Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(36)

Rick holds his ground. Says nothing.

‘Come on, man. You have to know something. She’s one of the patrollers.’ The short-haired guy gestures towards Precious’s house. ‘And if you’re collecting whatever the hell that was you just stuffed into your pocket, then you must be her boss, which means you know for sure what’s gone down.’

‘And you have to tell us,’ says the longer-haired guy, a pleading whine to his voice. He steps closer to stand alongside his brother. He grasps his necklace again, his fingers running along the beads, rubbing them in a steady rhythm.

Rick looks from one guy to the other. They stare back, all expectant. He shakes his head. ‘I’m not her boss. And there’s nothing to tell.’

The long-haired twin lets go of the beads. His face flushes a deeper shade of red. ‘I don’t believe that. Please, you have to—’

‘Believe what you want, it’s a free country.’ Rick shrugs and turns towards the jeep.

‘Not necessarily,’ mutters the shorter-haired twin under his breath. He grabs at Rick’s T-shirt, trying to stop him leaving. His voice is louder, almost a shout now. ‘Stop bullshitting us. Tell us what’s going on.’

Rick turns back to face the guy. He looks at the man’s hand, still gripping his tee. Keeps looking at it until the man lets go.

The long-haired guy puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. ‘It’s okay, Jack. Let him go. He won’t help us.’ The guy’s voice breaks as he says the word help.

Jack is shaking. He’s pale beneath his tan. The aggressive posturing of a few moments ago is gone; now he just looks beat.

Rick takes a breath. Pissed as they’ve made him, he can see these guys are real worried. Oftentimes fear makes folks act out of character. He decides to cut them some slack. ‘This is about more than what happened in the park, am I right? What’s really going on?’

Neither of the men speaks at first. They look at each other, something unspoken going on between them. Rick can feel the tension.

‘We should tell him,’ says the long-haired brother.

Jack shakes his head. ‘Won’t make no difference. He’s not helping us.’

‘He might.’ The long-haired one gives his brother’s shoulder another squeeze. ‘And if not, if we say, then at least he’ll get why . . . he’ll see we’re not crazy people.’

‘You think?’ says Jack, looking away, eyes on the tarmac. He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he looks back at his brother. ‘Okay.’

The longer-haired guy looks Rick right in the eye. His voice has lost the pleading whine of earlier; now it’s softer, kind of wistful. ‘We used to live in the city – New York City – real close to Central Park in an apartment with amazing city views and close to all our favourite spots. We loved the city. We worked there – we’re both professors, I do climate change, Jack does math – and we had friends and fun and had never thought about moving.’

‘Then, one weekend when we were walking in the park, we saw something,’ says Jack.

His brother nods. ‘We were walking our dogs when we saw a man running with a baseball bat. He was a little ways from us, but we saw what happened real clear. He ran towards this group of people having a picnic. Just charged into them and attacked, swinging at them with the bat.’

‘They were screaming. The man with the bat was yelling.’ Jack looks like he might be about to vomit. ‘There was so much blood.’

The long-haired guy clutches at his beads again. ‘There was this guy in a white shirt, he was lying on his side, blood running down his face, and the noises he made . . . the moaning . . . it was . . .’ He takes a big gulp of air.

‘Mark called 911 for an ambulance and the cops,’ says the shorter-haired twin.

‘And Jack here tried to stop the guy with the bat from hurting more people.’

Jack shakes his head. ‘I tried, but it wasn’t enough. The man who was attacked first didn’t make it, several others were hospitalised.’

‘Including Jack,’ says Mark. ‘The guy broke his elbow and wrist, and gave him a head injury.’

Jack looks back down at the sidewalk. ‘A few of us managed to get the bat off him and keep him pinned on the ground until the cops arrived.’

‘After Jack was discharged from hospital we tried to put it behind us, but we couldn’t. We didn’t feel safe. That city had been our home for more than thirty years, but we couldn’t get past it – that man and the bat – even after they convicted him.’ He frowns. Rubbing at the beads around his neck. ‘At the trial, the attacker pleaded guilty. The prosecution said he’d been high, the blood test showed he had a whole cocktail of drugs in him when it happened. When they asked him why he’d done it, do you know what he said? He told the court he’d been bored and his buddy dared him. A man died because of his boredom. Because of a stupid dare.’ Mark’s voice has a tremor to it now. ‘I’ve always suffered from anxiety but that . . .’

‘We couldn’t live there any more,’ says Jack. ‘It was too much.’

Mark clutches his beads tighter. ‘Far too much.’

‘So we sold our place and moved here. They assured us this place was safe, that nothing bad had ever happened here, that it was a zero-crime community.’