Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(48)

The real story is very different. The media never got wind of it, but that first year during the aftermath, through to his leaving celebrations and then the beginning of retirement, she lived in fear that they would. But police protect their own, even if they’ve as good as fired them for something hideous. It stopped the media hounding them and their dirty laundry getting aired in public. She supposes for that she should be thankful, but in a way she isn’t. Because the truth was hidden, it let Philip live the lie – the retired hero – when, really, he was anything but.

He was the villain.

She’d asked him for the details at the time. She’d wanted to know just how much of a villain he’d been. What he’d done, and why that meant he’d been forced into retirement – not trusted any longer to lead cases. Now, because of this murder that he’s intent on investigating, she has to assess just how badly wrong things could go.

He hadn’t wanted her to know the details at the time. At first he’d fobbed her off with the same line that had been told to the staff and the press, but she knew him well enough to know he was hiding something. And, anyway, plenty of police go back to work after recovering from a heart attack – why had he been treated differently?

So she’d kept on asking. When he’d eventually told her, a brief outline of the critical incidents – the cause and effect – had been enough for her to stomach. She’d wanted to forgive and forget. Told herself that he’d been under a lot of pressure at the time, what with it being such a high-profile case, and anyone can have an error of judgement. He’d been her teenage sweetheart. She couldn’t imagine a life without him. Still can’t, if she’s honest. She’d thought forgiving and forgetting was the only way.

Shaking her head, Lizzie thinks back to those months immediately before and just after Philip’s retirement. He’d been below par, of course, still recovering from the massive heart attack and emergency heart surgery that had saved his life, but it wasn’t just that. He’d been weak and tired, but also withdrawn. And as his health improved, the dejected demeanour didn’t. She’d tried to talk with him about what had happened, but he’d been in obvious discomfort each time she raised the subject, and on the odd occasion he’d let her ask a question he usually said he couldn’t remember and that the things that happened around that time were all a vague blur. ‘I can’t remember,’ thinks Lizzie, shaking her head. Him saying that was like an American mobster taking the fifth. That’s why she’d kept on pushing.

The kettle comes to the boil and she pours water on to her teabag. Pokes the teabag with a spoon. Rereads the old newspaper article. The half-truths and forced joviality of it grates on her.

She clenches her teeth. Feels a muscle pulse in her jaw.

How well do you ever know someone else? She’s known Philip nearly sixty years, and they’ve been married for nearly forty, and yet he was still capable of doing something that blind-sided her. When he’d got home from having his heart surgery she’d moved into the spare room so he could have his own bed while he recovered. She’d never moved back. Had never been able to bring herself to, even though she knew that’s what he wanted. She knows, deep down, she’s never really forgiven him for what he did – for being the villain dressed in a hero’s uniform.

She pulls the teabag out of the mug and drops it into the trash. The tea’s stewed now, but she doesn’t mind. She adds extra milk and takes a sip. The tea’s fine but there’s something niggling in her mind – a suspicion that she’s kept buried all this time, but that now Philip’s set on investigating the murder at Manatee Park, Lizzie just can’t let go any longer. Because although he promised he’d told her what happened, there was something about the way he’d said it, and the look on his face as he turned away and thought she couldn’t see the despair, that has always made her wonder if there was something he wasn’t telling. She needs to be sure he did tell her the whole truth of what happened, and for that she has to find the files – the full story of his enforced retirement has to be inside their buff-coloured folders. It might have happened almost ten years ago, but she needs to be sure.

Lizzie shakes her head. Takes a big breath. This is ridiculous. She’s a grown woman – sixty-four years old – and she knows her own mind. She’s a survivor – strong, resilient. She’ll handle whatever truth she finds.

She exhales, and really hopes that’s true.

There’s only one way to know for certain – she has to find the files. There are other places they could be aside from the loft – the garage, Philip’s bedroom or the study perhaps. She needs to go through each place and do a methodical search.

Lizzie thinks for a moment. She can’t go into Philip’s bedroom now while he’s sleeping, and the garage door tends to stick and need a hard shove – that might arouse suspicion if Philip’s still awake and hears the door going. That leaves her one option that she can investigate right now.

Picking up her tea, Lizzie pads down the hallway towards the study.





25


MOIRA


Moira wakes early, blinking in the sunlight that’s streaming in through the half-open curtains. Her ankle’s throbbing and she feels groggy. Turning over, she squints at the alarm clock on her bedside cabinet. It’s almost 7.30 a.m.