Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(22)

Lizzie looks worried. ‘Honey, what’s the—’

‘The bastard’s burying the case,’ rants Philip as he takes a seat next to Lizzie. ‘I called Golding with the intel we found and he treated me like some old doddering fool, like I’m a washed-up has-been, some old guy who’s lost his marbles. He was so disrespectful. Utterly condescending, I—’

‘He was an asshole,’ says Rick. ‘Didn’t really listen. Just wanted Philip off the phone as soon as.’

Lizzie purses her lips. There’s concern in her eyes.

Moira isn’t surprised about Golding. ‘That’s the impression I got this morning – seemed like one of those guys who’s just going through the motions until he can clock off.’

‘Yep, one of those for sure.’ Rick goes into the kitchen and pours two mugs of coffee. Returning, he takes a seat next to Moira and pushes one of the mugs towards Philip.

Philip ignores the coffee. He smacks his palm down on to the table making all the mugs wobble. ‘It’s not bloody good enough. Golding should have listened to me. I’m an experienced senior officer, a DCI for God’s sake, with good information, useful stuff for his investigation, and he treated me like I’m a . . . like a—’

‘Honey, take a breath.’ Lizzie puts her hand on Philip’s arm, lowers her voice. ‘Remember what the doctor told you.’

Philip shakes his head vigorously. ‘No, I don’t have time. A woman died here, on my watch, and I need to make sure—’

‘It wasn’t your watch. You’re not DCI of Ocean Mist.’ Lizzie’s voice is tougher now, no-nonsense.

Philip looks at Lizzie. Takes a breath. Says nothing.

Aside from the birdsong, everything is silent. Moira swallows hard as she watches the stand-off between Philip and Lizzie. Gone is the mild-mannered, anxious Lizzie of a few minutes ago. In her place is a strong, assertive Lizzie – a less emotional version of the Lizzie who shouted at her earlier. This version of her Moira can easily see working a crime scene.

Rick catches Moira’s gaze. His look is rueful – seeming to say they’re both caught in the eye of the storm, and there’s no easy way out until Lizzie and Philip have resolved this for themselves. Moira knows he’s right. She’s thinking the same.

‘You’re retired. You’re not responsible for this,’ repeats Lizzie. Her voice is still assertive but her expression is softer now, more understanding. Her fingers stroke his arm.

Philip still doesn’t reply. As he reaches out to lift the coffee mug in front of him, Moira sees his hands are trembling.

She scans his face. There’s conflict in Philip’s expression. She’s not sure what’s going on here, but she guesses that as an ex-DCI, Philip’s finding it hard to be a bystander in this murder – to not be the one in charge and instead be forced on to the sidelines.

Moira understands that. She also knows what it’s like to feel responsible for something bad, something fatal. Her last operation starts to play out in her mind’s eye and her breath catches in her throat. Feeling her heart rate accelerate, she clasps her fingers around her coffee mug tighter. Shakes her head to get rid of the memory. She can’t think about that now, here. She can’t think about what happened with McCord.

When she glances up she realises Rick is looking at her, frowning. She wonders what her expression looked like as the memory of McCord started playing. Nothing good, she imagines. And whatever it was, it seems Rick noticed. She gives him a little shrug, trying to make light of it. Turns her attention to Philip.

Philip’s shoulders have slumped. He’s still red-faced and sweat is beading across his forehead. He reaches into his pocket for a tissue and mops his brow. ‘I know you’re right, Lizzie, you’re always right . . .’

‘I just wanted you to stop raging. I couldn’t bear for you to have another—’

‘I understand that,’ says Philip. He exhales hard. ‘It’s just I do feel like I should be taking charge here. Someone needs to make sure the case is run properly.’

Lizzie looks sad, disappointed. She twists her rings around her wedding finger.

Philip puts his hand over hers. ‘I know you wanted us to have a quieter life in retirement, but this murder happened right on our doorstep. I can’t just let it go.’

‘You really need to,’ Lizzie says. ‘You shouldn’t get involved.’

Philip sighs. He looks from Lizzie to Moira and Rick. ‘I don’t trust this Golding bloke. He just doesn’t seem to care about this case.’

Moira puts her mug down on the table. ‘I had the same feeling. And I think your experience with him just now has proved the point.’

‘Yup,’ says Rick. ‘Like I said, he’s an asshole.’

‘The victim deserves better,’ says Moira.

‘Exactly,’ says Philip.

Lizzie rotates her rings faster around her finger. ‘But we can’t force the cops here to run their investigation how we want them to.’

Rick runs his hand across his jaw. Shakes his head. ‘I sure hate the thought that whoever killed that young woman could get away with it because the assigned detective half-asses the investigation.’

There are nods from the others. There’s a new feeling in the group. Moira can hear it in their voices and see it in their expressions.