Chapter 14 #2
“Where did you grow up?” I asked him as we grew closer to another couple of houses.
“Manchester. Whalley Range. I don’t think I saw a tree until I was about ten.”
I laughed, appreciating the humour. “Even in Piccadilly Gardens?”
“Especially there. No, Whalley Range has got a bit of greenery here and there, not all of it legal. Is that the church I can see?” He pointed to a spire looming in the distance.
“I think that’s it. It’s not used anymore; the Church of England still upkeeps the building and the graveyard, but no services take place there.”
“You’ve done your research.”
“I like to know things. Like what you do for a living.”
“But you’re not subtle. How far have we run?” He checked his watch. “Two miles in sixteen and a half minutes. Not a bad pace.”
“She was barefoot so it would’ve taken longer, and she was drunk.” I thought about teenaged Lily, racing away from the place that should’ve been the safest for her. Whether she had started the fire or not, she’d still been a victim.
“Were her feet injured? This ground’s full of holes and dips, and full of rocks – the soles of her feet would’ve been filthy and shredded.”
“I haven’t seen anything about that, just that she was barefoot.
” The more I thought about the original case, the more I was perplexed by it.
Basic investigative details were missing, such as considering other suspects, looking into the background of Lily’s parents.
From what I’d looked through, The Holding was mentioned once.
We slowed down to a quick walk, the June sun beginning to hang lower in the sky and the air felt cooler.
The track became wider and firmer, leading to a gap in a stone wall and onto a road that scooped around a grassy area with a couple of benches and a well in the middle.
The church was set back off the road, the grass in front of it overgrown and wild, a few gravestones poking their head over the tops.
It was typical for the area; the red brick of the city having given way to the stone that hinted we were closer to Derbyshire than the memories of the Hacienda.
Small and fairly squat, it was rectangular in its shape and lacking decorative features.
Once upon a time it would’ve served its community, providing support, charity and judgment in equal measures.
Now the windows looked fragile, dead behind the eyes, and the door was secured with a steel bar.
“I have a thing for old buildings.” I headed along the stone path towards the entrance, noticing flattened grass, probably from an animal.
“I’ve noticed. You could take on this church as your next project.” He was close behind me, alert and looking everywhere.
“Pass. Although I’d like to have a look in there.
The graveyard is round the back; that’s where the mausoleum is that she was found next to.
” I headed round the church and found what had been a walled cemetery, small and full, with graves and monuments covered in moss and lichen.
The air was damp, trees forming canopies over some of the graves, the odd stone half toppling because of tree roots or badgers.
There was only one mausoleum in the graveyard, once white and grand, now splattered with green and yellow lichens, its wooden door weather worn.
I ran over to it, my feet bouncing off plump moss, the smell of degrading leaves and soil waking me up more than any coffee.
The steps outside the door were sheltered somewhat by the roof, and Lily would’ve been small enough to squeeze up close to the door.
I sat down there, the coolness of the stone against my bare skin making me shiver.
Footsteps crunching on leaves became audible and I braced myself just in case it wasn’t Taz, standing up quickly.
“Mia - ” he stopped a few feet away. “You look like you were about to punch me.”
“I was, if it wasn’t you. This is where the police found her.”
“Why the fuck would she come here? It was February, wasn’t it?”
“It’s the first place you get to if you run across the fields from her house.
I think it’s geography and nothing else.
Look.” I pointed to a large gap in the stone wall at the top corner of the churchyard.
“I bet she came in through there.” I set off, slaloming around gravestones, Taz looking around some more before following.
He caught me up easily, the ground underfoot difficult to run on, soft and unpredictable, tree roots like tripwires.
“Were you planning to come here by yourself tonight?” he said. It was dark here, tall trees and bushes, oaks and silver birches and thick layers of forest mulch.
“Yes.” I knew what he was getting at.
“Did you not think that was a bit risky?”
“No. I’m a copper and I train in Muay Thai. And I’m quick.”
He muttered something but I couldn’t make it out.
“Is this trail running too hard for you?” He’d fallen behind me by a few feet.
“I’ve run across worse. I’m keeping an ear out for anyone else. This place is like something from a horror film.”
“It’s just because you’re too far away from town. Your brain can’t process it.” I stumbled slightly as something fluttered overhead, probably an owl or a crow.
My unrequested running mate of course found it funny. “Jumpy much?”
I slowed, waiting for Taz to catch up. “I wasn’t expecting it,” I sounded grouchy but I couldn’t help smile. “I am used to running in remote places.”
“Anglesey?”
“How did you know?”
Another shrug. “I can do research too.”
A deep hoot echoed from my right but I didn’t flinch, picking up the pace again, thoughts racing, about Lily, about Taz, about my father.
I tried not to think about him because he wasn’t worth the memory space, but every so often he’d either send someone connected with him to pop up, or something would nudge a recollection of him.
I stopped, abruptly, breathing more rapidly.
“You okay?” He’d sped up, nowhere near as out of breath as I was.
“You dodge my questions constantly, but I need you to answer one thing truthfully.”
“I might not be able to do that, Mia. As in not my decision.” His face was serious.
“Then tell me if that’s the case. Are you connected with my father – Stan Garrity? Yes, no or can’t answer.” The fourth option was that he lied.
“No. I’m nothing to do with him.” Something scuffled in the undergrowth near to us. A strong breeze whipped up a few of last autumn’s leaves.
I studied his face for the tells of someone lying, although I imagine that Taz knew what they were and how to hide them. For some reason I believed him.
“Your dad hasn’t instructed me to sort out your roof and check you’re not on your own if you twist an ankle running over this.” He pointed to the ground. “I think we should walk to the house. It’s getting too dark.”
“I would’ve thought you were more of a risk taker.” We started walking again.
“Do you believe me?”
“That you’re a risk taker?”
“That I’m nothing to do with Garrity.” He didn’t look at me, constantly looking around him, like a cop would.
“But you know who he is.”
“I’m from Whalley Range, of course I’ve heard of him, but not for a long time.” A glance in my direction.
“Okay. I believe you. I wouldn’t put it past him to hire someone to keep an eye on me.”
“He might have done, but that person’s not me. There’s the house.”
I looked ahead, just seeing it through the trees, a broken silhouette against a sky that was becoming full with yellows and reds.
“Jesus, it was a bit big.” I wondered how Amanda and Peter Goodhew had afforded it.
It was probably Georgian, a straightforward detached villa, no fancy porch, just simplicity over three storeys.
Much of the white stone was blackened with soot from the fire, two of the chimneys looked like they’d collapsed and part of the roof was damaged, but a lot of the building looked like it was standing fairly firmly.
“I wouldn’t want to tackle that roof,” Taz said, slowing the pace. “But what a building.”
I turned around, looking at the way we’d come. “That was a longer route.” I checked my watch. “Two and a half miles of awkward terrain.”
Taz stopped, looking all the way around. “I don’t think she did it. Fourteen, no shoes, in nightwear and drunk. She’d have gotten lost.”
“Maybe she wasn’t drunk.”
“Maybe she was put there. It would’ve taken her an hour, at least.” He shook his head. “One of my little sisters once took forty minutes to walk home when she was smashed. She had a conversation with every lamppost on the way.”
“How do you know that?”