Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Retired DCI Terry Jones was polishing his car when I got there, Verity still with me.
I’d reported into Wrigley about our conversation with Andrew Smith, and he started Carly on digging up what she could about Stefan.
He also said he’d alert the Financial Investigation Team about the irregularities Smith had confessed to, less enthusiastically so.
“DCI Jones,” I said as we walked up his driveway. I didn’t have to use his rank, but I didn’t want to piss him off.
“Detective Sergeant Mia McAllister. How’s the investigation going and who’s your friend?” He gave Verity an appraising look, that of a senior cop working out if someone was going to be a waste of a wage.
“DC Verity Golding,” she said, not flinching from his gaze. “Same unit as Mia.”
“What can I do for you?” He made no attempt to put down the cloth he was using to polish.
“There are a few more things I want to go through about the fire at Roselea.” He’d not had any warning that we were dropping by; I hadn’t run this past Wrigley because I had a feeling I’d be batted away from it.
“I thought we’d covered everything.” He looked like he was trying to grow a couple of inches.
I’d been done being intimidated by men by the time I was fifteen. It didn’t matter that he had almost a foot on me in height, or that he was a legendary old school cop, I wasn’t going to give way.
“We had, but a few things have come up. When you were investigating, did you come across Andrew Smith, the director of The Holding?”
He folded his arms, resting back on his heels.
“We can talk about this inside if you like.” I could see his next door neighbour’s curtains twitch.
“How long is this going to take?” He looked at his watch.
“As long as it takes.”
“Come into the kitchen. Round the back.” He gestured towards the open gate.
We followed him round, his car left unlocked because this wasn’t the sort of area where you needed to worry about passing car thieves.
The back door was open and the radio on, set to a seventies station. Jones didn’t offer us a chair, or a drink. This visit wasn’t welcomed which made me wonder who he’d spoken to before I saw him last.
“Did you meet Andrew Smith during your investigation?”
“Once. Or one of the DCs did. We needed some information about The Holding, but we were satisfied that it was unrelated to the fire and the deaths of Peter, George and Joseph Goodhew.” A long answer with not very much new information.
“Did you look into the accounting at The Holding?” I already knew the answer.
“It wasn’t relevant so that would’ve been a waste of police time at the very least. This is all obvious stuff, Detective.”
“Did you speak with Lily’s friends who she was with the night of the fire?” There’d been no records of this in the files, even the ones Taz had gotten hold of.
“We weren’t able to identify them.”
“But you spoke to Graham Mercer and received intel on Lily’s behaviour.
Did you not get the names of the other children she was with that night?
I’m interested because her blood results came back negative for alcohol.
” I watched, his eyes not leaving my face, reminding me of a dog before it pounced.
“The blood results were wrong. She smelled of alcohol and she was presenting as if she was intoxicated. Don’t start digging in old graves, Mia, you don’t know what other bodies you’ll find.” He barely blinked.
I didn’t move, didn’t even move my gaze from his.
I heard Verity shift, footsteps on the tiled floor.
I’d told her what I was going to ask and gave her the option of waiting in the car, knowing full well that Wrigley would not want me approaching Jones again.
I’d get the flack anyway as the senior officer, and Verity had asked to come along.
“That’s kind of what I’m thinking; there are some skeletons in a closet that some people would rather stay hidden. Did you not get the names of the other kids from the safeguarding lead at Lily’s school? She was really helpful and remembered a lot.”
His face had gone pale, I suspected with anger.
“It wasn’t relevant.”
“How wasn’t it relevant?” I was pushing my luck and my career prospects. Terry Jones might have been retired but he still played golf with the high-ups, he still had their ear.
He sighed, long and loudly, as if he was tired of this and I was wasting his time. It was dramatic and fake. And obvious with it.
“It was obviously Lily. There were no other suspects. We didn’t need to panic other children. That wouldn’t have been fair on them.”
“Didn’t you think that maybe one, or more, of them could have had something to do with it?”
“Of course not, else we would’ve made further enquiries. Lily Goodhew was guilty. She was feral, and she hated her parents. The fire meant she got what she wanted – living somewhere else.”
“Don’t you think it was a bit extreme? She ended up incarcerated in a secure hospital for the rest of her childhood and all her early adulthood. She didn’t get freedom.” I took the heat out of my voice.
He gave a single nod; shoulders not quite wrapped around his ears. “But it was better than what she had with her parents.”
“But that doesn’t mean her only option was to kill her family. Services let her down.” It was a too common story.
He stayed silent, a nine-yard stare as if he was looking into the past.
“What can you tell me about her friend Stefan?”
His attention returned to me.
“What would he have to do with anything?”
There I had it. Lily had been friends with The Holding’s leader.
“Was he with her that night?’
“Like I’ve already said, we didn’t investigate the kids she was knocking about with.”
“Even though Stefan was the son of The Holding’s leader, and Andrew Smith was using their accounts to pay the fees for Stefan’s school?”
Terry Jones shifted from foot to foot. “We weren’t looking at The Holding.”
“Remiss, wouldn’t you say, given The Holding was set to benefit from the deaths of the Goodhews?”
“There was no way Lily Goodhew wasn’t responsible, Detective. None.”
“But you didn’t follow the money?”
“There was no reason to. And there’s no reason to now, either.” It was a warning. “Look at Lily for the murder of her mother. She was good with fires.”
“Were you aware that Amanda Goodhew didn’t think Lily was guilty? She’d started to investigate what actually happened that night.”
He picked up the bottle of car wax from the floor and turned away. “You know what they say about scabs, Detective McAllister? You shouldn’t pick them. They can leave scars.” He headed back away, not turning round, not giving us a second look.
Verity’s mouth was agape when I turned to her.
“What?” I walked back to my car. “You think that could’ve gone any better?”
She’d gone in the passenger side. “He’s going to be on the phone already to Wrigley.”
“Maybe. I don’t think it’d be Wrigley. They don’t know each other personally. Look, I could get dragged in someone’s office and given a bollocking for looking at the old case, but it is relevant to what we’re investigating.” I started the engine.
“He could mess up your career, Mia.”
“He won’t.” I was sure about that.
“How are you so certain? I’m scared every time Wrigley calls me into his office, thinking I’m going to be sent to traffic.”
“I’ve dealt with worse than corrupt senior officers, and I still believe that justice slams through everything in the end. Karma’s a bitch.” Although I was still waiting for it to catch some people up.
We drove back in relative silence, just the sound of the traffic and the birds singing, the radio off because both of our heads were already full of noise.
I’d just parked up near the Fishbowl when my phone rang again. Lily’s name came up, programmed into my phone so I didn’t answer it thinking it was an unknown number.
I answered the call, Verity already out of the car and heading off to get a drinkable coffee before reporting back to Wrigley.
“Mia, I think someone’s been following me.” Her words were whispered and rushed. “What should I do?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in town. He’s been following me for about twenty minutes, even when I go in a shop and come back out again, he’s nearby. I know you must think I’m mad, but I keep seeing him everywhere.” She was panicked, her voice teary.
I should call through and get a city centre cop on it, but this was my case. “Where are you?”
“I’ve gone into Afflecks Palace on Oldham Street. I know a couple of the traders so I can head to them. Can you come and find me?” She sounded like she was moving again.
I debated whether to. I wasn’t a response officer, but Lily was key and I wasn’t sure whether to believe her. I wanted to see her for myself.
“I can. I’m about five minutes away, if that. Where in Afflecks are you waiting?”
“There’s a coffee shop on the second floor. I’m going to get a table and sit there. At least no one can drag me away.” She sounded despondent, as if resigned to her fate. “Maybe I should’ve died - ”
I didn’t have time for her to be maudlin. I wasn’t a therapist. “What does the man look like who’s been following you?”
“Maybe not quite six foot. He’s broad shouldered and has brown hair. He’s wearing blue jeans and a black jacket, which I thought was weird because it’s a warm day.” She was calm now.
“Any distinguishing features?” I was out of the car and halfway down Angel Street already.
“No. He looks normal. I didn’t notice what he had on his feet so they couldn’t have been anything special.”
I heard the sound of a coffee machine in the background, so I guessed she was already in the café.
“I’m a couple of minutes away. Stay where you are – are you in the coffee shop still?”
I was talking to a dead line.
I ran, dodging Manchester’s finest like I was playing space invaders, ignoring the tuts and shakes of head from a few of the passersby, ignoring that I was too hot or that these weren’t the right shoes for running in.
Like most teenagers who’d been a student in Manchester, I’d spent time in Afflecks, a huge early Victorian building from the 1860s, formerly the Harrods of the north.
Since the early eighties, it had been a hub of independent and alternative shops on short term leases, offering artwork and piercings, joss sticks and candles, an emporium of eclecticism.
I hadn’t been in there for years, avoiding town unless I was in work, and spending as little time there as possible, but I remembered where the café was.
I tried phoning Lily back, the call going straight through to voicemail.
I pushed through the doors, finding one of the staircases, this one empty with unlabelled doors.
The place was a maze with different entrances and exits, staircases through doorways and dead ends.
Every time I’d been in there as a student, I’d discovered a different shop, and sometimes I’d felt as if I’d discovered a new floor.
There were two coffee shops in the building and Lily wasn’t at the first one I got to. Her fair hair, almost white, made her stand out usually, and at first glance I couldn’t see her. I stopped by a teenager with more holes in his face than a piece of Swiss cheese.
“Have you seen a woman with really blonde hair?” I extended the description, noticing his blank expression. He smelled cleaner than he looked.
“Can’t help you, mate.” He looked away from me, not wanting to be bothered.
I stepped away from him and tried Lily again. The same, voicemail. Either her phone was switched off or she didn’t have signal.
The next coffee shop was on the third floor.
I walked quickly, peering into each shop to see if Lily had headed into one of them.
No sign, no sign of her on the stairs, or in the first few stores on the next floor.
Had she been dragged into a quiet nook somewhere?
There were quieter places in Afflecks and unused sections, plenty of crannies where no one would notice.
The second café was empty apart from a couple of people in their twenties with multicoloured hair, like they’d shared the same dye. A rather weary looking waitress sat by the counter, checking her phone and not looking up once.
No sign of Lily. I tried her phone again. Nothing. “Excuse me,” I approached the waitress. She looked up, still bored.
“Is there a place in this building where the phone signal’s non-existent?”
She nodded. “The toilets on this side. Some days you can get a signal for some reason, but most of the time it’s dead. A couple of networks might work.”
“Thank you. Have you seen a woman with really white blonde hair?”
She shook her head. “No, not today. It’s been really quiet.”
“Thank you – are the toilets down here?” I pointed to another door, new and unvarnished.
“Yep, through there. Not sure if they’re working. I use the ones on the floor below.” She went back to her phone, duty done.
I took off through the unvarnished door, finding a narrow stairwell, colder than outside with peeling paint on the walls.
There was an acrid smell, sour and off, maybe urine mixed with vomit, and it wasn’t fresh.
Another door was opposite me, across a small mezzanine, and this opened into a lobby with two more doors, one labelled for men and the other had handwritten in Sharpie, Female Identifiers.
I pushed that one open, seeing two stalls, one closed shut and the other open.
I banged on the closed door, calling Lily’s name, hearing only my own voice echoing back. The room was empty, I could tell. There was no sign of life in here other than the spider near the sink. I pushed at the closed door, needing to check if my instincts were correct.
Locked.
I didn’t hesitate to kick it open. It swung back with the force of it, the lock pinging straight off.
A toilet that was practically overflowing was exposed, no Lily, no sign of anyone, at least not for a few days.
I didn’t linger, running out of the toilets, briefly checking the men’s and finding them empty, then headed down the next flight of stairs.
If she’d been in the café below, the bathrooms below were more likely.
These were slightly less damp, graffiti smeared across the walls telling the reader that Anthony was a cunt and Jenni shagged whoever for a fiver, along with a number that may or may not be hers.
Both cubicles were empty, the bathroom deserted. I tried to pull the door handle, the next plan to try the other bathrooms, only the door was stuck.
Locked.
I kicked at it, needing the noise, trying to alert someone, unable to force it open because it swung the other way. I tried my phone, no reception, no chance of calling someone.
Another kick. Then another and another.
I’d been locked in. Someone didn’t want me finding Lily.