Angie grinned. “Did you find the photo of that landslide you mentioned? It’s been a while since I walked that part of the coast path, and I’m intrigued to see how bad the damage is.”
Mattie flicked back through the photos she’d taken on her phone yesterday. The sea. Rocks. Beaches. More rocks. A heron. “Here it is.” She swiped through the pictures of the landslide, taken from different angles.
Angie sighed as she saw the damage. “The coast all the way along here is vulnerable.”
Mattie swiped to the next photo. It was a picture of her feet clad in her walking boots, but she was standing on a pavement rather than a grassy track. She must’ve taken that at the site of the fire, when she’d fumbled to ring 999 and inadvertently opened the camera app instead. She swiped on. There was a blurred picture of a wheelie bin next to a wooden fence. Another one of the sky and... What the hell? “I need to show this to Nell.”
Angie looked at it and nodded. “I’ll text her on her personal number, if that’ll help.”
“Thank you.” Mattie’s mind raced. Had she inadvertently stumbled upon a vital piece of evidence? It seemed that she and Nell were about to cross paths again. The seriousness of the fire aside, Mattie couldn’t help but feel a frisson of excitement.
Chapter 8
Nell re-read the press release she’d written one more time. It confirmed that the Paignton fire was being treated as suspicious but didn’t offer further detail. Police were asking for neighbours to check their doorbell CCTV, if they had one, and for witnesses who hadn’t yet spoken to police to come forward. Hopefully, the update would keep the fire in people’s minds and give a push to the investigation, which was going slower than CID would like. So far, two abusers of the women living at the refuge had been traced and provided firm alibis, while one alibi was still being checked. Five men still had to be accounted for. The press release didn’t include specific reference to the house being a women’s refuge.
Nell tapped her pen against the desktop. Would Mattie read it? A different journalist had reported on the fire for the lunchtime bulletin, and it’d barely merited a minute of airtime. Nell preferred Mattie’s smoother, richer voice to her replacement’s higher-pitched one. The latter lacked charisma, whereas Mattie had it in buckets. Onscreen, she was professional and authoritative, but most noticeable was the compassion she showed while interviewing, without fawning or pandering. That was some skill, and it was as compelling as therest of her. How was Mattie managing today? Nell could always ring Angie and check, under the guise of professional concern.No.Thinking about Mattie had to stop. Nell had a job to focus on, traumatised women to protect, reports to read. Constantly thinking about someone she had no intention of being with was nonsense.
Pursing her lips, she reached for the newly delivered initial report from the fire brigade. She honed in on essential phrases and details. A risk assessment, in line with the Regulatory Reform Order 2005, had been carried out recently on all communal areas where facilities were shared. Smoke alarms and carbon dioxide detectors worked correctly. There was a dedicated fire escape to allow people to exit via another means aside from the front door. However, anecdotal evidence from residents revealed that the fire exit door on the top floor had often been wedged open during recent weeks by the women living in upstairs rooms who were desperate for cooler air. Who could blame them?
The heat was relentless, and it added a weight to Nell’s day. Cases like this were so emotionally challenging to deal with. She had more than enough experience of them and regularly received counselling to divorce herself from it all, but some things were hard to forget. The condition of Lexi, the young mum critically injured in the fire, had worsened. Her ravaged body was struggling to overcome the effect of poisonous toxins as well as the toll of second and third degree burns on her chest, arms, and legs. Her little boy needed help to breathe too. The rest of the stricken building’s residents were now settled in safe accommodation in other towns. The women were resilient and supportive of one another but, as domestic abuse survivors, they’d already been through so much. Gavin came to mind, but Nell shoved that thought away. This wasn’t about her.
Her personal mobile rang, and she fished it from her bag, which was under her desk.
“Sorry to call you at work.” Angie sounded out of breath, like she’d run up the stairs. “Mattie’s got something important she needs to show you. It’s about the fire.”
Nell rubbed her face at the mention of Mattie’s name and that she was acting like a typical journalist. Why couldn’t she go through the normal official channels like everyone else? “Tell her to contact the investigating team.”
“She could do that, but I thought it’d be quicker to show you in person,” said Angie.
Nell smothered her instinctive response to bite back another retort. Angie wasn’t one for making a drama out of nothing. If she thought it was important enough to ring Nell at work, then Nell should take note. “What’s Mattie got?”
“A photo. It needs to be seen in context with other photos.”
Nell considered her options. The photo might be nothing, or it might be the breakthrough the investigation needed. Could Mattie be trusted? What would she ask for in return? Journalistsalwayswanted something: insider information, off-the-record background material, a promise to get a tip-off before the rest of the media. They were vultures, as she’d learned to her detriment. Except the investigating team were run off their feet, and there could be a delay before they got to see Mattie’s supposed evidence. Nell huffed. She wouldn’t forgive herself if it led to the arsonist. Meeting Mattie was worth the risk. She ignored the persistent voice in the back of her mind that said it would be a good opportunity to check on Mattie’s condition too.
She was still on duty, so she went to Cove House in full uniform. She was greeted by a harassed-looking Angie, who thrust a toolbox into Nell’s hands. “Please can you take these up to Mattie? Room six, top floor, back bedroom.”
Nell’s eyes widened. “Because?”
Angie grimaced. “Damn plumbing. We’re having a day of disasters. Rosie’s stuck on the coast road with a puncture, so Graham’s gone out to rescue her.”
Still none the wiser, Nell jogged upstairs. Room six’s door was ajar. “Mattie?” She peered inside just as Mattie emerged from the bathroom.
Mattie gaped at her. “You’re in uniform.”
Nell stared at the damp patches on Mattie’s sleeveless shirt. The fabric clung to her chest and left little to the imagination. “You’re wet.”
Mattie smirked. “There’s a water leak. Bring the toolbox in. You can help me by holding the torch.”
Nell followed her into the en suite bathroom. Water pooled across the linoleum floor, and a bath towel rolled into a sausage acted as a barrier to prevent it from spreading onto the bedroom carpet. The small double doors of the vanity unit housing the sink were open. Mattie crouched down, and Nell blinked rapidly at the sight of Mattie’s shorts stretching around the curves of her backside and the muscle definition of her thighs.
“I’m pretty sure the water pipe is to blame rather than the waste one,” said Mattie. “I can’t fix it, but I can switch off the water supply. That’ll stop any further leaks for now.” She motioned to the toolbox. “Are there any flathead screwdrivers in there?”
Nell fumbled with the lid. Did she look as flushed as she felt? “I didn’t have you down as a plumber.”
“My parents ran their own building company, so I know a thing or two from helping out my dad on various projects.”
“That’s one up on me.” Nell held out three flathead screw drivers. “Will any of these fit?”
