Moira winces at the stinging sensation. ‘I got off lightly compared to Hank.’
‘Perhaps,’ says the paramedic, peering at the wound. ‘But this is pretty deep. You sure you won’t take a ride to hospital with us?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Well, okay then.’ The paramedic discards the cotton pad into a cardboard kidney-shaped tray and picks up the butterfly closure strips. With speed born from a lot of practice, she tapes the wound closed. ‘There you go, all done.’
‘Thanks.’ Moira eases herself off the gurney. Her head is throbbing and standing feels weird, like she’s outside of her own body and looking down at herself. Still, she manages to sign the paperwork that the paramedic puts in front of her, then takes a couple of steps towards the door.
‘Your face is going to bruise up real bad,’ says the paramedic. ‘Best to have some anti-inflammatories ready.’
‘Will do,’ says Moira, holding tight to the handrail as she steps down from the ambulance. She scans the parking lot. Philip’s nowhere to be seen, but she spots Rick a little way across the lot, leaning against the side of his jeep.
He rushes to help her. Takes her elbow and guides her to the passenger side, practically lifting her on to the seat. She doesn’t fight his help. She needs it.
Rick looks worried as he stares at her head. ‘You sure you shouldn’t be in hospital?’
Moira shakes her head, and tries to ignore the nausea as her vision goes hazy again. ‘It’s just a nasty scratch, I’ll be fine.’
Rick looks unconvinced, but he fires up the jeep’s engine, and she’s thankful for that. She closes her eyes, and as she does the conversation between Philip and Golding replays in her mind. Golding said Philip was a liar, that he killed a child, and that he was fired because of it. That’s a long way from the story Lizzie told.
She needs to know who is telling the truth.
36
LIZZIE
There’s something wrong. Philip’s trying to hide it, but Lizzie knows the signs. She doesn’t think it’s because of what happened to Moira, either. It’s something else, and it’s happened since he left this morning.
Lizzie looks at Rick. ‘It feels weird without Moira here. How was she doing when you dropped her home?’
‘Playing the tough cookie. She was feeling rough, anyone could see it, but she was real determined not to let it show. I offered to give her a hand with the dogs and all, but she said she’d be fine and I didn’t want to push it.’
‘I’ll check in on her later,’ says Lizzie. ‘See if she needs anything.’
She sneaks a glance at Philip. He’s holding his mug in both hands and staring into the coffee. It seems like he isn’t even listening to what Rick’s saying. No, she thinks, he’s not worrying about Moira, but he’s been off since he returned an hour or so ago. There is something else going on with him. Maybe it has something to do with the investigation. ‘What did you guys find?’
Rick doesn’t answer right away. Instead he looks at Philip to see if he’s going to jump in. Philip stays silent. Keeps looking into his coffee mug. Rick gives a shrug, and turns back to Lizzie. ‘We found a whole bunch, but I’m not sure where it leaves us.’
‘How come?’
‘Well, for starters, we know that Betty Graften’s grandson, Mikey, is the guy that Donald saw arguing with the victim, and that he’d been dating her for a few weeks. He told us her name – Kristen Altman – and that she was a croupier at the Flying Mustang Casino over in Conaldo Plains. He also—’
‘Hold on, we should be keeping track of this on the board,’ says Lizzie. Getting up, she picks the dry marker off the table and walks over to the patio doors. She takes the lid off the pen and turns back to Rick. ‘Keep talking. I’ll make the notes.’