‘What kind of thing?’ asks Rick.
Philip shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Something. I mean, we know Clint and Donald both spotted the victim and or the station wagon in the weeks leading up to her death. And now we know where she lived it’s likely she walked through our streets on her way to and from work, often at unusual hours. The burglaries and the murder happened in or near the areas that Clint, Donald, Pamela and Clayton patrolled, and that could’ve been part of her route.’
‘Could be she saw something,’ says Rick.
Philip recalls the strange list of items that’d been found in the victim’s backpack when it was recovered from the bottom of the pool. He thinks of the assumptions they’ve made. ‘Or it could be we’re looking at this wrong – she could’ve been the burglar.’
Lizzie cocks her head to one side. Looks at Rick. ‘It’s possible. The timings work. Could be even if she didn’t do it, she is at least in on it.’
‘What, and she was killed by the other person or people involved?’ says Rick.
‘Maybe,’ says Lizzie, taking a sip of coffee. ‘It’s a theory worth exploring.’
Philip tightens his grip on the mug he’s holding. The alternative theory was his idea, but Lizzie’s only talking directly to Rick. He’s her husband, and he’s standing right here, but she won’t even acknowledge him. He stares pointedly at her, but she doesn’t look his way. Dropping his gaze, he takes a breath.
‘True,’ says Rick, seemingly unaware of the rising tension. ‘If we go talk with the patrollers of the areas that got burgled it might jog their memory a little more. And I still need this week’s patrol reports from Clint. I was going to get his log and then head over to the Flying Mustang Casino to try to talk to some of the victim’s work colleagues, but how about I ask Clint about any other sightings while I’m there? I can visit the other patrollers too.’
‘I’d been planning to talk to them once I’d read the patrol logs,’ says Philip. He puts his mug down on to the countertop harder than necessary. Doesn’t care that it makes a loud noise as the mug impacts. The patrol-log stuff was his idea. He doesn’t want Rick stealing his thunder. ‘So I’ll come with you.’
41
MOIRA
Moira puts the car into park and turns off the gas. She doesn’t get out right away, but sits for a moment, getting her thoughts together. She didn’t get much sleep last night, and when she did drift off she found herself reliving bits of the day. One thing she’d dreamt about was the argument between Golding and Philip. In it, she’d noticed something more than just the anger and threatening tone in Golding’s voice – there’d also been an undercurrent of fear. Now she’s awake she doesn’t know if that was real or imagined, and whether her mind was distorting what had happened.
Moira rubs her forehead. She doesn’t understand why Golding would fear Philip, especially when he seems to have information on him that would be damaging, and therefore lets him hold power over him. But then, right from the very beginning, Golding has done everything he can to get them to back away from his investigation and belittle them as doddering old retirees. It makes no sense. If he thinks so little of them, why does their presence at crime scenes antagonise him so much?
She looks towards the hospital entrance. It doesn’t look like the NHS hospitals she’s used to in the UK. This place, with its fountains and beautiful landscaping, looks more like a five-star hotel than a medical treatment centre. She looks at the message Rick sent her with the address on and double-checks the room number – 243. That’s where Hank is. And she needs to speak to him.
Following the signs to reception, Moira steps into the double-height atrium and again can’t believe she’s in a hospital. There’s no smell of antiseptic here. Instead there’s a mahogany reception desk and a four-foot-high silk flower display. Everything is polished and stylish. The signage looks like a hotel rather than a hospital, and the floors are some kind of wood or laminate.