Philip looks at Rick. ‘The bastard hung up on me.’
Rick shakes his head again. ‘I warned you, man.’
‘Well, it’s not bloody good enough. He’s burying the case, and I don’t understand why.’ Philip throws open the jeep’s door and climbs out, slamming it behind him. He meets Rick’s gaze. ‘I’m not going to let him get away with it.’
12
MOIRA
Lizzie comes back from the kitchen with more coffee. As she sets the mugs down on the table she says to Moira, ‘Sorry about earlier, and to accuse you of—’
‘It’s totally fine,’ says Moira. She gives her a reassuring smile, and it seems to work. There’s still some tension between them, but it’s less than earlier. Moira’s not convinced Lizzie really trusts her, but she can live with that. As she watches Lizzie sit down opposite her, she wonders how Lizzie ever coped working as a CSI. She seems too fragile, too emotional and easily worried, to have worked crime scenes for years.
Lizzie takes a sip of coffee before meeting Moira’s gaze. ‘Anyway, enough about me. What made you decide to come and live here?’
Shit. I don’t want to talk about this, thinks Moira. If she’s going to build trust, she has to reveal something of herself, but it’s not like she can tell Lizzie the real truth. She’s stalling by taking a mouthful of coffee when she hears noise – footsteps and raised voices.
‘What’s that?’ she asks.
‘Sounds like Philip,’ says Lizzie. ‘I wonder if—’
Next moment they hear the click of the back gate being unbolted, and Rick and Philip come through the garden and let themselves into the sunroom.
Philip, red-faced and obviously mad as hell, brandishes his phone at them. ‘You’re not going to bloody well believe this.’
Lizzie looks worried. ‘Honey, what’s the—’
‘The bastard’s burying the case,’ rants Philip as he takes a seat next to Lizzie. ‘I called Golding with the intel we found and he treated me like some old doddering fool, like I’m a washed-up has-been, some old guy who’s lost his marbles. He was so disrespectful. Utterly condescending, I—’
‘He was an asshole,’ says Rick. ‘Didn’t really listen. Just wanted Philip off the phone as soon as.’
Lizzie purses her lips. There’s concern in her eyes.
Moira isn’t surprised about Golding. ‘That’s the impression I got this morning – seemed like one of those guys who’s just going through the motions until he can clock off.’
‘Yep, one of those for sure.’ Rick goes into the kitchen and pours two mugs of coffee. Returning, he takes a seat next to Moira and pushes one of the mugs towards Philip.
Philip ignores the coffee. He smacks his palm down on to the table making all the mugs wobble. ‘It’s not bloody good enough. Golding should have listened to me. I’m an experienced senior officer, a DCI for God’s sake, with good information, useful stuff for his investigation, and he treated me like I’m a . . . like a—’
‘Honey, take a breath.’ Lizzie puts her hand on Philip’s arm, lowers her voice. ‘Remember what the doctor told you.’
Philip shakes his head vigorously. ‘No, I don’t have time. A woman died here, on my watch, and I need to make sure—’
‘It wasn’t your watch. You’re not DCI of Ocean Mist.’ Lizzie’s voice is tougher now, no-nonsense.
Philip looks at Lizzie. Takes a breath. Says nothing.
Aside from the birdsong, everything is silent. Moira swallows hard as she watches the stand-off between Philip and Lizzie. Gone is the mild-mannered, anxious Lizzie of a few minutes ago. In her place is a strong, assertive Lizzie – a less emotional version of the Lizzie who shouted at her earlier. This version of her Moira can easily see working a crime scene.