The Running Girls(30)

Once Laurie had settled Gemma in with the family, she made her goodbyes. So many formalities still had to be concluded, but for now she didn’t want to burden the three of them with anything more.

Rodriquez called as she headed back to the crime scene, informing her that Frank Randall was not at home. “Shall we put out an APB for him?” he asked.

“I don’t think that’s necessary just yet. Post someone there. Let’s give him a few hours.”

Was she being naive? After everything Filmore had said to her about being too close to Frank, Jim Burnell’s instruction never to take anything at face value, and her own semi-dispassionate view of the grieving parents, could it be that she had somehow allowed her father-in-law to hoodwink her? She’d told Filmore that Frank was too frail to have carried out the attack on Grace Harrington, but what if that had just been what he’d wanted her to believe?

Panicking, she feared she’d been using her time with the man as a kind of therapy session. With her relationship with David breaking down, hadn’t she been using Frank as a sounding board? And what if that was what he’d wanted all along? Laurie usually trusted her instincts, but what if she’d been so distracted with the problems she’d been having with David that she’d let Randall get to her? At the very least, the positioning of the body was undeniably linked to Annie Randall; of course he had to be considered a possible suspect.

He didn’t do this, if that’s what you’re thinking. Would those words come back to haunt her? Where that certainty had come from, she didn’t know, but one thing she was sure of: she needed to find Frank Randall, and fast.





Chapter Sixteen


It was late afternoon by the time Laurie returned to the murder scene, the dark clouds looming over the gulf still yet to burst. The first thing she saw was Warren’s imposing figure. It was hard to see anything else. Wherever he went, Warren took center stage, and next to him Lieutenant Filmore appeared smaller, his authority diminished by the appearance of the ex-chief.

Laurie had expected the confrontation at some point, but wasn’t ready for it now. She dragged her sluggish body over to the two men, ignoring the awkward glances from colleagues.

On seeing her, Warren’s face changed. The last time she’d seen that blank visage had been outside the house on the day Frank returned. All humanity vanished from Warren for a split second, and in that time Laurie thought him capable of anything.

“Now, Warren,” said Filmore, as her grandfather-in-law stepped toward her.

“What did I tell you?” said Warren, the veins in his neck swelled to bursting. “What did I tell you?” he repeated, raising his voice.

Laurie didn’t engage. Warren wasn’t thinking straight and it would be impossible to reason with him when he was this angry. “Let’s go somewhere private and talk, Warren.”

“We can talk right here, thank you very much. You should never have let him come back here.”

“That’s enough,” said Filmore, placing his hand on Warren’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t be putting your hands on me, Filmore, if I was you.”

Laurie held her ground. “I’ve just been to see Glen and Sandra Harrington. Now isn’t the time for this.”

“I told you he was bad news, Laurie, and you did nothing to stop him. This . . . this girl’s death is on you.”

Laurie took a step closer to him. She loved the man, and could forgive him for what he’d said, but she was angry. “If you had your way, Warren, Frank Randall would be in the hospital now, or in the ground. You may remember that I could have arrested you then. If you continue like this, I will.”

“Arrest me? Where the hell is Randall?”

Filmore glanced at her, as if she should answer the question.

“I realize you’re concerned, Warren,” she said, “but I can’t divulge any details of the investigation. You, better than anyone, should know that.”

Warren spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m the ex-chief of police, for Christ’s sake. My daughter was the first victim of this psychopath. You tell me you’ve arrested Randall, or I’m going to go to his place now and do the job for you.”

“Everything is in hand. Now, I need you to leave the crime scene,” said Laurie, slightly aggrieved to be doing something Filmore should already have done.

Warren held his ground for a few seconds, as if daring anyone to approach him. He was hurting and Laurie hated seeing him this way. “You tell me when he’s in custody,” he said at last, the demand aimed at Filmore rather than her.

“Before you go, Warren,” Laurie said. “What do you know of Frank Randall’s brother, Maurice?”

It was slight but it was there, a flicker of doubt in Warren’s eyes. “The preacher. What of him?”

“What did you think of him? Frank Randall told me he was visited by him the other day.”

“So, you’re on speaking terms with Randall now?”

“I keep an eye on him. He told me Annie never took to Maurice.”

At the mention of his daughter’s name, Warren’s face crumpled, all the anger and hatred deflating from his body. Laurie understood his pain all too well, and it was harrowing to see the effect his daughter’s death still had on him all these years later. “Annie never mentioned anything like that to me. Why do you ask?”