked charisma, whereas Mattie had it in buckets.
Onscreen, she was professional and authoritative, but most noticeable was the compassion she showed while interviewing, without fawning or pandering.
That was some skill, and it was as compelling as the rest of her.
How was Mattie managing today? Nell could always ring Angie and check, under the guise of professional concern.
No. Thinking about Mattie had to stop. Nell had a job to focus on, traumatised women to protect, reports to read.
Constantly thinking about someone she had no intention of being with was nonsense.
The heat was relentless, and it added a weight to Nell’s day.
Cases like this were so emotionally challenging to deal with.
She had more than enough experience of them and regularly received counselling to divorce herself from it all, but some things were hard to forget.
The condition of Lexi, the young mum critically injured in the fire, had worsened.
Her ravaged body was struggling to overcome the effect of poisonous toxins as well as the toll of second and third degree burns on her chest, arms, and legs.
Her little boy needed help to breathe too.
The rest of the stricken building’s residents were now settled in safe accommodation in other towns.
The women were resilient and supportive of one another but, as domestic abuse survivors, they’d already been through so much.
Gavin came to mind, but Nell shoved that thought away. This wasn’t about her.
Her personal mobile rang, and she fished it from her bag, which was under her desk.
“Sorry to call you at work.” Angie sounded out of breath, like she’d run up the stairs. “Mattie’s got something important she needs to show you. It’s about the fire.”
Nell rubbed her face at the mention of Mattie’s name and that she was acting like a typical journalist. Why couldn’t she go through the normal official channels like everyone else? “Tell her to contact the investigating team.”
“She could do that, but I thought it’d be quicker to show you in person,” said Angie.
Nell smothered her instinctive response to bite back another retort. Angie wasn’t one for making a drama out of nothing. If she thought it was important enough to ring Nell at work, then Nell should take note. “What’s Mattie got?”
“A photo. It needs to be seen in context with other photos.”
Nell considered her options. The photo might be nothing, or it might be the breakthrough the investigation needed.
Could Mattie be trusted? What would she ask for in return?
Journalists always wanted something: insider information, off-the-record background material, a promise to get a tip-off before the rest of the media.
They were vultures, as she’d learned to her detriment.
Except the investigating team were run off their feet, and there could be a delay before they got to see Mattie’s supposed evidence.
Nell huffed. She wouldn’t forgive herself if it led to the arsonist. Meeting Mattie was worth the risk.
She ignored the persistent voice in the back of her mind that said it would be a good opportunity to check on Mattie’s condition too.
She was still on duty, so she went to Cove House in full uniform. She was greeted by a harassed-looking Angie, who thrust a toolbox into Nell’s hands. “Please can you take these up to Mattie? Room six, top floor, back bedroom.”
Nell’s eyes widened. “Because?”
Angie grimaced. “Damn plumbing. We’re having a day of disasters. Rosie’s stuck on the coast road with a puncture, so Graham’s gone out to rescue her.”
Still none the wiser, Nell jogged upstairs. Room six’s door was ajar. “Mattie?” She peered inside just as Mattie emerged from the bathroom.
Mattie gaped at her. “You’re in uniform.”
Nell stared at the damp patches on Mattie’s sleeveless shirt. The fabric clung to her chest and left little to the imagination. “You’re wet.”
Mattie smirked. “There’s a water leak. Bring the toolbox in. You can help me by holding the torch.”
Nell followed her into the en suite bathroom.
Water pooled across the linoleum floor, and a bath towel rolled into a sausage acted as a barrier to prevent it from spreading onto the bedroom carpet.
The small double doors of the vanity unit housing the sink were open.
Mattie crouched down, and Nell blinked rapidly at the sight of Mattie’s shorts stretching around the curves of her backside and the muscle definition of her thighs.
“I’m pretty sure the water pipe is to blame rather than the waste one,” said Mattie. “I can’t fix it, but I can switch off the water supply. That’ll stop any further leaks for now.” She motioned to the toolbox. “Are there any flathead screwdrivers in there?”
Nell fumbled with the lid. Did she look as flushed as she felt? “I didn’t have you down as a plumber.”
“My parents ran their own building company, so I know a thing or two from helping out my dad on various projects.”
“That’s one up on me.” Nell held out three flathead screw drivers. “Will any of these fit?”
“At least you know the difference between a crosshead and a flathead. I’m sure my ex didn’t even know what a screwdriver was.” Mattie took the middle-sized one. “This is good. Can you hold the torch for me?”
Nell knelt on the wet floor next to Mattie. It was a tight squeeze, hot and humid. Thank god she’d used deodorant before leaving the office. Smelling of sweat would’ve been so humiliating.
“See that joint there? That’s the stopcock.
Once upon a time, you know, in the dark ages, they used to be much bigger and shaped like a tap.
These ones are considerably smaller and you need to know what you’re looking for.
” Mattie turned the screw to the right. “Simple, once you know where and how.”
Nell’s eyes weren’t on the stopcock, or the sink, or anything plumbing related.
They were transfixed by the curve of Mattie’s breast, her sleeveless T-shirt having snagged up to reveal bare pale skin.
She glanced away when Mattie sat up on her haunches.
Their thighs brushed together. Nell jolted back like she’d been stung.
A silence stretched between them, filled with something Nell couldn’t—wouldn’t—identify.
Mattie’s eyes grew wide, and Nell fiddled with the torch.
“I’ll need to check the stopcock but I’ll wait until Angie gets here with a bucket,” said Mattie, her voice husky. “I don’t want to make the floor any wetter than it already is.”
“No, quite. Good plan.”
The spell, or whatever it was that had captured them, was broken when Angie bustled in carrying a bucket and mop.
Nell jumped up. “I’ll get out of your way.”
“You can’t go. I still need to show you the photo.”
Damn. Nell hovered by the bathroom door while Mattie turned the tap on to check there was no water flow. Could this be any more awkward?
“There, that worked,” said Mattie.
“You’re a lifesaver,” said Angie. “Except now you’ve got no working bathroom. I’d offer you a different room, but we’re fully booked.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s not the end of the world,” Mattie said. “I’ll use the communal bathroom downstairs for tonight.”
“Obviously, I won’t charge you for the room.”
“Nonsense, especially after everything you’ve done for me.
” Mattie touched Angie’s arm. “Besides, this is luxury compared to some hotel rooms I’ve stayed in.
You should’ve seen the state of the so-called international hotel in Bucharest. It was a few years after the Ceausescu revolution, but Romanians were still struggling to get hold of basic supplies.
There was only one working light bulb in the room, threadbare carpet, and water running through the toilet all night because someone had nicked the ballcock. ”
Angie appeared mollified. “At least let me clean up in here and get you fresh towels.” She turned to Nell. “Use the kitchen so you can talk privately. Help yourselves to a glass of wine or a cuppa.”
Nell gave herself a pep talk while she dutifully led Mattie to the kitchen.
She was on duty. She needed to be worthy of the police uniform she was wearing and take charge of the situation.
She busied herself filling the kettle and tried to relax her ramrod-stiff back.
Angie’s kitchen was a decent size, but right now, it felt as claustrophobic as a tiny cave. “Tea or coffee?”
“Tea is good.”
Nell clutched the tea caddy to her chest. What else? Mugs. Milk. “Sugar?”
“Not for me, thanks.” Mattie perched on a high stool at the kitchen island with a view of the rambling white roses. “Is your garden as big as Angie’s?”
“Similar. It’s set at a different angle though.”
“You’ve got to like gardening if you own something this size or it’ll become an overgrown meadow.”