She lowers herself on to one of the couches. ‘Now. From the lack of warning and the early hour, I’m guessing this isn’t a social visit?’
Rick nods. ‘Sharp as ever.’
‘No point if I’m not,’ says Miss Betty. ‘So tell me, is it about the homicide in the park?’
‘You know about that?’ says Philip, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. It seems like this place, on the very edge of the Ocean Mist district, wouldn’t get the gossip from lower down the hill.
‘I’m old, but I’m not stupid,’ says Miss Betty sternly. ‘I make sure I stay appraised of all the neighbourhood news. It would be foolish not to.’
Philip blushes. Before he can reply the door opens and Martha hurries into the room carrying a tray of three tall glasses of what looks like iced sweet tea, and a plate of cookies. He can smell the cookies from here. Chocolate chip, he thinks. His stomach rumbles, even though it’s barely two hours since breakfast.
‘You’re right, it’s connected to the homicide,’ says Rick, nodding his thanks to Martha as she hands him a glass of sweet tea. ‘Some information has come up that we think you can help us make sense of.’
Miss Betty puts her hand to her chest. ‘I can help you with something to do with the homicide? Now that is an interesting development. Please, do tell me how.’
‘Do you know someone who drives a beige station wagon?’ says Rick.
‘Well, of course I do. My grandson, Mikey. He’s staying with me a while, has been for a few weeks now.’
Rick’s expression is serious. ‘Is he here now?’
‘Yes, I believe he is. Although he doesn’t usually rise until noon.’ Betty frowns. ‘It’s one of his behaviours I’ll be sure to change while he’s here.’
‘I didn’t see the station wagon parked in the front,’ says Philip.
‘Well, no, obviously. I can’t have that godawful-looking thing near the house, that would just . . .’ She shudders. ‘So I told him, I said, if you’re going to stay here a while, you’ll have to find some other place to park that vehicle.’
‘Do you know where he parks it?’ Rick asks.
She flaps her hand at him. ‘I don’t know and I really don’t care, just as long as the thing isn’t spoiling my property.’
Rick smiles. ‘It’s pretty beat-up, huh?’
‘Ugly as sin,’ says Miss Betty, laughing.
Rick doesn’t laugh. ‘Do you know where your grandson was two nights ago, Miss Betty?’
She stops smiling, and her eyes narrow. Her voice has an edge of steely frost to it when she asks, ‘Is that when the homicide took place?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Miss Betty sighs, and fiddles with the heavy gold bangles around her wrists. She looks conflicted. After a long moment she says, ‘So what you’re really asking me is whether my grandson is a murderer?’ She glances from Rick to Philip. Exhales hard. ‘And if you’re asking me that question, well, I suppose there is something you should know.’
29
MOIRA
The CCTV office is another squat one-storey stucco building; just like the gatehouse but minus the big glass window. It’s set back a little way from the road, and looks out of place compared to the row of neat Spanish-style properties that line the rest of the street. As Moira walks closer, she sees that the blinds are drawn in all the windows, and wonders if she’s got the opening times wrong. The office is supposed to be manned 24-7 – it says so in the sales brochure. Although she’s learning fast that the marketing spin and the reality of The Homestead aren’t always one and the same.