Chapter 25 #2
Taz laughed, amused. “I wish. Two weeks away somewhere like that would be a fucking boon, but the new job starts.” Sidestepped again. “When are you next off?”
“I was going to book leave after this case.”
“What will you do with it?”
“House stuff. I need to get properly stuck in. Thank you for that – sorting the bathroom and the plastering.”
“Take a proper holiday. Get a flight somewhere. Don’t think about anything for a few nights.” He slowed as we came to a road, now out of the park and on our way back to mine. “If you don’t want a beach holiday go somewhere like Rome or Madrid, or Oslo or Copenhagen.”
“Is that a personal recommendation?”
“It is. My favourite was Copenhagen.”
“You’ve travelled with your job then?” I tried digging again.
“With a knapsack over my shoulder and a pair of good shoes. I need to talk to you about the stairs. We’ve had an idea.”
The rest of the conversation remained on my house, my legs feeling solid but sore by the time we got back and I dragged myself to the shower on the top floor, while Taz made a couple of calls and a mate of his came round to help with the flooring.
By the end of the weekend, I’d have a fully finished bathroom. But by Monday, life would’ve shuffled the hand I’d been dealt one more time.
There was still no sign of Lily. We’d requested her mobile phone records, along with recent bank transactions, concern rising.
There was one bank transaction for a supermarket totalling sixty-five pounds twenty-three, timestamped, which gave us a possible location, so Verity and Lachy had headed off to the Stockport-Derbyshire border in the search of CCTV, to see if we could validate the transaction being made from her.
If it was, she was alive and shopping at twenty to seven last night, which would make me less concerned that she was now a victim, but possibly something else.
I settled at my desk, sipping water and digging for information on Stefan Taylor without much success when Taz’s message came through, meaning I now also possibly had a phone number.
It was brief but not cryptic, not like his emails had been earlier in the year, giving me employee details for Ste Taylor the fire scene technician.
Or Stefan Taylor.
The fizz of a key piece clicking into place was kicked out as I kicked myself.
We’d speculated about it being a firefighter; someone who understood how a flame would take hold and destroy whatever was in its path.
The rope used, the different accelerants - it made sense now. Why hadn’t I seen it earlier?
“Boss, I need to speak to you.” Wrigley had just crossed the office, heading to his den, probably hoping to go and check the sports news in peace for half an hour.
I stood up and rushed over to him. “Ste Taylor – the fire technician who attended the fire at Micky Mulligan’s is Stefan Taylor.
” Taz had sent me where to look to show I’d found the connection legitimately.
Wrigley’s face started to redden. “Are you sure?”
“Certain. He went after work for a leaving do, and he was asking a lot of questions about the case, suggesting that the fires were started by different people because each has had a different profile. He was keen on the idea that another kid had started the fire in the outhouse where Cade was, an urban explorer rival, but it was a little too much.”
Wrigley checked his phone, not responding for a moment. “I’ll speak to his supervisor, get their take on him. Is there any way of linking him with Lily since she’s been released?”
“No. She’s sworn she’s got no contacts other than her psychiatrist, the other professionals still involved, and her clients.
When I spoke to Doctor McKay, she confirmed Lily hadn’t mentioned anyone.
But I don’t think Lily was as compliant as she’s made out to be.
” Although to maintain that over such a long period of time was unlikely.
“Try the probation officer – what was she called?”
“Tabitha Smithson. She was weirdly invested in Lily.” Something had never seemed quite right with her.
“I’ve come across her a couple of times, but years ago.
She was always for reform, that with proper support most people didn’t need to spend time in prison.
She was an idealist and I was always surprised the system didn’t finish her off.
” He looked almost wistful. “She’ll be on Lily’s side, to the extent she’ll omit information if she doesn’t think it necessary.
Go and speak to her again – we need to let her know that Lily’s missing. ”
“What about Stefan Taylor?”
“Let me start the digging. No one likes it when one of their own has the finger pointed at them.”
Tabitha Smithson was just leaving Manchester’s central library when I found her, wearing a jacket even though there was no sign of rain and it was in the mid-twenties.
St Peter’s Square was covered with pissed off office workers, overheated people in suits and those bored enough to come to Manchester for a day out.
She stood out from the crowds, her back slightly stooped and her walk slow, purpose in every step for the energy it required.
She spotted me, pausing on a step, her eyes already knowing that this wasn’t going to be good.
“Detective,” she said when I was close enough. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you have fifteen minutes for a coffee?”
“That long?” She turned around towards Peter Street. “I’ll have a tea. You go ahead and I’ll get us a table.”
I found myself doing what she’d said, something oddly calming about being given a clear instruction with no need for me to think, and I wondered whether a holiday abroad would be a good idea.
When I had the drinks, I found Tabitha next to the window in a corner, looking at the passersby and seeming weary compared to when I’d first met her.
“Here. I brought sugar.” I took the sachets out of my pocket and put them on the table.
“I won’t need it.” She stirred milk into the tea, watching the circles. “You want to talk about Lily?”
“We don’t know where she is. She hasn’t been home for two nights.” We’d confirmed no one was in the house. Curtains were opened and there was no sign of life, her car not on the drive.
“I see. I heard about the boy in the fire at Lily’s old home.
” She swallowed, still looking out of the window.
“Lily should’ve met me today. She didn’t show up.
That’s the first time since she was released.
” Her focus landed on me; she took a long breath, the exhale visible. “Something’s not right.”
“We know. That’s why we’re looking for her. But I don’t think we have all the information, do we, Tabitha?”
Tabitha bristled, sipping her tea. “I wish they’d use proper tea bags in these coffee chains, ones that had a bit of taste.” She put the mug down. “Lily is a complex girl - ”
“Woman,” I corrected. “She’s thirty-one.”
“She’s still a girl. The trauma she went through – whether she started that fire or not, it was still traumatic for her – has kept her as a child. I often thought that was the best outcome, because as an adult she could be dangerous.” She sat back in the chair, people watching again.
“What do you mean?”
“She has no empathy, but she has a huge desire to please people. That’s why her gardening clients love her, that’s why those of us who work with her are hopeful for her.
She will act in the way you want her to, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how she’s manipulating you too.
” She leaned forward and picked up her drink.
“Why are you telling me this now, and not when we first spoke?”
“Because I had no reason to.” She rested the mug on her lap.
“I’m a hopeful person. Lily was doing well at work, booking little jaunts abroad and trying new places and she hadn’t deviated from anything.
Every appointment was met, she kept us informed about when she was going on holiday, when she changed her vehicle, everything was transparent. ”
“What changed?”
“She phoned me the night the brick was put through her window. She was shaken and upset; she was still very nervous about her identity being discovered, all of that was genuine. But during that conversation she mentioned Stefan Taylor, that she thought he’d thrown the brick because the message was something he’d given her before.
He was one of the boys she hung around with before the fire, and when she was first in hospital, she’d written his name on lots of notes with hearts, even her own name with his.
” She put down the mug, barely any of it drunk.
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?”
“Because it wasn’t relevant, until the night of the brick.
But Lily did sometimes teeter between fragile but plausibly stable and living with one foot on a different plane.
Trauma. Her memories weren’t always based in what had actually happened; she would have violent nightmares and was often sure that they’d happened and then she’d tell us when it actually had.
The dreams were part of the reason she stayed in hospital longer than perhaps she should, although maybe it should’ve been for longer.
” Another sigh. “I spoke to her two days ago. I gave her a call because I was surprised I hadn’t heard from her – anything remotely like that and I’d be hearing from her three or four times a day.
She sounded completely different than I’d ever heard her; euphoric, almost and very excited. ” She paused, drank her tea.
I waited. There was a huge contradiction between having no empathy as well as being eager to please, suggesting Lily had learned social performance cognitively rather than emotionally.
She had learned compliance, mimicry and appeasement as survival strategies as a child, until for some reason she stopped and became wild.
What caused that change? Who caused that change? Was it Stefan Taylor?