Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(73)

Moira turns and walks towards the exit. A few strides before the door she stops and looks back at Brad. He flinches as their eyes meet. ‘By the way, what’s rule eight?’

Brad hesitates, and then answers in a tone full of fake enthusiasm. ‘All posts must be positive in spirit.’

She’d figured that much, but it’s useful to have it confirmed. They’re controlling the message, and keeping the only good things happen here narrative alive, even though it’s fake news.

Saying nothing, she turns and walks away.

As she steps out of the building into the heat and bright sunlight she thinks about what she’s discovered. Faked incident reports, especially when the police are involved, are a serious business. How can The Homestead get away with it? It makes no sense, just like the lack of media attention and Detective Golding’s extreme reaction to them trying to help. It’s all connected, it has to be; it can’t be a coincidence. She just needs to figure out how.





40


PHILIP


He hates tension. Tries to ignore it. But Lizzie isn’t making it easy with her long accusing looks and over-loud sighs. That’s why he’s brought his coffee into the study and shut the door. This way he doesn’t have to see the disappointment on her face every time she looks at him, and he can avoid answering her questions. He really doesn’t want to have to answer her questions. If enough time passes maybe she’ll stop asking and things can go back to the way they were. He liked the way they were.

Right now he needs to focus on the case, and the patrol logs. He’s looking for something that could have been missed, or didn’t seem important, first time around. If the Graften boy didn’t do it – and Rick’s pretty sure that he didn’t – they need a new lead. Philip is good at this sort of thing, he always has been. He knows he can find them a lead. He just needs to put his mind to it.

Sorting through the log reports, he picks out the ones done by patrollers who were in the areas, or bordered the areas, where the burglaries and the murder took place. There are four patrollers in that group – Clint, Pamela, Clayton and Donald. Once he’s separated their reports from the main pile he settles back in his chair and starts reading. There’s a month’s worth of logs from each patroller – around fifty pages each in total – so it’s going to take a while.

He’s finished reading Donald’s reports and is right in the middle of Pamela’s when his attention is broken by a knock against the open door. Tutting, he tries to ignore it and keep reading.

There’s a louder thud. Dammit. ‘Can’t a man get any peace?’ mutters Philip.

Tutting again, he looks towards the door.

Lizzie’s standing there. She hovers just inside the doorway holding a mug. ‘I brought you coffee.’

Philip doesn’t want coffee. Even though it’s not yet noon he’s already reached his four-cup limit. But he doesn’t want to refuse it and risk upsetting Lizzie more. ‘Thanks.’

She hands the mug over without a further word, but she doesn’t need to speak for him to know how she’s feeling. Her posture is stiff, her movements jerky. And the way she looks at him as he takes the coffee makes him feel like a criminal. Philip looks away. He knows it’s all because of the retirement nonsense. Why can’t she just drop it? It was so long ago and they’ve been happy here – he doesn’t understand why she has to rake it all up again.

Bloody Golding. He caused this. Philip curses himself for telling Lizzie what the detective had said. He’d forgotten how weird she’d gone after his retirement party, how she’d hinted that there must have been something more to prompt his hasty retirement rather than just an error of judgement and his heart attack. She’d given him the cold shoulder for a few weeks, but then they’d made their trip out to Florida and things had improved, and she seemed to have forgotten about it. That’s when he knew they needed a big change – a new start, in a new environment. That’s why he’d persuaded her to move here.

‘What are you doing?’ she asks.

‘Searching through the field logs of the patrollers – looking for anything that might have been forgotten.’

‘Good idea,’ says Lizzie. Her voice is deadpan, no intonation. ‘Have you—’

The doorbell chimes. They both look out towards the hallway and the front door. Neither of them move.

‘You can get that,’ says Lizzie.

Philip looks at the patrol notes in his hand. ‘Can’t you . . .’

Lizzie sighs. Shaking her head she moves away towards the front door.

Damn and blast, thinks Philip. Setting the notes down, he gets up and follows. He catches up with her at the end of the hallway as she’s opening the door. She shoots him a frosty look and he almost retreats. Then he sees who it is at the door and puts a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder and smiles. He tries not to notice Lizzie flinching at his touch. Puts it from his mind. Presenting a good front, a united front. That’s important.

‘Morning,’ says Rick, stepping over the threshold. ‘What’s going on?’

Philip wonders for a moment if Rick’s sensed the problem between them already. Then Lizzie smiles at their friend and puts on her poker face, and Philip feels relief. If she’ll pretend things are okay with Rick, maybe in time she’ll do the same with him.