Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(52)

Moira guesses he’s worried someone will see her sitting at the computer. She decides to cut the guy some slack. She doubts she can get much more from him. ‘No, you’ve been helpful, thanks.’

He gestures towards the computer. ‘Are you going to tell the police our records aren’t complete?’

She shakes her head. ‘No.’

He smiles. There’s relief on his face.

Standing up, Moira moves back towards the door. ‘Lock this behind me, if it makes you feel safer. But do me a favour and don’t go hiding again when people come by. We need you with eyes on the gates at all times, okay?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Good.’ Moira pulls open the door and steps out into the cool morning air. She hears the door lock behind her and the bolts being slid back into place. She shakes her head. Doesn’t doubt that he’ll be hiding from the next person who knocks on the door, just like he did with her.

The security here isn’t top-notch, as promised. It’s bullshit. Just like the illusion of zero crime. Residents here have bought into it. Hell, she almost did herself. But it’s a lie.

Moira frowns. Recalls how the murder hadn’t registered on the news app, even by this morning. Pulling out her phone, she checks the local news again, scrolling through all the stories from yesterday. She finds no mention of Manatee Park and the murder of a young woman; as far as the reported news goes, nothing bad has happened here. It’s the opposite of fake news – it’s a news void.

She thinks about the lax security and the saccharine-sweet marketing messages, and wonders how far The Homestead will go to keep their lie about zero crime alive.





26


RICK


The day starts with two hundred push-ups, a five-minute plank and a half-hour spent lifting weights. He converted the garage into a home gym the first week he’d moved here. He has no time and no mind for a communal gym full of sweating and huffing bodies. Working out has become like a religion. It brings him peace; it’s not a shared experience. Back when he first came here, with Alisha’s loss still so new and raw like an open wound inside his heart, he’d used workouts as a way to numb the pain. The rawness of that pain has receded to a dull ache nowadays, but he still needs his own private space.

After he’s showered, he has a black coffee and eats eggs over easy on a couple of pieces of wheat toast. He’s almost done when his cell phone buzzes – the name of his police contact is lit up on the screen.

Grabbing his cell, Rick answers the call. ‘Hey, buddy. What’ve you got for me?’

Rick’s glad Hawk’s been quick. They trained together back in the day, and were co-workers in the same team for a time before Hawk had gotten a job based out in Miami. They’d stayed in touch, and have met up for a few beers on a semi-regular basis since Rick retired out here. Hawk is a good guy – discreet and well connected with the police precincts around the state. He also likes to know about everything going on, which made it easy to persuade him to help out.

‘I had a few drinks with my guy in Homicide last night. Found some stuff you might be interested in.’

‘Hit me.’ Rick takes another gulp of coffee.

‘So it took a hell of a lot of liquor to get the man talking, but once he did there was no stopping him. He seems real shaken by the crime scene. The way the vic was found in the water, what with them dollars and all, seems to be messing with his head.’

‘Why d’you say that?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ says Hawk. ‘A feeling, I guess. And he kept muttering things like “It ain’t right” when he was telling me about stuff.’

‘Weird.’ Rick drains the last of his coffee. Homicide detectives see a lot of bad stuff. He can’t imagine the scene in Manatee Park would rank that high in terms of depravity. ‘What did he say about progress?’

‘They’re still waiting on the autopsy so time of death, cause, and all that will take longer but, on the crime scene, he said there were some oddities. Like the money, it was a weird amount – almost five thousand dollars, but not quite.’

Rick can hear Hawk chewing gum. He’s never seen the guy without gum in his mouth. ‘How much?’

‘Four thousand, two hundred and sixty-seven dollars. Weird, huh?’

‘For sure,’ says Rick. The amount works with their theory – that the killer lay on the side of the pool and grabbed all the dollars they could before leaving – but he doesn’t tell Hawk, and instead he says, ‘Anything else?’

‘Yeah, there was a rucksack – a leather, fashion-type piece rather than something practical for hiking – sunk on the bottom of the pool.’

Rick remembers Moira saying about a bag in the pool, but that she’d not managed to get a proper look. ‘You know what was in it?’

‘That I do.’ Hawk pauses. Chews his gum.

‘And?’

‘Apparently it was a bunch of random stuff – a gold mantle clock, a few pieces of nice jewellery, some antique silverware like milk jugs and creamers, a set of rare baseball cards. Good stuff, quality, you know? But not stuff that fits together.’

Rick does know, and he knows how they fit together. All those things are items that’d been taken during the recent burglaries. ‘The cops have any theory on that?’