Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(53)

‘Not so far.’

He clenches his teeth. How can the homicide squad be so far behind? The contents of the rucksack connect the homicide to the thefts that have been reported in Ocean Mist over the past month – they could run a search of their database and see the link. It’s an obvious move, one of the first they should have done. Rick shakes his head. It’s as if the cops in Homicide are deliberately dragging their heels. ‘Well, thanks, I appreciate you passing this on to me.’

‘No problem. One last thing, I ran that plate, the one for the old wagon.’

Rick waits. He can hear Hawk’s still working his gum hard.

‘It came back with the name of a young punk from out of state, but I figured you’d be interested anyways. He has himself a bit of a rap sheet.’

‘Yeah?’ Rick says. Interested.

‘Nothing major, but there’s a couple of DUIs, and a bit of trouble a few years back with thefts, small stuff – the high-school football trophy is the most notable item.’

‘Any indication of violence?’

‘Not that he’s been arrested for.’

‘Okay. You said this guy is from out of state, whereabouts?’

‘DMV has his address as a place in Maryland.’

That fits with what Donald said – that the car had a Maryland plate – but it’s a long way from Maryland to Florida. ‘Can you give me a name?’

‘Sure I can, buddy, as it’s you.’ There’s a rustle as if Hawk’s turning the page of a notebook. ‘The guy’s name is Michael Graften.’

‘Graften?’ says Rick. He knows a Graften here at Ocean Mist – Miss Betty is one of the oldest residents. ‘You sure about that?’

‘Positive. I’ll message you a photo of his licence.’

‘Appreciate that.’

‘And remember you owe me a ticket to the game.’

‘Already got you covered. Next home game there’s a pair of seats just behind the dugout with our name on them.’

‘I’ll let you know when I’ve got more. Autopsy isn’t likely until late today, or could be tomorrow.’

‘Call me when you’ve got something.’

‘For sure.’

Rick ends the call and puts his cell in his pants pocket. Picking up his coffee mug, he takes it over to the sink, rinses it out and sets it on the drainer. Hawk said the beige station wagon with the Maryland plate is registered to a guy with the same family name as Miss Betty. Betty’s place is over on Albatross Heights Boulevard, the opposite side of the Ocean Mist district to Seahorse Drive and the head of the Wild Ridge Trail, the places the vehicle had been spotted parked up by Donald and Clint. Interesting. And something that needs checking out.

Taking his keys off the hook by the back door, Rick opens the door and hurries out to the jeep. The cops might be dragging their heels on the investigation, but Rick’s always been a ‘do it now’ kind of a guy.

He’s got questions. Miss Betty might have answers. There’s no time to waste.





27


MOIRA


It takes her a moment before she realises it’s him. He’s parked at the side of the road, tapping away at his phone. He’s too engrossed to see her. Stopping on the pavement next to the jeep, she clears her throat and says, ‘Hey.’

Rick looks up with a start. He smiles when he sees it’s her. Puts his hand to his forehead as if saluting a higher-ranking officer. ‘Good morning.’

She’s about to answer when his mobile beeps. He looks at it and fires off another message.

Moira waits until he’s pressed send before asking, ‘Any developments?’

‘I’ve got a possible lead on the owner of the station wagon. I was just updating Philip. I’m heading there now, he’s going to meet me.’ Rick puts his phone into his pocket. The jeep’s windows are down and his quiffed white hair looks tousled by the breeze. He shifts in the driver’s seat towards her, elbow resting on the window frame. ‘Any sign of that guy who was following you yesterday?’

Moira shakes her head. ‘Not so far. Maybe he got scared when I banged against his window and chased his car down the road.’

‘Could be,’ says Rick, nodding. ‘And how’s that ankle holding up?’

‘So-so,’ she says. ‘It’s annoying really. I’ve been to the security hut, wasn’t that useful except to show how rubbish the security on our gates actually is, now I’m on my way to try and charm the CCTV guy into letting me see the tapes.’

Rick jerks his head towards the passenger seat. ‘You want a ride?’

Her automatic reaction is no, but she stays silent for a moment. Thinks. She’s already walked to the gatehouse and back, and taken the dogs out for their morning run. The CCTV office is a good thirty minutes on foot from here and, in truth, her ankle’s worse than so-so, it’s throbbing and seems to be getting more swollen. Moira knows she should be resting it rather than walking. ‘Okay, thanks.’

‘Jump in. I’ll update you on the drive over.’

Moira moves around to the passenger side and manoeuvres herself up on to the seat. Her ankle throbs faster from the movement. She grits her teeth. She can count the number of times she’s accepted lifts from people before on the fingers of one hand, but in the last day she’s been driven about by both Philip and Rick. It feels like she’s losing her independence.