Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(88)

He’s almost relieved when he sees Detective Golding and another suit striding towards them.

Golding points at Philip and then Lizzie. ‘We’re going to need y’all to give a statement.’

‘Of course,’ says Philip.

Golding looks at Lizzie. ‘This is Detective Johnstone, he’s ready to take your statement now, ma’am.’

‘No problem,’ says Lizzie. ‘Do you want to do it here?’

‘If you’d come this way, ma’am,’ says the younger detective.

Philip watches Lizzie walk back along the alley towards the police-liveried trailer that arrived a few minutes after the ambulance and seems to be serving as a mobile incident room. It’s just him and Golding now. ‘So are you taking my statement?’

Detective Golding’s expression is grim. ‘I warned you to stay away from this case, Sweetman, yet here we are again.’

‘And here I was thinking you’d thank us for catching you a killer,’ says Philip.

Looking away, Detective Golding curses under his breath. A long moment passes before he turns back and meets Philip’s gaze. ‘You just gotta be glad I didn’t arrest the whole bunch of you for getting in the way of an active investigation.’

‘It worked to your advantage, didn’t it? The not arresting us bit. You’ve got an arrest and a slam-dunk confession.’ Philip raises his eyebrows and smiles. ‘That is, we got it for you.’

Golding scowls and they stare at each other for a moment. Philip holds the man’s eye contact easily. He’s in the right on this.

Eventually Golding shakes his head. ‘Okay, so here’s the thing, we’re going to need a statement from you about how all this came about. For the record.’ His eye contact gets more intense. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention any of the, erm, joking about between us, while you’re on tape.’

Philip can see Golding’s uncomfortable, but he’s not letting him off the hook that easy. He frowns, pretending to be confused. ‘What joking?’

‘The thing where you don’t stay away from the case and I tell you I know stuff and will make it known.’

‘Ah, yes, yes. That.’ Philip holds Golding’s gaze. The detective is practically squirming. ‘Well, it rather depends on whether you’re going to be threatening me again.’

Golding’s cheeks colour red. He clears his throat. ‘I’d say it’s a negative to that.’

Philip keeps his tone even. Stays cool. ‘Then I’ll make sure our “joking” doesn’t come up on tape.’

‘Good,’ says Golding, gesturing over to the mobile incident room. ‘Then let’s get this done.’

He stays composed, but inwardly Philip wants to punch the air in triumph. Barely twenty-four hours ago the detective was threatening him to stay away from the case. Now he’s asking for help and putting him on record. Plus with the ‘joking’ reference he’s got something on the detective, and they both know it. The dynamic between them has changed; now Philip has control.

He glances towards Detective Johnstone and Lizzie. They’ve reached the mobile incident room and as the detective opens the door for her, Lizzie looks back towards Philip and gives him a smile. Hope blossoms inside him. Smiling, that’s a good sign; hopefully she’s not cross with him any more. He looks back at Golding and grins. ‘Of course, Detective, I’d be very happy to help.’





50


MOIRA


It’s the second time today she’s been in a hospital room. Unlike Hank who looked dwarfed by the large hospital bed, Rick looks like a giant in a child-sized bunk. He grimaces as he shifts himself a little more upright, taking care not to dislodge the IV line in his hand and the heart-rate monitor attached to his index finger.

‘You okay?’ says Moira.

‘I’m fine,’ says Rick. ‘It’s just a flesh wound.’

Moira smiles. ‘Playing the tough guy, huh?’

Rick gives a shake of his head. ‘You’re the tough one. You took down the suspect. Got him cuffed with those laces. What you did, it was quite something.’

She looks away from Rick and stares at the heart-rate monitor. Its regular beeping and green spiking line is kind of comforting, but she feels far from comforted. ‘It wasn’t enough.’

‘Moira, you doing okay?’ Rick sounds worried.

She looks back at him. He’s looking concerned. For a moment she says nothing, hoping he’ll fill the silence and change the subject, but he doesn’t. He keeps on looking at her. Waiting.

Moira exhales slowly. ‘Look, I know we got him, but you’re hurt and I . . . It’s just that, for a minute there, I couldn’t do anything. I froze.’

Rick turns a little more towards her, wincing from the movement. ‘You want to talk about it?’

The thought makes her feel worse. ‘No.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘You sure about that?’

The truth is she does want to talk about it – she needs to run through the play moment by moment; debrief what happened and dissect what went wrong. But she shouldn’t be revealing any more of herself to this man. She can’t get close. Moira meets his gaze. Knows she’s about to make a mistake. ‘Maybe.’