Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(57)
Glancing around, she checks that there’s no sign of the silver VW Beetle or the wiry blond guy who’d been watching her. There’s no sign of him or the vehicle; no sign of anyone. She shakes her head. It’s weird. He was obviously spying on her yesterday morning, but after she spotted him lurking outside Philip and Lizzie’s place, and called him out and chased after him, he seems to have disappeared. She wants to know why.
Focusing back on the job in hand, Moira walks around the side of the building to the entrance. It’s shaded here; there’s a high wall a few feet from the building that’s keeping the passageway cool. Moira’s glad of it. The sun is at full rise now, and the temperature is soaring. Even though it’s just moments since she climbed out of Rick’s icebox of a jeep, she can already feel the sweat on her skin.
The door to the office is ajar. She hesitates. There’s a keypad beside the door, and a button to press to speak on the intercom. She’s not been here before, but from the signage beside the keypad it looks as if the door is supposed to be kept locked. She wonders why it’s open today. Rick told her the guy who works here, Hank, is a resident too. Rick said he’s part of the community watch and is a thorough guy, good with details; so him leaving the door open seems unlikely. But then perhaps it was the person who did the night shift who didn’t close it properly on their way out. Could be Hank doesn’t realise it’s open.
Moving closer, Moira pushes the door with her toe and it swings open. ‘Hello?’
There’s no reply. Inside it’s gloomy. There are no lights on, and the windowless hallway has no natural light. She steps inside. A few feet ahead there’s a line of yellow-and-black tape across the floor with the words ‘DO NOT CROSS’. A sign on a stand beside it is a notice to visitors – ‘no entry beyond this point unless accompanied by a member of the security team’.
Moira glances along the corridor again; there’s no one here. Attached to the pin board on the wall to her right there’s a collection of health and safety-related posters. A little way along the corridor there’s a door with the sign ‘STORE’, and another a few feet along the hallway from that labelled ‘MEETING ROOM’. At the end of the corridor there’s a door with a sign saying ‘SURVEILLANCE SUITE’. She heads towards it.
Treading lightly, she takes care to step around the metal filing cabinets, their tops piled high with dusty folders, lining the wall space along the left side of the hall. The place seems deserted, but it shouldn’t be. As she gets closer to the Surveillance Suite she becomes aware of a musty smell mixed with something metallic. Moira doesn’t like it one bit.
She reaches the door. Hesitates, thinking what to do – should she barge in or knock first? Was the door left open by accident or for another reason? Moira makes her decision and raps her knuckles on the door. ‘Hank, you in there?’
There’s no response. Moira holds her breath and listens hard.
All she can hear is silence. Her heartbeat bangs harder in her chest. Hank should be here. He should be answering.
Something is very wrong.
30
PHILIP
He nods, encouragingly, and wishes Miss Betty would stop with the dramatic pauses and tell them whatever it is she thinks they should know about her grandson. This is a murder investigation, not a tea party. Philip’s had enough of the theatrics.
Rick leans forward, towards Miss Betty. ‘We’re listening.’
Miss Betty stares at them for a long moment, then laughs out loud. ‘Will you quit looking at me with such serious faces? I’m just messing with you. Mikey wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ She beckons them closer. ‘Between you and me, my grandson is far too wet. He needs to toughen up. There’s no way he’d have had the balls to kill someone.’
Philip clenches his fists. This woman isn’t taking things at all seriously. Her grandson is a murder suspect. This isn’t a time for jokes. He doesn’t hide the irritation in his voice. ‘You didn’t answer the question.’
She turns to him. Cocks her head to one side. ‘Well, no I didn’t. Because I think it’s really a rather stupid one.’
‘Humour me, if you will,’ says Rick. He shoots Philip a look – back off.
Philip feels heat flushing his neck and face, but stays quiet. Bloody woman. She might look like a film star but she needs to drop the diva act.
Miss Betty looks from Philip to Rick. ‘Okay, fine. I don’t know where he was two nights ago. Out somewhere I’d expect, as he’s out most nights. I don’t monitor his movements that closely.’
Philip doubts that. Betty Graften seems like the type who’d monitor the movements of everyone in her household. And it seems strange that her grandson is driving around in an old station wagon, especially if she hates it so much he’s not allowed to park it near the house. He obviously comes from money. Why doesn’t he have a decent car?
As if reading his mind, Miss Betty leans closer towards him. ‘You’re sceptical, Philip? Well, that’s okay. But, you see, I expect my grandson to make his own way in life. I’m happy enough to let him come and visit with me for a while, but I don’t believe in handouts. People shouldn’t just be given everything on a plate. They need to understand the value of money, it’s important, so their trust funds don’t kick in until their twenty-fifth birthdays. Mikey has been out most nights since he arrived here. I assumed he’d gotten himself a job.’