They pass through the main bar area, past pool tables and a couple of one-armed bandits, and down the hallway towards the back room where the community watch always meets. The noise of chatter grows louder the closer they get.
They’re a few metres away when the door to the back room opens and Sandi – a bottle-blonde in her late fifties, with a generous figure and a stern tone that keeps even the drunkest resident in line – bustles out into the hallway.
She frowns when she sees them. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Got tied up walking through the crime scene,’ says Philip. ‘Sorry we’re late.’
She puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the side. ‘The crime scene, huh?’ She looks from Philip to Rick. ‘You ask me to open up early just for you, then you boys get real tardy on me.’
She’s annoyed, he can tell that, but there’s a teasing tone to her words as well. Sandi and him, they had a few dates about twelve months back, but nothing more than that. She’s good company, but he hadn’t been ready for romance. Even though it’s five years since her passing, he’s stayed hung up on his late wife, Alisha.
He touches the fingers of his right hand to his forehead. ‘Sorry, ma’am. Won’t happen again.’
‘Just see that it doesn’t,’ says Sandi with a wink. She gestures through the doorway. ‘As you’re here now, you’d better get to business.’
As he follows Philip through into the back room, Rick thinks about the reason for their tardiness. He’s never late, hates it in himself and others, yet this morning it hadn’t seemed to matter. He couldn’t just split and run without dropping the new Brit, Moira, at her place on the way over here, so she could let her dogs out for a run in the yard. Especially when she was still feeling under the weather. It was weird. As she was getting out the jeep he’d had a hankering to stay with her. He shook his head. Didn’t know what that was about. She was an attractive woman, for sure, although kind of tight-assed that way the English oftentimes are. But the way she’d talked about justice, and caring about what happened to the victim, had sucker-punched him right in the gut. All that sincerity and passion she had going on had him charmed, and that didn’t happen often. He shook his head. Who was he kidding? It pretty much never happened; the last woman who’d charmed him had been Alisha.
Philip nudges him with his elbow. ‘They haven’t even noticed we’re here yet. We need to call this to order.’
‘For sure.’
‘And get this damn music turned down.’
The community watch are gathered around the long table towards the back of the room. Rick does a quick head count; all twenty-nine volunteer patrollers are here. Stepping across the room to the private bar, he opens the shutter and leans over the counter. Finding what he’s looking for by feel, he flicks the switch and stifles the rock music. The patrollers stop their chatter and turn to see what’s happening.
‘Sorry we’re late, guys,’ says Rick, moving towards the table. ‘But let’s get to it.’
Philip takes a seat at the head of the table. Rick pulls a chair out and sits at the corner of the table, a little ways back. All eyes are on them now.
Philip clears his throat and makes a performance of taking his notes from his jacket pocket. Rick wishes he’d get a move on.
‘This better be important,’ mutters Rory Kempler to his wife, Melly, taking an exaggerated look at his watch. ‘I was meant to be teeing off five minutes ago.’
Philip frowns at Rory and makes eye contact with each of the group before he speaks. His tone is dead serious. ‘This meeting is about a homicide.’
There’s a moment of silence, then the patrollers all start talking at once.
Bert turns to Philip. He’s frowning, his eyes concerned beneath bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows. ‘Where’d it happen?’