‘It doesn’t feel that way.’
‘I know,’ says Rick.
Moira thinks she sees a flicker of pain behind his eyes. She wonders if he had something similar happen to him during his career and he’s speaking from experience. ‘I just wish I knew why he did it.’
‘Would that make it any better?’ Rick’s gaze is still intense, but she can see that he’s starting to get sleepy. The drugs must finally be starting to kick in.
‘I don’t know.’ Moira thinks about it. Jennifer would still be dead. Porter would still be in the wind. She’d still have had to give up her career. ‘I guess not really, but at least I’d know for sure if it was my fault, if I should have seen it coming, if there was—’
‘Like I said, it wasn’t your fault.’ Rick takes Moira’s hand and gives it a squeeze. ‘We make our own choices, and we alone are responsible for them.’
She looks down at his big, tanned hand over her small one. The warmth of his fingers against hers is comforting and his words are reassuring. She just wishes she could believe them.
The noise of the door opening makes her flinch. The moment’s broken and she slides her hand out from beneath Rick’s as she turns. In the doorway is Detective Golding. It seems a lifetime since she first saw him three days ago at the poolside crime scene in Manatee Park.
‘We need to take your statement, Miss Flynn.’
She knew this would happen, and there’s no sense putting it off. ‘Okay, but can we do it somewhere here at the hospital? I don’t want to go far from Rick.’
‘You’re a witness, not a suspect.’ Detective Golding smiles, although to Moira it looks more like a grimace. ‘So given the circumstances here is fine.’
Moira looks at Rick. His eyes are closed now, the painkiller in the IV pump finally getting to work. Standing up, she touches her fingers to his forearm and says, ‘I’ll be back soon.’
Rick’s eyelids flicker, and he smiles as he murmurs something she can’t make out.
Moira leaves her fingertips resting against his arm a moment longer, then turns and follows the detective out into the corridor. She tries not to let how much it wrenches to leave Rick bother her. When she moved here she knew if she was to have a chance of staying under the radar she needed to keep a low profile, not form deep friendships or lots of social connections. She can’t afford to get emotionally attached. The danger is too great.
Pushing her worries to the back of her mind, she closes the door to Rick’s room behind her. She looks at the detective. ‘Okay, let’s do this.’
51
MOIRA
One week later
The waiter uncorks the second bottle of champagne with a flourish and all four of them clap. It’s supposed to be a celebration, after all. They solved the case and the real murderer – Donald Ettwood – has been charged and is being kept in jail awaiting trial, while young Mikey Graften has been released and all charges dropped. From the table on the veranda at the fancy Quayside Square Gardens restaurant, with its beautiful ocean-themed table settings, twinkling candles and the view of the sun setting over the water, everything seems perfect. On the surface.
‘This bottle is from the gentlemen over at the corner table,’ says the waiter as he starts to refill their glasses. ‘To thank you for making them feel safe again.’
Moira looks across the veranda to the corner table. Two men in Hawaiian shirts, both with greying ginger hair, raise their glasses towards them.
Rick waves. ‘It’s the twins – Mark and Jack.’ He raises his voice a little louder. ‘Thanks, guys.’
Moira smiles. She knows this picture-perfect moment is an illusion, but for now she’s happy to play along. She waits for the waiter to fill their glasses, then stands and raises hers. ‘To justice.’