Free After the Fire by Jane Casey

appearance. She crossed the kitchen and pulled down a mug from a shelf, then started fiddling with a vast, shiny coffee machine.
    ‘What can I do for the police this fine morning? Can I get you a coffee? Tea? I’m so sorry, I have to have caffeine before I can speak to anyone.’
    If this was Harriet Edmonds before caffeine, I wasn’t sure I could cope with after.
    Derwent introduced himself, and me. ‘We’re here about—’
    ‘Just a second.’ She dived into the fridge. ‘Soy milk. Disgusting. I’m a vegan so I’m not allowed to hate it but I do.’
    ‘Mrs Edmonds.’
    She stopped. ‘Yes.’
    ‘We need to speak to you about the Maudling Estate. You own a property there.’
    She put the carton down. ‘I own two.’
    ‘And you let them out to tenants.’
    ‘No. Not officially. I have friends who stay there.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘People who need somewhere to stay indefinitely. Has – has something happened?’
    ‘You haven’t seen the news?’
    ‘I only watch the lunchtime news. I don’t like to look at the news in the evenings. It disturbs me.’ She ran her fingers around her eyes, massaging the skin. ‘I have trouble sleeping. I can’t switch off.’
    ‘There was a fire, Mrs Edmonds. In Murchison House.’
    ‘Oh my God.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘That’s where I put Melissa. What happened to her?’
    ‘Melissa?’ I repeated.
    ‘She had a little boy. Oh God, not them.’
    ‘We found Sam. He’s fine,’ I added.
    ‘Oh … yes, Sam.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘But Melissa? Is she—’
    ‘We don’t know. We haven’t been able to identify her yet. She may be among the injured. But there were also some fatalities, I’m afraid.’
    ‘The poor, poor girl. As if she hadn’t had enough to deal with.’ Harriet Edmonds began to cry, quite openly and helplessly.
    I hurried over to her and guided her to the sofa. Derwent crouched down in front of her, and it wasn’t quite confrontational but he wasn’t giving her much space either.
    ‘Why was Melissa living in Murchison House?’
    ‘It was supposed to be a safe place for her while she found her feet.’ Harriet dug in her pocket for a tissue and blew her nose. ‘That’s what I do. I provide safe places for the women I help. I run a charity for victims of domestic violence. Women’s refuges are all very well and good but they’re not ideal places for women with children. Some women won’t consider a refuge. They’d rather stay with their abuser than bring their children there. They want to keep them in a home environment, even if it’s not what they’re used to.’
    ‘Too good for a refuge?’ Derwent said. ‘God bless the middle classes.’
    Harriet paused for a moment. ‘You don’t have to be working class to get beaten up by your partner. You don’t have to be poor, or badly educated, or stupid, or whatever it is you’re assuming.’
    ‘He knows,’ I said, glaring at Derwent. He pulled a face at me while Harriet was occupied with wiping her eyes.
    ‘They put themselves under such pressure. They think they can protect the children from knowing about it and keep up the façade of the perfect marriage, the perfect life. And of course they can’t. They all break eventually. Or they are broken.’ She sniffed. ‘I’ve been doing this for twelve years. I’ve had a lot of police officers come here and tell me there’s no need for me to run my organisation. I’ve had a lot of condescending advice from people like you. And I’ve also had hundreds of women thank me for saving their lives.’
    ‘I apologise,’ Derwent said. ‘I really do.’ He sounded sincere, too.
    ‘It’s hard to walk out on a life that looks enviable. It’s hard to deprive your children of the things they are used to having. The flats aren’t luxurious but they are far away from the abusers, and they’re free, and private.’
    ‘How long had Melissa been staying there?’ I asked.
    ‘I’d have to check. A couple of