Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(21)

‘How’d you know the person driving this vehicle was with the victim – you know her?’

‘I’ve never met her, but a friend of mine found the body this morning and described the victim. I wanted to—’

‘Your friend is this . . .’ There’s the sound of papers being shuffled. ‘Moira Flynn?’

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘All right, so how can I help you?’ Golding’s tone makes it clear he’d rather do anything but.

‘You can help me by listening to what I have to say.’ Philip tightens his grip on the phone. It’s like Golding doesn’t even want the information. Like he’s doing Philip a favour by being on the call. ‘Shall I tell you the plate of the vehicle?’

‘Sure, go ahead.’

‘It’s from Maryland – 6JB7892.’

‘And you saw all of those numbers real clear?’

Philip frowns. ‘What are you implying?’

‘Well, sir, eyesight is a funny thing, as you get older . . .’

‘My eyesight, and that of the person who saw the victim and the car are perfectly fine.’

‘So you didn’t see the victim for yourself?’

‘No, like I said, I asked around the neighbourhood to see if—’

‘Sir, investigating is my job, not yours.’

Philip clenches his free fist. ‘And what will you be doing about it?’

‘There’s no need to raise your voice. We’re following some leads, got a few theories.’ Golding’s tone is the sort you’d use with a young and not very smart child. ‘It’s likely a mugging gone wrong, that’s an angle we’re working.’

Philip glances at Rick, who frowns. He turns into Rip Curl Drive, easing off the gas as he approaches Philip’s house.

‘Seems unlikely,’ says Philip to Golding. ‘Why would a mugger leave all the money?’

Golding’s tone hardens. ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of the case any further. What’s all this to you anyways?’

‘I’m a concerned citizen and resident of Ocean Mist community. I want to do my public duty. I can come to the precinct now if that helps? Anything I can do to—’

‘Look pal, the plate’s interesting for sure, but I’m over time on the clock here. I’ve just finished up the paperwork, and I’m heading out. I’ll be back on shift tonight, and I’ll be sure to look into this then.’

‘You’re not going to check the plate until tonight? Don’t you know that the first hours are when the case can be—’

‘This is my investigation. I’ll conduct it however I decide. With all due respect, Mr . . . erm . . . Sweetman, you need to stay out of police business and get back to your golf or pickleball or whatever it is you retired seniors do up there to pass the time in . . . Ocean Mist.’

Rick shakes his head and mouths, ‘Don’t engage.’

But Philip’s had enough of Golding’s tone. Anger flares in his chest. How dare the man write him off because of his age? He can’t let it pass. Has to call it out. Can’t stop himself. ‘Shame on you, Detective Golding. I’ve called you to help and you’re hardly even listening. What sort of a detective are you? I was a DCI in the UK. I know what proper police work is and I’m not seeing any of it from you. Men like you don’t deserve to carry a badge. You’re a disgrace to law—’

The phone goes dead. The connection severed.

Philip looks at Rick. ‘The bastard hung up on me.’

Rick shakes his head again. ‘I warned you, man.’

‘Well, it’s not bloody good enough. He’s burying the case, and I don’t understand why.’ Philip throws open the jeep’s door and climbs out, slamming it behind him. He meets Rick’s gaze. ‘I’m not going to let him get away with it.’





12


MOIRA


Lizzie comes back from the kitchen with more coffee. As she sets the mugs down on the table she says to Moira, ‘Sorry about earlier, and to accuse you of—’

‘It’s totally fine,’ says Moira. She gives her a reassuring smile, and it seems to work. There’s still some tension between them, but it’s less than earlier. Moira’s not convinced Lizzie really trusts her, but she can live with that. As she watches Lizzie sit down opposite her, she wonders how Lizzie ever coped working as a CSI. She seems too fragile, too emotional and easily worried, to have worked crime scenes for years.

Lizzie takes a sip of coffee before meeting Moira’s gaze. ‘Anyway, enough about me. What made you decide to come and live here?’

Shit. I don’t want to talk about this, thinks Moira. If she’s going to build trust, she has to reveal something of herself, but it’s not like she can tell Lizzie the real truth. She’s stalling by taking a mouthful of coffee when she hears noise – footsteps and raised voices.

‘What’s that?’ she asks.

‘Sounds like Philip,’ says Lizzie. ‘I wonder if—’

Next moment they hear the click of the back gate being unbolted, and Rick and Philip come through the garden and let themselves into the sunroom.

Philip, red-faced and obviously mad as hell, brandishes his phone at them. ‘You’re not going to bloody well believe this.’