Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(38)

Lizzie reaches into her bag again. Pulling out a ziplock bag, she places it on the table. ‘I did find this, though.’

Moira takes the bag and looks at what’s inside. It’s a silver hairclip with sparkling diamanté dollar signs along it. ‘Where was it?’

‘In the pool, it’d got wedged in the corner filter.’

‘The cops missed it?’ Rick says, frowning.

Lizzie nods. ‘It seems so.’

Philip runs his hand over his bald pate. Shakes his head. ‘More indications they’re not taking this case seriously.’

‘Possibly,’ says Lizzie, ‘but I only saw it after the light had almost gone and I switched on my phone’s torch. The filter was covered and kind of blended in with the pool floor.’

‘It’s sloppy,’ says Philip. ‘Poor work by them, very poor indeed.’

Moira doesn’t disagree. Surely the CSIs should have combed every inch of the place for evidence. In pool deaths, especially those that are suspicious, she’d guess checking the filters for evidence would be high up on the list of things to do. And, as suspicious deaths go, getting shot and then drowned has to rank pretty high. It seems bizarre that the cops here don’t seem to be giving much of a damn.

She puts the hairclip back on the table and looks at Lizzie. ‘You think this belonged to the victim?’

‘Possibly, but there’s no way to tell how long it’d been in the pool.’

Moira agrees. It could be something or nothing. ‘We really need an ID on the victim.’

‘Agreed,’ says Rick.

Philip adds ‘dollar hairclip?’ to the bottom of the list about the victim. He looks at Moira. ‘Okay, so what else did we get?’

‘Before we move on, there’s something else I need to tell you.’ Lizzie looks hesitant. She rotates the untouched cup of tea in front of her back and forth. ‘I had the strong feeling I was being watched.’

Moira feels adrenaline start to fizz in her belly. ‘When? Before or after I’d left you?’

‘I felt it when you saw the person watching us, but then towards the end of the time I was there on my own, something else happened. It was virtually dark by then, and I only had the phone’s torch for light, so I can’t be a hundred per cent sure. But when I climbed out of the pool I thought I saw someone over on the other side of the lawn, moving by the hedge.’

‘What did they look like? Was it the blond guy from before or someone else?’

‘I didn’t see clearly enough, it was too dark and it was just for a split second.’ Lizzie widens her eyes. ‘I called out but no one answered. Then I ran out of there as fast as I could.’

Moira understands why she ran, but she still feels disappointed. She does the maths on the timing – working out when she last saw the man she was chasing, and when Lizzie felt she was being watched. It could have been the same person. ‘There was someone watching us from up on the hill,’ she tells Philip and Rick. ‘That’s why I left Lizzie at the crime scene and went up on the Wild Ridge Trail. When I got there he’d gone, but I figured out the path he’d taken and almost caught up with him. I thought it could have been the young guy who’s been spying on me, but it wasn’t. When the man realised I was on his trail he took off at a sprint. I pursued him, but I don’t know that path well, and I caught my toe on a tree root and fell.’ Moira gestures to her bloodied leg and swollen ankle. ‘He got away, but he’d have had enough time to return to Manatee Park.’

Lizzie pales. ‘Do you think he was the killer?’

‘I don’t know, he could have just happened to be hiking on the Wild Ridge Trail, or he could have been watching the police and CSIs, and then stayed when he saw us going into the pool area after they’d gone.’ Moira runs her hand through her hair. She doesn’t believe it’s a coincidence the man had been there. ‘The thing is, he was using binoculars. So he was on the hill to watch something, could have been birds, or nosey rubbernecking . . . or it could be because he’s the killer and he wanted to keep an eye on things.’

Lizzie says nothing, but Moira sees her eyes darting around the perimeter of the garden as if she’s expecting someone to jump out at her at any moment. She keeps her gaze on Lizzie. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘If the man you saw on the hill wasn’t the same person as before . . . It’s odd that there are two men, both watching you . . . us,’ says Lizzie. There’s a tremble to her voice. She clasps her hands together. ‘Are these men connected to the murder? It has to be likely, doesn’t it, but are they connected to each other? I just don’t . . .’

‘We don’t know they’re connected to the murder,’ says Philip, frowning. He sits down. Putting the marker pen on the table, he reaches out and gives Lizzie’s hand a squeeze. ‘It’s okay.’

Lizzie meets his gaze. ‘No, we don’t know, but it’s possible, isn’t it? The killer could know I was poking about in the pool. What if they think I’m a threat? What if they—’

‘We don’t know anything for sure right now,’ says Moira. It seems Philip likes absolutes, but it’s rare you get them at this stage in a murder case. You have to work the evidence, follow where it leads. She reaches into her pocket. Feels the plastic of the bag she wrapped around her find. Pulling it out, she puts it on to the table. ‘But this is something that tips the balance towards them being involved.’