Chapter 5 #2
“The Goodhew fires were a textbook case when I was doing my training, and when Jenna was too. The evidence that it was Lily Goodhew was circumstantial, but they never looked at anyone else. She was found barefoot in a church graveyard a couple of miles from her house and had petrol on her hands, but nowhere else. She also had situational mutism and communicated through pictures and writing words down. The setting of the fire was interesting too as two different types of accelerant were used which impacted how the fire took hold and the speed at which it did so, which then resulted in the bodies showing differences at postmortem. It was a really good lesson in different accelerants and what to look for.” He sounded like he had fond memories of that part of his course, which was another reason my brother wasn’t like other people.
“Would a fourteen year old girl know about using different accelerants?” It sounded technical even for a professional.
“It depends. Why don’t you stop at that taco place in Chorlton?
If she had an interest in fire and access to the internet, then yes.
She could’ve run out of petrol or paraffin and it happened by chance.
I don’t remember the investigation, just the forensics and the postmortem case notes.
Jenna might be able to tell you more. Why do you want vegetarian?
” He checked his phone, laughing at something he’d read or seen.
“I don’t think I’ll stomach the taste or smell of meat.” The thought of it made my stomach tighten.
“Well, I’m ordering char sui pork tacos.”
“Just because you didn’t get the chance to be a pain in the arse big brother when we were kids, doesn’t mean you get to do that now.”
The bickering continued until I’d parked outside the taco takeaway and sent Nate in with my order, killing time by searching for the fire that’d killed most of the Goodhew family.
We ate at his house, managing not to talk about work which meant I kept my dinner down where it belonged.
Jenna was staying at her own place and Nate was booked onto some online lecture being streamed from America, so I opted to go home to my building site with freshly smoothed plaster, get changed and go for a run.
There was another motive other than fitness and the need to clear my head. It was just after nine and still light. I was a quick runner when I wanted to be and knew the area well for routes and potential hot spots for trouble.
I was also looking for someone.
Earlier in the year, I’d worked a case where an anonymous informant had emailed me information that led to me finding the killer.
I’d met the informant a couple of times during the case, and then heard nothing for weeks, until I bumped into him while on a run through a local park.
I knew less about him now than when I’d first met him, but there was a pattern to when he appeared – every second Tuesday just before dusk.
That was today.
He’d become my own personal detective case, wanting to find out who he actually was.
Reverse image searches from a photo he’d once sent me brought up nothing, his emails had always come from a slightly different address and he was a master at not letting any information slip, and I was good at asking questions.
There was also the possibility he was a murderer or someone my dad was paying to keep an eye on me; anything was possible because I hadn’t managed to rule anything out.
I kept my pace steady, taking a path that ran alongside the River Mersey.
It was a clear evening and a few local running groups were out, so it didn’t feel as lonely as it could.
I could take care of myself, but I saw no reason to put myself in a position where I needed to.
I didn’t wear headphones or earbuds, preferring the sound of the river and the birds, the faint chatter of the other runners and the sound of my soles as they hit the ground.
I was half way round when I sensed that someone was running behind me, catching me up. The path was narrow at this point, although there was a grass verge to the side opposite the river. I shifted onto this, narrowly missing something brown and runny looking, then turned to see who was behind me.
Atlas.
My anonymous, secretive informant. He’d had his hair cut which made him look like he was about to join the military, and there was a bruise to his left cheekbone and a cut near his eye. Someone had taken a punch to the face.
“Injury?” He slowed down when he drew level with me. I joined him, the pace slow enough to talk easily.
“Is that your new greeting?”
“That’s how I say hi to everyone these days. Seriously, that looks nasty.” I wanted a glimmer of information, something I could use.
Atlas laughed. “Fight with my brother. He came off worse.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. I can video call him if you want to check.” He pulled his phone out of his shorts’ pocket.
“Go on then.” We came to a stop, moving out of the way so we didn’t block a couple of dog walkers.
I caught sight of his brother’s name as he dialled. It wasn’t going to break the case.
Dimwit Fuckhead
The profile picture was a clown fish. I wondered what would be on his brother’s screen.
The call was answered and a man in a suit answered, looking nothing like a dimwit fuckhead, apart from the fact he had a black eye and what looked like a busted nose.
“The lady with me wanted proof that it was you who momentarily spoiled my looks.” He held the phone up so the man on screen could see us both.
“He came off worse, didn’t you, Dipshit?”
Atlas laughed. “That’s not what the evidence points to. You look worse than you did yesterday.”
“Still more handsome than you. I can confirm that we had a fraternal scrap – not the first and I doubt it will be the last – and our mother proceeded to batter us both afterwards for being such dickheads. Speaking of which, I need you to fix my car.” The brother removed his tie.
I caught sight of tattoos on his hands but it was too quick to make out what they were.
“I’ll come round in the morning. Watch out for the wrench.”
“Did you hear that threat? Maybe I should report it to the police.” The brother laughed. “Toodles, Sweetcheeks.” Then hung up.
Atlas put his phone back in his pocket. “There you go. You shouldn’t be in any doubt that he’s my brother.”
“I’m not. He’s a smarter version of you.” It was true – the family resemblance was obvious. “But he didn’t even say your real name.”
“I’ve trained him not to. Anyway, how’s things? How’s the house?”
We carried on running, me telling him where things were up to and the issue I was having with part of the roof.
He was keen, I’d found out, on fixing houses up and I’d figured he’d done that with a couple and sold them on.
His accent was local, very Mancunian, so I knew he was from round here, but in the time I’d known him, he hadn’t always been living locally.
“Let me know if you need to get your drive done,” he volunteered as we approached the spot where he’d usually go his own way. “I know a couple of decent blokes who can do it.” He continued running with me.
“Are you one of those blokes?”
“I have been in the past. I have an interesting work history.”
“I wouldn’t know. You’ve never shared anything about it.” I kept looking ahead but I could tell he was smiling.
“Which is your house?”
Deflection, as normal.
“The one with the skip outside on the right.” It was just coming into view. “I’m surprised you didn’t already know.”
“I did. Just lulling you into a false sense of security. What’s up with the roof?”
I went through it again, pointing out a chimney as we drew closer. He stopped at the end of the driveway studying the roof.
“Don’t tell me you can fix it?”
“I’ve been known to fix roofs and you’ve still got scaffolding up. Want me to have a look?” He rubbed the palm of his hand against his head.
“What if you fall? Do you have insurance?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve not been on your roof.”
“I could tell you that but I’d be lying. It’s my roof though.”
“I won’t fall. I’ll have a look tomorrow.” He folded his arms again.
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
His grin was all white teeth and too much arrogance. “I’m between jobs at the moment.”
“What did you say you did again?”
“I’d give up with that, if I was you. You might not like the answer, being a cop and all that.”
I shook my head, debating asking him in for a coffee, but sometimes success was knowing when to leave it. “Have a good night. I’ll see you next Tuesday.”
“You mean the Tuesday after next?”
“I meant see you next Tuesday.”
I saw the moment it clicked. “Hilarious, Mia Mac, you’re hilarious.”