Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(65)

She thinks back to that part of the evening. The four of them had planned their next moves and talked about the CCTV cameras. She’d said she was going to make a visit to Hank at the CCTV office the following morning. What if the killer had heard her and decided to remove the evidence first? What if she caused this to happen? She looks down at Hank – still out cold – and shivers. She doesn’t want to be responsible for more hurt, more death, but now Hank’s blood is smeared across her tabula rasa too.

‘They’re in here.’ Rick’s voice is in the hallway and coming closer.

Moments later three paramedics and several uniformed police officers burst into the room. Two paramedics go to Hank and get to work. The third kneels in front of Moira.

The paramedic is a tall, athletic-looking woman with her long blonde hair tied back in a neat ponytail. ‘Ma’am, we need to take a look at you. Are you able—’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ Moira pushes herself up to standing. Waits a moment as her vision swings, the room seeming to tilt at an angle before it rights itself again.

‘Okay then,’ says the paramedic, looking unconvinced. ‘You want to come with us to the ambulance and we’ll check you out?’

Moira glances at Hank. There’s an oxygen mask over his face and the other paramedics seem to be doing some vitals checks. She supposes there’s nothing more she can do. ‘Yeah, okay.’

It takes a while to get to the ambulance and she has to use all her concentration to stay upright and keep putting one foot in front of the other. An assistant paramedic – a short, muscular guy with close-cropped black hair and a receding hairline – offers to help her, but she declines, so he hovers around just behind her, waiting to catch her if she falls, she assumes. She’s vaguely aware of a gurney being wheeled down the hallway towards the Security Suite. Fear grips her around the chest. ‘Is Hank okay?’

‘My colleagues are helping him,’ says the blonde paramedic. ‘He’s in good hands.’

They reach the end of the gloomy hallway and step out into the daylight. The medics help her navigate along past the spot of wall where the attacker got away, and out to the parking lot. It’s not empty any more; now there are two ambulances and several police cars. Moira stops. She can guess what comes next, and she doesn’t want to do it.

‘Let me help you inside,’ says the blonde paramedic. ‘It’s a bit of a step.’

Moira shakes her head. Then immediately regrets it as the nausea threatens to overwhelm her. ‘No, I’m okay, I don’t need to—’

‘With all due respect, you’re not okay, ma’am. I need to treat that head wound, and I can’t do it standing out here.’

Unlike yesterday, Moira doesn’t have the strength to argue. With the paramedic’s help, she climbs up into the ambulance. Her vision swirls from the movement and she reaches out to the trolley bed to steady herself.

‘They need your help.’ It’s Philip’s voice, outside the ambulance.

Moira turns as he appears at the door. He’s red-faced and his breath is coming in gasps. He looks at the blonde paramedic and her muscular assistant. Gestures back in the direction of the building. ‘Hank . . . your colleagues say he’s crashing.’

The female paramedic grabs some kit from a side locker and gestures at a metal box, which her assistant picks up. The writing, in capitals, on the box reads ‘DEFIBRILLATOR’.

‘Stay here and don’t touch anything, okay,’ says the blonde paramedic to Moira, as her assistant jumps out of the ambulance. She follows him, then turns, pointing at Philip. ‘You too.’

Moira clenches her fists. She doesn’t want to stay here. She wants to go and help. She tries to push herself up to standing, but her vision blurs and the world seems to tilt. Sitting back down, she slows her breathing. Knows she has to let the medics do their job, she’d just be in the way. She hates it though, this feeling of being so useless.

‘Well, here we are again,’ says Philip, having got his breath back.

Idiotic man, thinks Moira. ‘Where’s Rick?’

‘Still inside with Hank.’ Philip glances back towards the building. ‘It doesn’t look good. Poor chap.’

If only I’d got here earlier, thinks Moira. If only I’d listened to myself more last night and checked out if we were being watched. If only. If only.

Philip runs his hand over his bald pate. ‘You know—’

‘Can you give me a minute,’ says Moira. ‘I can’t talk right now.’

He looks crestfallen, and she knows that she’s hurt his feelings, but she can’t deal with him banging on about whatever it is he was about to say. She closes her eyes, and a long moment later hears footsteps as he moves away from the ambulance. She takes a deep breath in and blows out in a long exhale. It helps. Makes her feel a little calmer.

It doesn’t last long. She hears the squeal of tyre rubber on tarmac as a car pulls into the lot, then the squeal of brakes as it stops close to the ambulance. A car door opens and slams shut.

An American voice that she kind of recognises growls, ‘What in hell’s name are you doing here, Sweetman?’

Moira’s eyes snap open. It sounds like Detective Golding.

Philip’s voice is different when he answers the detective – like he’s putting on a posher accent and a more pompous tone. ‘I was attending the scene of—’