She knows she needs to stop fooling herself. Maybe if she does this she’ll be able to scrub the blood from her blank slate and start again. Perhaps helping them is a way for her to atone for what happened; a way she can work towards redemption. Or maybe she’s about to learn that nowhere is far enough when you’re running from your past.
She’s not sure. But she needs to make a decision.
Waking the phone screen, she taps a message back to Lizzie and presses send before she can rethink it. It’s only one meal, after all. And she can’t hide from them forever.
Sometimes doing the right thing means you have to step into the danger zone.
8
PHILIP
Taking his phone from his trouser pocket, Philip presses the photo icon and selects the picture Moira had messaged to him. It’s a close-up of the young woman’s face cropped from one of the crime-scene pictures she had taken. The blood isn’t visible, but from the vacant, staring eyes it is obvious she’s dead.
He looks at Dorothy. ‘You ready?’
‘Just give it me already,’ she says, holding her hand out for the phone.
He passes it to her. Watches her pale beneath her tan as she looks at the image.
Dorothy shakes her head. Turning the phone over so it’s face down, she slides it back across the table to him. ‘Sorry, I don’t think I’ve seen her before. And definitely not while I’ve been on patrol.’
Philip takes the phone, then reaches out and gives Dorothy’s hand a pat. ‘Appreciate you looking.’
She gives him a sad smile. Fiddles with the clasp of her pearls. ‘No problem.’
‘Who else is going to look?’ He scans the group, but no one will meet his gaze. It reminds him how difficult dealing with the public can be – they always want a perpetrator caught fast, and get hooked on those true-crime podcasts and whatever, but faced with the real thing most still prefer to turn a blind eye. It’s not good enough. He needs the patrollers to step up.
Since the second break-in, when he and Rick had set up the community watch, they’d split the Ocean Mist district into four quadrants and deployed single-person patrols to each quadrant every night. He glances down at the picture on his phone. If this young woman was seen by anyone, chances are it’ll be one of his volunteer patrollers. But still no one’s giving him eye contact. There’s just a lot of awkward shuffling on seats and Melly whispering something he can’t hear to Rory. He needs to tell them what’s what; make them engage on this. He clears his throat again. Holds the phone towards Rory, Melly and Donald – the people sitting closest to him. ‘Who’s going to—？’
‘I just don’t think I can.’ Melly’s shaking her head, leaning away from Philip and the phone towards Rory. Rory shakes his head and looks at his watch. ‘It’s too horrible to have to look at—’
‘Oh come on, goddammit,’ snaps Dorothy. She points her finger at Rory and Melly. ‘Shame on you if you won’t even glance at the poor girl.’
Melly stares from Dorothy to Philip, open-mouthed.
‘And don’t be staring at him like that, missy, catching flies in that chatterbox mouth of yours, that isn’t gonna save no one. And, Rory, you take a look at the damn photo, else it seems to me you’re putting more importance on a round of golf than a human life,’ says Dorothy. Her voice is getting louder, angrier. She points at Donald. ‘And shame on you, Donald, if you don’t take a look at the picture.’
Donald flinches. His cheeks flush and he turns to Philip, gesturing for the phone. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
Philip passes it to him. As Donald catches sight of the screen Philip sees what looks like a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but Donald doesn’t speak. Does he know something? Philip wonders. He wants to question Donald, but Dorothy’s getting to her feet now, smacking her palms on to the table.