Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(31)

It’s futile though, really, given the time it’s taken to get this far – ten minutes at least, maybe longer. Anyone who’d been up here, if they had any sense and didn’t want to be confronted, is probably long gone. No one has passed her, though. So maybe there’s the possibility, slim though it is, that they’re still on the hillside. Still watching Lizzie down below in the park. Because she’d left Lizzie poolside, and took a shortcut through to the back of the park, ducking through a gap in the hedge and on to the Wild Ridge Trail. The trees lining the start of the trail had given her camouflage. That’s the moment she’d started running.

The trail is steeper than she’d anticipated, but Moira pushes herself harder. Pumps her arms faster. Lengthens her stride. Questions race through her mind in time with each footfall.

Is the blond guy watching me again?

Who are they? Why are they watching? What are they doing on the trail?

Are they the killer?

The light is fading as the sun sinks lower in the cloudless sky.

She pushes on.

Now she’s almost at the crest of the hill. The small group of trees is just a couple of hundred metres ahead. Their shadows seem to be reaching out across the grass towards her as she races towards them. She squints into the gloom, looking for movement. Looking to see if the person who was watching them is still here. It’s hard to see in the half-light, and the shadows make visibility even poorer beneath the trees.

But there’s no one.

She slows down when she reaches the trees. Alert. Still scanning the area for signs of life. If the person watching them didn’t pass her on the trail, they must have taken a different route down. She runs past the trees, looking for another path. Maybe she can catch them up.

A little way from the trees the trail splits into three. The middle fork leads out across the open grassland towards the border where Ocean Mist meets the adjoining district. The grass is long and dotted with wild flowers and gorse bushes. Moira can see a long way across the wide-open space and it’s empty. No sign of another person.

The right-handed path loops back around the crop of trees and disappears. She’s not sure if it really goes anywhere, but runs along it anyway to check it out, just to be sure, thorough. It keeps looping around the trees, and in under a minute she discovers it just joins up with the top of the trail she used to get up here. It’s a red herring.

She hurries back to where the trail divides. The left-handed path is the option the person watching must have taken. She glances around the trees again, making sure she really is alone, but there’s no one here. Breaking into a run she follows the left-handed trail. She prefers walking and swimming to running, but her fitness levels are pretty good, and right now she’s thankful for that.

The slope of the path starts off gentle, but that doesn’t last for long, and it becomes steeper and more uneven with every step she takes. Gravity pulls at her and it feels as if she’s losing her balance, but she doesn’t slow down. She can’t allow herself to slow down. There’s no sign of the person who was watching them yet, but they have to be on this path, and she has to find them.

Up ahead the trail disappears into a small wooded area. Moira keeps running, zigzagging through the trees, following the narrow, overgrown path. Gorse bushes and brambles tear at her ankles. The fading sun flickers on-off through the tree branches like a strobe light. It semi-blinds her, stops her seeing the path clearly, but she pushes on harder. Has to catch the person who was spying on her. Can’t let them get away. The questions repeat in her mind.

Who are they?

Why were they watching?

Did they kill the young woman in the pool?

The gradient of the hill is getting steeper. She goes with it. Lets gravity help her dodge around the gnarled tree roots sticking out of the dry earth like bones, and ducks under overhanging branches. She lengthens her stride. Her breathing is coming faster.

She sprints around a right-angled bend. She’s almost through the wooded area now. The trail leads out of the trees and across open grassland. Her breath catches in her throat. Her heart punches harder against her ribs.

On the horizon, silhouetted against the orange-streaked sky, is a person, walking. It’s a man. She can tell from his body shape. But not the wiry young guy who was following her earlier. This is someone different; broader and more athletic.

‘Hey!’ calls Moira. She’s breathless, but her voice carries and she sees the man glance over his shoulder. His hoodie is pulled low over his face, putting it in shadow. In this fading light she can’t see his features clearly. She waves. Shouts again, ‘Wait up.’

He keeps walking. No. Correction, he’s running now. And damn it, he’s really fast.

It has to be the person with the binoculars.

I have to catch him.

Moira accelerates further. Her legs are tired, her muscles screaming to stop, but she races on, ignoring her body. She keeps her eyes focused on the retreating figure, trying to take in every detail – a possibly navy or dark grey hoodie, blue jeans, some kind of trainers, medium build.

She doesn’t see the tree branch until the last moment. She ducks to avoid it, but she’s too late. It slaps her across the face; a brief stinging whack that makes her gasp. Her toe catches on a tree root and she feels a sharp stab of pain in her ankle, then plunges forward, falling face first. On instinct she thrusts her arms out. Breaking the impact with her forearm.