Lizzie shakes her head hard. ‘It’s wrong, saying we’ll investigate. We shouldn’t be doing it. We’re retired.’ She looks at Philip. ‘We need to stay out of it.’
Philip takes her hand. ‘We have to do this. I can’t let this Detective Golding run some half-cocked investigation that goes nowhere.’ He glances from Lizzie to Rick. ‘We took an oath when we signed up in law enforcement. That doesn’t end just because we retired.’
‘It does,’ says Lizzie. ‘That’s the whole point of retirement.’
Philip shakes his head. ‘I can’t stand by and do nothing.’
Lizzie watches him for a moment, frowning. ‘But after what—’
‘I have to do this.’ His voice is loaded with emotion. He’s stroking her hand. Eyes fixed on hers.
Moira feels awkward. Like she’s intruding on a moment that should be private between Lizzie and Philip. Glancing at Rick, she sees his eyes are downcast, and guesses that he’s feeling the same way too.
‘I need you with me on this,’ says Philip, his voice gentle. ‘We all do.’
A few seconds pass before Lizzie speaks. ‘Okay. I don’t think this is the right thing to do, but I’ll help you.’ She looks across at Moira and Rick. ‘I’ll help all of you.’
Moira feels uneasy. She hasn’t agreed to investigate the murder with them, and they haven’t thought to ask her. She’s also concerned about Lizzie’s reaction. Is she worried that Philip investigating could cause him another heart attack or is there something else going on? Their body language is tense and with the intense stares and long silences there’s something unspoken happening here. It bothers Moira that she doesn’t know what it is. You need to be able to trust the people in your life, or at least predict their actions and reactions.
Moira almost laughs out loud at the thought. Who is she kidding? After what happened with McCord she should have learnt you can never trust or predict what people do. No matter how well you think you know them, they’re always capable of screwing you over.
Rick breaks the uneasy silence by clearing his throat. He leans forward, elbows on the table. ‘So what’s our first move?’
‘We need to take stock of everything we know so far,’ says Philip. Getting up, he disappears into the kitchen. Moira hears drawers being opened and closed.
Philip returns with a marker pen. He pulls the sliding patio door partially across behind him and looks at the group. ‘So what do we know?’
Moira clears her throat. Knows she can’t sound too much like she knows what she’s doing. Tries to inject a note of uncertainty into her voice. ‘She was in her twenties most likely, white, about five foot five and slim build. The cops didn’t find an ID when I was there. I made the 911 call at 7.14 am, so I found her maybe a minute earlier.’
‘Okay, so we’ve got a Jane Doe,’ says Philip. He looks at Moira. ‘On the force, that’s what we call a female who hasn’t yet been identified.’
Moira bites her lip. Doesn’t reply in case she says something she regrets.
Oblivious, Philip writes ‘Jane Doe’ on the glass of the patio doors, creating a make-do murder board. He puts today’s date and the time Moira found the body beside it. ‘What else?’
Moira glances at Lizzie. There’s an earnest expression on her face, but she seems unbothered by her husband defacing their patio door. Moira looks back to Philip. ‘The money. When I found her in the pool she was surrounded by what looked like thousands of dollars. And there was a black bag, possibly a rucksack, on the bottom of the pool – so whatever was in there was heavy.’
‘Good,’ says Philip, making bullet points of what she’s told him beneath the name ‘Jane Doe’。 ‘Anything else?’