Taking his keys off the hook by the back door, Rick opens the door and hurries out to the jeep. The cops might be dragging their heels on the investigation, but Rick’s always been a ‘do it now’ kind of a guy.
He’s got questions. Miss Betty might have answers. There’s no time to waste.
27
MOIRA
It takes her a moment before she realises it’s him. He’s parked at the side of the road, tapping away at his phone. He’s too engrossed to see her. Stopping on the pavement next to the jeep, she clears her throat and says, ‘Hey.’
Rick looks up with a start. He smiles when he sees it’s her. Puts his hand to his forehead as if saluting a higher-ranking officer. ‘Good morning.’
She’s about to answer when his mobile beeps. He looks at it and fires off another message.
Moira waits until he’s pressed send before asking, ‘Any developments?’
‘I’ve got a possible lead on the owner of the station wagon. I was just updating Philip. I’m heading there now, he’s going to meet me.’ Rick puts his phone into his pocket. The jeep’s windows are down and his quiffed white hair looks tousled by the breeze. He shifts in the driver’s seat towards her, elbow resting on the window frame. ‘Any sign of that guy who was following you yesterday?’
Moira shakes her head. ‘Not so far. Maybe he got scared when I banged against his window and chased his car down the road.’
‘Could be,’ says Rick, nodding. ‘And how’s that ankle holding up?’
‘So-so,’ she says. ‘It’s annoying really. I’ve been to the security hut, wasn’t that useful except to show how rubbish the security on our gates actually is, now I’m on my way to try and charm the CCTV guy into letting me see the tapes.’
Rick jerks his head towards the passenger seat. ‘You want a ride?’
Her automatic reaction is no, but she stays silent for a moment. Thinks. She’s already walked to the gatehouse and back, and taken the dogs out for their morning run. The CCTV office is a good thirty minutes on foot from here and, in truth, her ankle’s worse than so-so, it’s throbbing and seems to be getting more swollen. Moira knows she should be resting it rather than walking. ‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Jump in. I’ll update you on the drive over.’
Moira moves around to the passenger side and manoeuvres herself up on to the seat. Her ankle throbs faster from the movement. She grits her teeth. She can count the number of times she’s accepted lifts from people before on the fingers of one hand, but in the last day she’s been driven about by both Philip and Rick. It feels like she’s losing her independence.
As she fastens her seat belt, Rick puts the jeep into drive and pulls away from the kerb. Moira turns to him. ‘So tell me about this lead on the station wagon.’
‘Seems the owner could be a relation of Miss Betty. She’s one of Ocean Mist’s oldest residents, lives on the other side of the district over on Albatross Heights Boulevard.’
‘The gatehouse had the station wagon’s plate registered as entering Ocean Mist late evening a month ago, but nothing for the two times your patrollers said they’d made sightings.’
‘Figures, if the guy’s been staying with Miss Betty.’ Rick turns the wheel, taking a right on to Wave Street. ‘They have anything about who the driver was visiting in the gatehouse log?’
‘They didn’t even have the guy’s name.’
Rick gives a long whistle. ‘You’re right, that’s bad. How’d it happen?’
‘Seems that security gets lax on the late shift. People who arrive after nine at night and before nine in the morning are less likely to be asked for their details. The security guard can switch the system over to automatic plate record so they can go to the loo. My guess is they put it on and take a nap.’