She points at each of the patrollers. Her voice is louder with every word. ‘And shame on every one of you if you don’t look. We’re all real long in the tooth here, and we’ve all been around the block and seen bad things that we’d rather unsee, but a girl died here and maybe we know something that’ll help catch the asshole who came to our home and killed her.’ She gestures towards the phone that Donald’s holding. ‘So get a look at the photo and see if the someone who knows something is you.’
There are nods now.
Rory tries to take the phone from Donald, but he won’t give it up. ‘Hey, man, that’s not cool to hog the—’
‘Philip?’ Donald ignores Rory, keeps looking at Philip. ‘I’ve seen her before.’
Philip feels adrenaline pulse through him. Finally they could be getting somewhere. ‘When?’
‘Must have been a couple of nights back.’ Donald rubs the bridge of his nose. Closes his eyes as he’s trying to remember. ‘Pretty sure it was over on Seahorse Drive. It was late, sometime after midnight, I remember because I’d had my twelve o’clock espresso and was feeling sharp so . . .’
‘Yes, yes,’ says Philip. Get to the point, man. ‘What was she doing?’
‘There was this beat-up station wagon parked up at the kerb, with the windows all steamy, and I thought, “Hello, what’s going on in there?” So I slowed down some to take a look-see. Anyways, next thing I know, the passenger door flies open and a girl’ – he points to the picture on the phone – ‘this girl, comes stumbling out.’
Philip glances at Rick. Sees his own excitement mirrored in his friend’s expression.
‘Anyways, there was shouting from inside the car, a male voice,’ continues Donald. ‘But I didn’t get a good look at the guy, because the girl had gone back over and was yelling at him through the open passenger window.’
‘You hear what was being said?’
‘I had my windows up, so not much. I didn’t want to get in the middle of whatever beef they had going on. Only clear thing I heard was the guy saying, “Don’t you walk away from me.”’
‘Then what?’
‘Then nothing.’ Donald shrugs. ‘Way she was dressed it was obvious she wasn’t a burglar. I thought she was most likely . . .’ He pauses and glances at Dorothy and the other ladies. Looks embarrassed. ‘I thought she was a professional, you know what I mean? So I drove on.’
Dorothy frowns. ‘You don’t need to speak in hushed tones around me. You might be one of the young ones around here, but I was young once and I’m not easily spooked. A man getting some sugar from a prostitute, well that’s hardly the first time I’ve heard something like that.’
Philip smiles. He likes Dorothy; she’s got grit.
Donald shifts in his seat. ‘Yes, ma’am, and, well, I thought that if they were in their car rather than their house maybe they were trying to keep it a secret from—’
‘Their wife,’ says Dorothy, raising her eyebrows. ‘How very discreet of you.’
Rick leans across the table towards Donald. ‘You get the colour and plate of this station wagon?’
‘It was a light colour, hard to tell exactly in the dark, but I’d say beige. I noted down the plate, let me check my book.’
As Donald flicks through his notepad, Clint at the other end of the table raises his hand.
‘You got something to say, Clint?’ says Rick.
Clint takes his Dodgers baseball cap off and sets it on the table. Rubs his forehead. ‘I was patrolling quadrant three last night and I seen an old beige station wagon with a Bulls sticker, it was parked up over at the head of the Wild Ridge Trail.’