Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(79)

‘Did you report the items stolen to the police?’ asks Moira.

‘For sure,’ says Peggy. ‘And they made a note of them but didn’t sound hopeful about us getting them back.’

Moira remembers Rick telling them the list of items that had been in the victim’s backpack – they’d included antique silverware and a gold mantle clock. They could have belonged to Peggy and her husband, but Moira doesn’t say that. Instead she says, ‘I’m so sorry.’ The words don’t feel enough.

‘Just find who did it.’

‘I intend to.’

‘Good,’ says Peggy. ‘You said before that you’re investigating the murder at Manatee Park, but you’re asking me about us getting burglarised. Why?’

Moira doesn’t answer right away. She thinks about what she’s learned that morning. Kristen Altman would have been in the immediate vicinity of the Leggerhornes’ house at the exact time the burglary was taking place. It’s unlikely to be a coincidence; Moira doesn’t believe in them – especially that late at night. Either Kristen Altman was involved in the burglaries or she was a witness. If they solve the murder, they’ll solve the burglary cases too.

Moira looks Peggy straight in the eye and tells her, ‘Because I think your burglary and the murder victim are connected.’





44


LIZZIE


The loud shrill of the doorbell makes Lizzie jump and she almost drops the file she’s holding. She’s sitting on the floor in Philip’s bedroom, in front of the open wardrobe and blue file box. She doesn’t get up.

Go away, she thinks.

The doorbell goes again. The person outside keeps their finger on it for longer.

Lizzie sits tight, waiting, hoping for them to go away.

Then her mobile starts ringing in the pocket of her cardigan. She takes it out and looks at the screen. It’s Moira. It keeps ringing.

Lizzie presses answer. ‘Hello.’

‘Are you at home? I’m outside. I’ve found something important and I need to look at the patrol logs.’

Lizzie looks at the folder in her hand. Thinks of what she’s discovered. She’s still reeling. Doesn’t want to see Moira. Doesn’t trust her after the revelation that she’d been a DCI.

‘Lizzie?’ There’s urgency in Moira’s voice. ‘Are you there?’

She wipes her eyes. Presses her fingers against her forehead. If Moira’s found something important she can’t ignore her call for help; if she does then she’ll be just as bad as Philip. She clears her throat. ‘Sorry. Yes, I’m here. Hold on.’

Hanging up, she puts the folder back into the file box and closes the clasp. Carefully she lifts the box back into the wardrobe and arranges the lines of shoes around it, just as it had been. Swallowing back the nausea she’s feeling, she closes the wardrobe and hurries to the front door.

The sour taste is still in her mouth. She’s not sure it’ll ever go away. She yanks open the door, taking her rage for Philip out on the handle. Moira is standing on the front porch. Lizzie inhales sharply as she sees her. ‘Oh my God. Your poor face. Are you okay?’

‘It’s fine,’ says Moira, stepping around Lizzie and coming inside. ‘Looks worse than it feels.’

Lizzie can’t imagine that’s true. She closes the door behind Moira. Tries to think of something to say, but she can’t, she feels frozen. All she can think about is what she saw in the folder. What she knows now; the truth about Philip that he’s kept hidden from her all these years.

‘Are you okay, Lizzie?’ Moira is looking at her with concern.

She feels her eyes get watery and blinks, forcing the tears away. She doesn’t want to get emotional. She just needs to help Moira with the case. Fears that she can’t trust her with anything personal. ‘I . . .’

Moira puts her hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. ‘What’s happened?’

Lizzie shakes her head. Says nothing.

‘You can trust me, Lizzie,’ says Moira. ‘Please, let me help.’

Lizzie holds Moira’s gaze. Folds her arms around herself. Maybe it would help to speak to someone. Moira looks so sincere. She wants to trust her, really she does. Hopes she’s not making a mistake. ‘It’s Philip.’

Moira frowns. ‘Is he okay? Did something—’

‘Philip was responsible for the death of a child, a young girl. That’s why he had to retire.’

‘I thought it was because of ill health?’ says Moira, her frown deepening.

Lizzie drops her gaze. She takes a breath then looks back at Moira. ‘That was the story, and it was true in part – he wasn’t well enough after the heart attack and the surgery to go back to his job full-time. But he could have been more desk based, or done something part-time, but they forced him out, and if he’d refused to resign they were going to discipline and fire him instead of retiring him like a hero.’

‘What did he do?’

Lizzie sighs. ‘It’s not what he did that’s the problem. It’s what he didn’t do and what he didn’t tell them . . . or me. There was a high-profile case he was working before the heart attack – the abduction of a young girl. It consumed him. He worked all hours, I hardly ever saw him, and when I did he was distant and didn’t want to talk. He looked sick – pale and clammy a lot of the time – but he insisted he was fine, just a bit tired from all the long hours.’