Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
I didn’t hang around the Fishbowl once we’d gotten back, having arranged to see someone who I thought might be able to help.
Darcy Harrop was an investigative journalist by ambition, if not trade.
She ran her own podcast, Her Final Hours, which looked at cases where women had been murdered, taking a feminist angle.
“You look well.” She was sitting on a bench in Piccadilly Gardens, drinking from a travel mug.
“Thanks, just got back from Greece. Debated staying. You look like you could use a holiday.”
I sat down next to her, watching a group of teenagers meander across the space, all of them dressing in black with hoods up or almost up, more of a uniform than what they used for school.
“Maybe someday. How busy are you at the moment?”
“Ah, I had a feeling this wasn’t just a welfare check.” She put her mug down next to her and took out her phone. “I won’t record you, don’t worry.”
“How busy?”
“Well, I’m now the lifestyle reporter for the Manchester Mail, with lots of time spent exploring cafes and restaurants so I can report back to the discerning middle-aged reader. I have time.” She opened the notes app on her phone.
“Are you paid to do that?”
“Minimum wage and expenses paid, so I’m almost eating for free. I am definitely after new material for my podcast though.”
“This might not work. It’s a cold case and the victims were male.” I gave her a rundown of the old case, not giving anything away about the current one. “It might come to nothing; the daughter was convicted, but I’m not sure that was the right outcome.”
She put her phone away and twisted towards me. “A miscarriage of justice?”
“Maybe. I really don’t know. We’re understaffed and the case had a lot of loose ends. You can ask questions that I can’t.”
Darcy untied her hair, smoothing it back down. She was only ten years younger than me and it felt like three generations. “What do I get out of it?”
“I’ll do another podcast, and give you the heads up with an exclusive next time I can.
” The podcast would be a pain, but the exclusive wasn’t.
Darcy was about as honest a journalist as you could get, which was why she’d probably never make the final cut.
She’d proven that she could hold onto information and she reported fairly.
But everyone had a price.
“Okay. I’m basically working as a free member of staff for you.”
“Kind of.”
“There’s more to this, isn’t there?”
I nodded. “Potentially. Will you do your noseying?”
“I can do it while I’m eating out. Give me something to do other than checking out dating apps. For such a big city, there are no datable men.”
“I know exactly what you mean. Do you need any more information from me?”
“Nope. Unless you want to tell me anymore. I can already see a cold case story on this. Where’s the girl now?”
“I’m not sure.” Which was true; Lily could be doing her shopping for all I knew.
Darcy rolled her eyes and left the bench. “Well, I have a lunch date with myself. I’ll message you when I have anything that looks interesting.”
“Thank you, and don’t do anything dangerous.”
She laughed. “Just living is dangerous these days. I test every drink I’m served if I’m eating or drinking out. You never know if you’re going to be a victim.”
Her words rang in my head as I walked back to the Fishbowl.
Had Micky and Amanda been worried about something?
She could’ve been at his house to swap food, or it could’ve been something else.
We knew he had paperwork in the cellar; we also knew there was no paperwork or signs of working from home at Amanda’s.
Our floor was busier than before; heads staring at computers; someone giving a very knackered looking Vinny a coffee; one of the other DIs, was giving a couple of DCs a talking to. I sat down at my desk, intending to go back to the Mayhew fire files, my phone starting to buzz.
“DS McAllister.” I answered without checking who it was.
“DS Mia?” The voice was female and panicking. “It’s Lily Mayhew. Someone’s just threw a brick through my window and I don’t know what to do!”
Lachy and I got there before uniform and CSI, which wasn’t surprising given that Lachy decided to play with the sirens on our unmarked car, making mincemeat of the Manchester traffic.
Lily was waiting outside of her house when we arrived, her arms wrapped around herself like she was a child. She was pale, wearing the same clothes as when we were there just a couple of hours ago.
“Mia!” She unhuddled and crept over to me. We’d parked outside her house this time; a brick through a window would be discussed by the neighbours.
I let it go that she hadn’t used my title.
“I’ve been so afraid – what if they come back?” She was flustered, moving her arms constantly, out of freeze mode and now utterly dysregulated.
“Unlikely. They’d know you’d call the police.” A police car pulled up behind ours. I recognised the first cop to get out of it. “Which window did it go through?”
“The back window into the kitchen. They must’ve been in the garden.” She pressed her hands together in a prayer position. “What will I do? Where will I sleep tonight? What are my neighbours going to think?” Her hands flipped to her sides and she shook them.
“Okay, I need you to follow my instructions. Can you do that?” I wasn’t a therapist, but I had enough knowledge for this.
Lily nodded, her eyes not moving from me.
“Okay, push your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Good.” I went through a routine used to stimulate the Vagus nerve, trying to keep her attention on me, while Lachy got started with the two cops who’d turned up.
Her hands looked steadier; her eyes less wild.
“One of the therapists in hospital used to do that with me.” Her words were slower, her movements less.
I nodded, curious. “I understand this is stressful. I would be stressed if that happened to me. Do you feel up to going inside?” I was aware that neighbours were twitching their curtains, but no one had come out to see what had happened.
She looked at her house, shoulders stiffening again. “Will you come in with me?”
“Of course.”
She let me lead the way, no speed to her step, as if she was a child who wasn’t entirely sure where they should be or if they wanted to be there.
A car pulled up outside as we got to the front door, Lily freezing as if she was expecting another brick to come in her direction.
“Who’s that?” She looked at me, too jumpy.
“Jenna Osei. She’s a crime scene technician.” I hadn’t expected Jenna; I’d figured she’d send one of her junior CSIs. “She’ll check the garden and behind it and see if she could work out where it was thrown from. The camera that covers the back of your house should’ve picked it up.”
“It’s not working.”
“How come?”
“I tried re angling it after your visit and I’ve done something to it. I’ve booked someone in to fit a proper system – could that be it? The owner of the firm knows if you haven’t got cameras and targets your house?” Her gestures became excitable again.
“We’ll look into it. I can still allocate you a FLO who can stay over. That might make you feel safer tonight, unless you want to stay somewhere else?”
“I don’t have anywhere else to stay. I don’t really have friends. I don’t like the idea of someone I don’t know staying in my house either.” She wrapped her arms around herself, something I’d noticed she did a lot. I really wanted a conversation with her therapist now.
Jenna got out of her car with her kit bag and came over to us. “Hi,” she acknowledged Lily. “DS McAllister. Am I okay to go through?”
“Sure. This is Lily Mayhew. The brick was thrown through the kitchen window. CCTV camera isn’t working, unfortunately.” We followed Jenna into the house and into the living room.
“Are we okay to look at your security cameras?” Jenna asked Lily. “We might be able to pick something up.”
Lily looked flummoxed, nodding rapidly. “That would be fine. Do you need me in the kitchen? I don’t think I want to go in there at the moment.”
“You wait here. I’ll take some photos and check for fingerprints outside. I shouldn’t be too long.” She disappeared, leaving the door open.
“Shall we both sit down?” I nodded to the chair Lily had taken the previous times.
She did, holding onto the arms, sinking into the cushions. “Do you think this is connected to what happened to Amanda?”
“I don’t know yet. Who would know that you’re Lily Goodhew? Because they’d have to know that for the two events to be connected.”
“Only my probation officer and people from Millbrook.” She mentioned the secure hospital she’d been in as an adult.
“I have an appointment with the psychiatrist every three months and I’ve carried on seeing a psychotherapist, so they both know, but no one apart from that.
I don’t want anyone to know what happened. ”
“I understand. What time did you hear the brick come through?”
She looked at the clock on the sideboard. “About a quarter to six.” It was now twenty-five past.
“Where were you in the house?”
“Upstairs, in my bedroom. I’d just had a shower because I’d been gardening all day and was getting dressed.
I’m meant to be meeting a gardening friend tonight to talk through a new project.
I heard a smash and ran downstairs.” She looked at the door to the small hallway and then at the kitchen.
“I need to message them and let them know I won’t be making it. ”
“Where’s your phone? Message them now if you want.”
She reached around her as if she expected her phone to be next to her. “I called you and I think I put it down. It could be in the hall.”
“Shall I have a look for it?”
“If you will. My legs feel like jelly.”
I went back into the hall, noticing Lachy talking to who I figured was a neighbour. Lily’s phone was on the bottom stair, face down. I picked it up, clicking the side button so it woke up. The background photo was of a garden and there were no notifications.
“Here you are.” I passed it to her.