The Running Girls(18)

Just as she’d arrived earlier outside Rebecca Whitehead’s house without any forethought, Laurie couldn’t recall the decision-making process that had led her back to her father-in-law’s house. She’d visited him on a number of occasions since his return, neither of them ever discussing his conviction. She’d done so out of a sense of duty. They didn’t know each other, but he was David’s father, and would have been Milly’s grandfather. She’d been surprised at how easily she was able to put his sins to the side of her thoughts. When she saw him, she didn’t think about the savage killer he’d once been. All she saw was a weak and vulnerable old man who didn’t have a single person in the world looking after him.

She parked and walked the narrow road, which was now much clearer than before. For the second time that evening, she was loitering outside someone else’s property, the focus of her attention once more connected to David. A light was on in the old house, a beacon in the darkness that made the modest structure look like a place out of time.

The distance between the access road and the front door played tricks on her as she walked toward the building. All at once, sounds of wildlife and the roaring gulf reached her ears as if for a few seconds time had stood still. Her shoulders slumped as she hit the hard wood of the front door, the fatigue from her earlier run beginning to register.

The door creaked open, Frank Randall sticking his head out from behind the screen. “Hello?”

“Frank, it’s me, Laurie. I’m so sorry to visit so late.”

“Oh, thank goodness. Please, come in,” he said, holding the door open.

Tension eased from Laurie’s body as she stepped through the entrance. The place always had that effect on her. She didn’t know if it was the connection to David, or the photographs that lined the walls and mantelpiece, but there was a homey feeling to being here that was a welcome relief from both the tension at work and the uneasiness of her apartment.

“Please, take a seat. I’ll make us some tea.”

Laurie only drank tea with Frank. She’d never asked him where he got them from, but he used spiced tea leaves that carried a hint of burnt orange. She collapsed into the armchair, sinking into the loose springs, and had to will herself to stay awake. Beyond a thorough cleaning, the place had changed little since Frank had moved back in. The dust had been wiped from the photos, and she smiled at the pictures of David in his various incarnations from baby to the young man who had attended Frank’s sentencing.

“Thank you,” she said, sitting up to take the hot mug from her father-in-law.

“You’re here late,” said Frank. “Not that it isn’t lovely to see you,” he added, a little panic in his voice as the cup shook in his hand.

“Just passing,” she said, conscious of her sweat-soaked clothes. “Thought I’d check in on you. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well.” His eyes darted to the battered duffel bag she’d seen him with on the day he was attacked by Warren and his former deputies.

Laurie took a sip of the tea, hints of cinnamon reaching her palate through the burnt orange. “Planning a trip?”

Randall squirmed in his seat, his eyes struggling to focus on her. “Just came back.”

“Oh?”

“My brother. He’s a preacher, over Dickinson way. Came by to see me and took me to see his church.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother. David never mentioned an uncle.”

“Maurice. David never met him. At least, I don’t think he did. Annie never took to Maurice. I’d forgotten. I never took to him too much myself. He used to bully me as a kid, and when I got old enough to defend myself, he became all Christian. Didn’t approve of the way I lived my life. I didn’t much care, but I did take Annie to meet him, and then something happened.”

Laurie placed her cup down. “What?”

“I don’t know for sure. Annie wasn’t someone you could push for an answer. She would either tell you something or she wouldn’t. There was no changing her mind. All she told me was she thought Maurice wasn’t quite right and she didn’t want to see him again. And that was enough for me.”

They spent the next few minutes chatting aimlessly, Laurie’s mind working overtime. Finishing her tea, she said goodnight to Frank, noting the faraway look in his eye as she headed off. The first thing she did when she reached the car was to check for a preacher in the Dickinson area by the name of Maurice Randall. She couldn’t quite believe that David had never mentioned an uncle to her, nor could she recall the man being present for Frank’s sentencing. She hadn’t asked Frank if Maurice had any children, and wondered now if there was a whole side to David’s family she didn’t know about.

A hit indeed came in for a pastor by the name of Maurice Randall in a small town outside Dickinson. She zoomed in on the grainy image on her phone of Maurice’s smiley face. She wasn’t sure when the photo had been taken, but he looked ancient: an even more weathered version of Frank.

What the hell are you doing? It was past midnight and here she was, sitting outside her father-in-law’s house—A convicted murderer, don’t forget that, Laurie—when a few miles away a mother and father would be trying to sleep, sick with worry that they would never see their daughter again.

Laurie threw the phone onto the passenger seat and drove off. She tried not to think about it, but as she made her way back across the sleeping island, all she could think about was Maurice Randall and why David had never once mentioned him.