Chapter 11 #2
“Thank you.” She busied herself typing for a minute and then put her phone next to her on the chair. “What happens now?”
“Jenna – the CSI – does a check and sees if she can find anything that the person who threw it might have dropped. We’ll need to take your prints for elimination purposes – did you touch the brick?”
She shook her head. “I knew not to touch it. There was paper wrapped round it though.”
“We’ll see if that’s got anything on it. Can you think of anyone who might want to target you? A work rival, or a client who might be unhappy?”
Lily sat still for a few seconds, not answering straight away.
“No. Really I can’t. My clients have all been happy and I get along with my business competitors.
If a client wants a certain sort of design and it’s not something I have an interest in doing, I refer onto someone else, and likewise, they do the same. I really can’t think of anyone.”
“What about someone you were in hospital with?”
She shook her head, adamant. “They wouldn’t know where to find me and it’s not as if we were friends in there. You might think I’m mad, but some of the others were - ” She shook her head slower this time.
“Insane?” It wasn’t a word I chose to use, not frequently anyway, but I wasn’t sure what Lily knew about me.
She looked away from me, but it felt posed. “I have a very small world, Detective. I have the people who help me to look after myself and a few people I’ve met through my business.”
“That sounds lonely.” Although I wasn’t sure I was any less lonely, really.
Her smile was wan. “I don’t know what it’s like not to be lonely.”
“Has it been difficult since you came out of hospital?” I already knew the answer to that.
“At first it was freedom. I could eat when I wanted and what I wanted; I could go in whatever rooms I wanted and explore places I’d never been.
I went to Manchester for the first time – I wasn’t allowed to go when I was a kid.
I haven’t been to London yet or abroad. I want to go and see the botanical gardens in Singapore but I don’t know if it will ever happen.
” She turned round to the kitchen door, a noise disrupting her thoughts.
“I’m not responsible for the fire that killed my mother. ”
“We need to work out who threw the brick through your window, Lily.” I pulled us back to the present.
“Do you have a suspect for the fire?”
“We’re following different lines of enquiry.” I gave the standard response for we don’t really have a clue.
She stood up, heading around to the kitchen door where Jenna was emerging from. “Will I need a new window?” she said as Jenna came through.
“You will. We’ll get it boarded up for now, but you’ll need to contact a glazier or window company to get it fixed.” Jenna looked at me, her expression one I recognised.
I stood up and headed over to her, glancing at Lily. “How about I make us a cup of tea?”
“I could do it.” Her arms moved dramatically as she pointed to the kitchen then didn’t know what to do with them; she was awkward, uncomfortable and I wondered how on earth she’d managed to cope with the life she now had after spending most of her life institutionalised.
“Just for now I’d like to minimise the number of people in here, if that’s okay, Lily,” Jenna said. “I’ll be finished soon and I’ll tidy up what I can.”
Lily sat back down, picking up her phone. “Thank you.” That quiet voice again that reminded me of a little girl.
I went into the kitchen, Jenna shaking her head at me as I gestured for shoe covers. She walked straight outside, beckoning me to follow her.
The garden was immaculate, even though it was small, it’d been structured with grasses and huge plants I didn’t recognise to make it feel much bigger, somehow.
“The missile’s come from over there.” Jenna pointed to the top of a six foot fence panel, mainly obscured with grasses that sounded like water as the breeze blew through them.
“They’ve gotten up to the top of the fence and lobbed half a brick through the window.
Good aim. But get this,” she pointed to a bagged brick, tagged already. “There’s a note wrapped round it.”
“What does it say?”
“‘Watch out.’ Handwritten, black marker pen. No name, so it could have been the wrong house. I’m going to get around the back and see what’s been left.” She started to put tools away in her bag that was outside.
“‘Watch out’; that’s a threat. Or is it someone trying to warn her?
How was it attached to the brick?” This was adding another layer that hadn’t been on my bingo card and made me even more sure that the two cases were connected.
All the facts felt like pieces from different jigsaws right now, and somehow I was meant to fit them together.
Someone knew who Lily really was, potentially anyway.
I needed to dig deeper into the professionals that had worked with her, whether there were any deeper connections, somewhere.
“Elastic bands. Nothing fancy, and the paper is standard notepad, at a guess. I’ll test it for fingerprints back at the lab.” She was looking to the spot where the brick had probably come over. “Luckily nothing’s damaged the garden; that would’ve been a travesty.”
“It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” I looked around again, thinking of my garden that looked like an overgrown forest. “To have the imagination to do this.”
Jenna followed me back inside, gathering the rest of her things. I put the kettle on, opening cupboards to find where the mugs were kept, even though it was perfectly obvious. I also closed the door to the kitchen to stop our voices from carrying through to Lily.
“You know, the two fires could be completely unrelated.” She kept her voice low, although the slow hum of the kettle started to pick up volume.
“They could be. But it’s an awful lot of coincidences.” I didn’t believe in coincidences. I believed in connections and pathways interconnecting, but there was always an explanation. “And now this brick with a message.”
Jenna checked her phone, stuffing it back in her pocket. “True. Does she know yet that her mother didn’t die because of the fire?”
“No.” The kettle clicked off. “Not yet.” I picked out two cups and found the usual teabags. Then I opened the fridge, pausing while I looked at its contents.
You could tell a lot about a person from what was in their fridge.
Preserves, homemade chutneys, some store bought produces, but this was the fridge of a health-conscious person.
I wondered whether that was from her childhood or a take-back-control behaviour from the time she’d spent in hospital where the food would’ve been bland and processed. A little like my own diet.
The milk was shop-bought, but a nearby dairy and I wondered if she made an effort to buy local.
I carried the tea through, Jenna following me with her bags.
“Thanks, Lily. It’s all done now so you can go in there as you please. Someone’s on their way to board up the window so it’s secure.” Jenna stopped near the door to the hall. “I’ve tidied up as well. Your kitchen was otherwise spotless.”
“Thanks. I like things to be tidy.” She took the cup off me. “Did you check the cameras?”
Jenna nodded. “The one at the front is working fine. The back one is just dead. I’ve taken it with me – there’s a list of what I’ve taken on the kitchen worktop.”
“Okay. Thank you.” It was a dismissal and Jenna took it as such. “I’ve messaged someone I know who does windows – I know him through things to do with greenhouses – and he’s on his way round. It is okay, isn’t it, if I get it mended as soon as possible?”
“That’s fine. This doesn’t need to be treated as a crime scene.” I sipped at my tea even though it was too hot. “Have you had any other communication that could be considered a threat?”
“No. Nothing at all, but this has scared me. What if someone has found out who I was? It would ruin everything.” She held her gaze on me for an uncomfortable amount of time.
“Would that be the worst case scenario for you?”
“Yes. Yes, it would. I’ve worked so hard to manage this life and I don’t want anything to upset it, Mia.”
The use of my name startled me. It shouldn’t have done; when I was a beat cop, or I’d been doing FLO work, use of first names was standard to build a relationship with a victim, or sometimes even a suspect you were hoping would be comfortable enough to let something slip.
“Is it possible you know someone who knew your mother? Maybe through your gardening? I’m wondering if you have an allotment?”
She looked ahead of her, not really seeing anything. “I have a small holding in Withymoor. A farmer turned one of his fields into allotments and I hire four of the spaces so I can have a polytunnel and raised beds.”
“What do you grow? I couldn’t help but notice all the fresh veg in your fridge. Is that what you’ve grown?”
“Yes. You know my parents,” she forced the word, “grew most of their own food. They didn’t believe in a commercial way of life. I was taught how to grow from seed since I was little, how to harvest and store crops. It’s the one part of my childhood I remember well.”
“Did that mean you had a very different childhood to your friends?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Even the kids of the parents who were in the group were different to me.
Their parents were involved but they still let them have normal stuff, you know like computers and TVs.
My parents wouldn’t have anything like that.
” There was hatred in her voice now and I wondered how often this was a topic in her therapy.
“So what did you do?”
Her expression was icy. “You’re allegedly a good detective, Mia, so I suspect you’ve already done your homework. I stayed away from home wherever I could.”
“So you could watch TV and use a computer?”