Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(63)

‘You all right?’ asks Philip.

Rick rubs his wrists where the cuffs have been. ‘Yep.’

Golding glares at Philip and then Rick. ‘You’ve got what you wanted, now get out of here.’

Rick holds Golding’s gaze. It’s the first time he’s seen the man and he already knows he doesn’t like him. He’s met cops like him before – full of macho bullshit, and more concerned with their own image than the truth. ‘The kid didn’t do it.’

‘I’ve got evidence to suggest otherwise.’ Golding gestures to Philip with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘And your buddy here gave it to me.’

‘A licence plate, that’s all you got?’ Rick frowns. ‘It ain’t enough.’

‘That’s for me to decide. I’m the detective here, not you . . . seniors.’ Golding says the word seniors as if he’s talking about dog shit. ‘You need to go back to your pickleball, or have an afternoon nap, or whatever it is you do with your time.’ He steps closer to Rick and Philip. ‘But whatever you do, just make damn sure it’s nothing to do with my case, because I don’t ever want to have to run into you both again, you hear me?’

Rick says nothing. He glances at Philip, who is also silent. He can see Philip’s jaw is clamped tight and there’s a bright red flush spreading up his neck to his face. Rick can tell Philip’s suppressing the urge to tell the detective exactly what he’s thinking. It’s for the best that he doesn’t. Oftentimes you need to pick your battles, and squaring up to Detective Golding right now isn’t a fight worth having. It’s better to be smart, to work the evidence more, and beat the asshole to solving the case.

Golding shakes his head. Turning to the officers standing over the kid, Golding gestures towards Mikey. ‘Get him out of here.’

As Golding strides back towards the cop cars, the two uniforms closest to the kid grab his shoulders and haul him to his feet. As they frogmarch him towards the yard gate, Mikey looks over his shoulder. His eyes are pleading with Rick’s. ‘You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t kill her.’

‘Ain’t that old timer you need to be worrying about,’ growls the taller of the cops, giving Mikey a hard shove in the back. The kid stumbles.

Rick pays no mind to the comment. Keeps his eyes on Mikey. ‘Remember what I told you.’

The kid nods. Rick watches, squinting into the sun, as the cops take him away. A kid like that, he’s not going to find jail easy. Miss Betty is going to need to use any influence she has to get him out fast.

‘That bloody Golding,’ says Philip. His face is still beetroot red. ‘We can’t let him get away with talking to us like that. So dismissive, like we’re on the scrapheap and incapable of being able to—’

‘Yeah.’ Rick remembers the call to his cell while he’d been cuffed. Taking it from his pocket, he checks the screen: 1 missed call – Moira. Looking up, he sees Philip watching him with an irritated expression on his face. Rick raises the cell phone. ‘I need to make a call.’

As Philip stomps across the yard after Golding, the uniforms and Mikey, Rick presses Moira’s name on his call log and dials her back. He waits as it rings.

He’s just about to end the call when it’s picked up.

‘Rick?’ Moira sounds out of breath. ‘Did you get my message?’

‘No, I . . .’ He looks at the cell phone’s screen, but all it’s showing is that he’s on a call with her now. Had she messaged him? He doesn’t think so. ‘I just saw you’d tried calling so I dialled you back and—’

‘Maybe I didn’t press send, but I thought I . . .’

‘Are you okay?’ Rick asks. There’s something about Moira’s voice that sounds different, frailer somehow, when frail is the last word he’d normally think of to describe her. ‘Did you get the CCTV footage?’

‘Hank got attacked, I . . . didn’t manage to stop them.’

‘Are you hurt?’

‘I’m okay.’

‘You don’t sound okay.’ Rick starts walking back towards the house. ‘You still at the CCTV office?’

‘I called 911, they’ve despatched a car and an ambulance. Hank’s—’

Rick breaks into a run. ‘You safe?’

‘Yes, yes I think so.’ Her voice sounds weaker.

‘Okay, stay where you are. I’m on my way.’ Rick ends the call. He sprints across the yard and into the house. There’s no sign of Philip or Miss Betty. Hurrying through the house to the front, he opens the door. They’re standing out front, on the pathway at the bottom of the porch steps.

Martha and Miss Betty are talking with one of the uniformed cops. Miss Betty is shaking her head vigorously. ‘No, I refuse to allow you to go inside my home, not when you’ve just dragged my grandson out on to the street like a criminal.’

‘Like I said, we’ve got a warrant, ma’am,’ says the cop. ‘So with all due respect, you have to let us do our job.’ He gives the signal to the rest of the officers and they swarm around Miss Betty and up the porch steps.

Rick steps aside to let them pass. They hurry past him, yanking the front door open and disappearing inside the house.

Miss Betty raises her hands to her chest and seems to sag at the knees. Martha, fast as lightning, takes a hold of Miss Betty and helps her stay upright. For a moment the older lady looks as if she might be too much for the young woman, then she recovers her strength and stands again unaided.