The red-haired one shakes his head. ‘As I said before, ma’am, I think there’s reason to—’
‘Maybe you should get checked out.’ Philip steps closer to Moira and puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘It can’t hurt.’
Moira shrugs away his hand. ‘I don’t need to, and I don’t want to, so no.’ Her tone is assertive, bordering on angry. Why can’t he get the message and go? Why is he here anyway? She glares at Philip. ‘I saw a dead body. I’m not injured.’
Philip takes a step backwards. ‘Just calm down a—’
‘Okay, ma’am, I’m not arguing any longer.’ The paramedic taps something on the screen of his tablet. ‘I’m putting in my call notes you declined transportation to the hospital.’
‘You do that,’ Moira snaps. Then she feels a bit sorry for him. She knows he’s just trying to do his job, but there are people out there who need his skills and a hospital bed far more than she does. And she feels okay. Well, kind of okay. A bit dizzy, and slightly nauseous; otherwise fine. She gives him a small smile. ‘And thank you.’
As the paramedics get ready to leave, Moira picks up her sports bag from beside the ambulance and pushes her water bottle into the side pocket. As she straightens up she feels more light-headed. Philip’s saying something to her, but his voice seems muffled, as if she’s listening underwater. She doesn’t want to chat. She looks at Philip. ‘See you around.’
As she says the words she knows they’re not true. She needs to avoid seeing Philip and his wife Lizzie. She can’t afford to get involved with them; it’s too risky.
Philip starts to reply but she turns away and walks around the ambulance, heading over to the police cars. Movement helps to clear her head. It’s a blood-sugar thing, the dizziness, she’s sure of it. She’s had spells like this before, and it’s different to the panic attacks. She knows she can handle this; she just needs to get home and eat something.
Reaching the police cars, she raps on the window of the nearest vehicle, startling the officer wearing mirrored shades inside, and gives him a wave. ‘I’m leaving now, okay?’
The young cop opens the door and jumps out. Looks flustered. ‘You’re not going to hospital?’
She shakes her head, blinking as her vision goes hazy. Puts a hand out on to the car to steady herself. ‘I’m going home.’
‘Well, okay then. The lead detective did say it’s okay for you to leave. He’s got your details and will follow up if there’s something more.’ The cop takes a card from the pocket of his shirt and hands it to Moira. ‘If you think of anything, you can reach him on this number.’
Moira takes the card and reads the name: Detective James R Golding – Robbery Homicide Division. She purses her lips. When he’d first arrived Detective Golding had asked her a few cursory questions, but nothing of any depth. He’d seemed distracted, and mentioned several times he was nearing the end of a night shift. From his performance so far Moira is unimpressed. Still, she doesn’t say that; she just says, ‘Thanks.’
‘No problem, ma’am, you have yourself a good day.’
She gives a little shake of her head at the standard platitude that’s so out of place given they’re inside the crime-scene cordon of a murder. ‘I’ll try to do that.’
The cop climbs back into his vehicle and Moira knows it’s time to go. She hesitates, and glances back towards the park. It feels strange going when she has so many questions. She wants to know who the woman is and why there was all that money floating in the water.
She’s still thinking about it when Philip stops beside her. He’s looking at her in a kindly fashion like she’s a lost child or an injured puppy. It really grates on her.
Reaching out, he pats her shoulder. ‘You’ve had a shock, it’s not right that you walk home alone. Let me drive you?’