Lizzie sighs. She’s done all she can with the phone, but it’s not looking hopeful. She’ll leave it plugged in for a bit and see if that makes a difference. If not, they’re going to need to find another avenue to pursue.
Glancing out to the hallway, Lizzie makes a decision. Nerves fizz in her belly but she knows this is what she has to do next. Getting up, she hurries out of the kitchen and along the hallway to Philip’s bedroom.
She pauses in the doorway. This room is so Philip. Neat, with everything in its place – from the creaseless blue duvet and pillow set on the double bed, to the books lined in height order on the bookcase and the bedside tables with matching lamps, coasters and tissue boxes. The room smells of his aftershave – Old Spice – and clean bed linen. Lizzie feels like a trespasser, but she steps inside.
The blue box file is sitting at the back of his wardrobe, surrounded by pairs of shoes. With her heart pounding in her chest, Lizzie reaches into the wardrobe and lifts it out. There’s a lock on the front clasp, but it isn’t locked. Her fingers shake as she undoes the clasp and lifts the lid. There’s one file inside – an A4 buff folder that’s stuffed about two inches thick.
Lizzie opens the file and starts to read.
43
MOIRA
She parks on the street and double-checks the address against Peggy Leggerhorne’s message – 233 Stingray Drive. She hasn’t told Peggy she’s coming – didn’t want to give Peggy the chance to tell her not to – so she feels a bit bad, but she’ll get over it. She’s on the trail of something important, she’s sure of it, and she just needs to get clear on the sequence of events.
Climbing out of the car, Moira walks up the neat path that borders the driveway and then cuts across the front of the white weatherboard-clad house to the porch. The steps up to the porch are lined with pots of flowers in full bloom – pinks, reds and a dotting of cream. There’s a double-seated swing bench on the porch with a blue gingham seat pad and pretty embroidered cushions in different shades of blue arranged neatly along the back. The front door is pale grey. Moira raises her hand and knocks firmly.
The door opens almost immediately. It stops at about six inches open, a brass door chain visible across the gap. A silver-haired lady who looks to be in her mid to late eighties peers through the crack between the door and the frame. ‘Hello?’
Moira suspects she’s been watched from the moment she pulled up outside. ‘I’m Moira, we’ve been talking on Messenger.’
Peggy stares at her for a long moment without speaking. ‘I didn’t think you’d come here. I thought you asked for my address to know the location of the burglary. I don’t—’
‘I’m really sorry to turn up unannounced, but I’m working with Philip and Rick from the community watch – we’re doing our own investigation into the murder at Manatee Park.’
Peggy frowns. ‘The one that the management are trying to hush up?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that how you got those injuries?’ asks Peggy, gesturing towards Moira’s face.
‘I disturbed an intruder at the CCTV office yesterday. He’d attacked Hank, the guy who works there, and hurt him. I tried to stop him getting away, but, well, he did this and knocked me unconscious.’
‘Sounds like you were very brave.’ Peggy moves closer to the door, but she’s still looking worried. ‘Thing is, we don’t like people coming inside, not after what happened.’
‘I understand,’ says Moira, giving Peggy what she hopes is a reassuring smile. ‘We can talk right here if you like.’
Peggy looks unsure. She leans away from the door, her hand on the chain.
I’m losing her, thinks Moira. She tries again. Last chance. ‘I appreciate this might be difficult but can you tell me about the burglary and how it happened?’