One of the cops notices Rick talking. He prods him in the ribs with his boot. ‘Hey, shut it.’
Rick ignores the cop. Keeps his eyes on Mikey until the kid nods.
‘Do. Not. Kick. Him. That is an assault on a senior citizen.’ Philip’s voice is louder now. Rick watches as the leather slip-ons step closer to one of the pairs of boots. ‘You move away from him this minute. And you, you uncuff him. He’s a guest of Betty Graften, the lady who owns this property. What the hell do you people think you’re doing? This man is a—’
‘No one is getting uncuffed until I give the order.’ Detective Golding’s voice is equally angry. ‘Mr Sweetman, you shouldn’t be out here. Go inside with the others.’
‘I will not leave until you uncuff this man. There’s no reason to hold him.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
‘Then tell me the grounds you’re holding him on? Is he a suspect? Are you going to charge him? It can’t be for resisting arrest because you’ve got me, and two more witnesses in the house who watched what happened, and what we saw was a heavy-handed abuse of—’
‘Mary mother . . .’ Golding exhales hard, then turns and barks an order. ‘Do it.’
Moments later, Rick feels the cuffs being released.
‘Get up,’ says a male voice – the one that a few minutes earlier was screaming at him to get on the ground.
Rick’s glad to be free of the cuffs, but his shoulders are aching real bad from the ten minutes or so they’ve been on. He presses his hands into the ground and pushes himself up to standing, wincing as he straightens up.
‘You all right?’ asks Philip.
Rick rubs his wrists where the cuffs have been. ‘Yep.’
Golding glares at Philip and then Rick. ‘You’ve got what you wanted, now get out of here.’
Rick holds Golding’s gaze. It’s the first time he’s seen the man and he already knows he doesn’t like him. He’s met cops like him before – full of macho bullshit, and more concerned with their own image than the truth. ‘The kid didn’t do it.’
‘I’ve got evidence to suggest otherwise.’ Golding gestures to Philip with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘And your buddy here gave it to me.’
‘A licence plate, that’s all you got?’ Rick frowns. ‘It ain’t enough.’
‘That’s for me to decide. I’m the detective here, not you . . . seniors.’ Golding says the word seniors as if he’s talking about dog shit. ‘You need to go back to your pickleball, or have an afternoon nap, or whatever it is you do with your time.’ He steps closer to Rick and Philip. ‘But whatever you do, just make damn sure it’s nothing to do with my case, because I don’t ever want to have to run into you both again, you hear me?’
Rick says nothing. He glances at Philip, who is also silent. He can see Philip’s jaw is clamped tight and there’s a bright red flush spreading up his neck to his face. Rick can tell Philip’s suppressing the urge to tell the detective exactly what he’s thinking. It’s for the best that he doesn’t. Oftentimes you need to pick your battles, and squaring up to Detective Golding right now isn’t a fight worth having. It’s better to be smart, to work the evidence more, and beat the asshole to solving the case.
Golding shakes his head. Turning to the officers standing over the kid, Golding gestures towards Mikey. ‘Get him out of here.’
As Golding strides back towards the cop cars, the two uniforms closest to the kid grab his shoulders and haul him to his feet. As they frogmarch him towards the yard gate, Mikey looks over his shoulder. His eyes are pleading with Rick’s. ‘You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t kill her.’