The Running Girls(32)
“On the way to her office as we speak. And when I say young, I mean young.”
Laurie shivered. “Age?”
“Nineteen, eighteen when they were seeing each other.”
“His daughter’s age.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Remi. “And I don’t think she was the first. Bit of a Romeo, our Mr. Harrington. A string of broken hearts.”
“Any complaints? Reports of indecent behavior?”
“HR have given him the all clear, but there is a sense of unease about him, you know what I mean? As if people are holding something back?”
“Through fear?”
“Quite possibly. He’s a senior figure in the corporation. Not someone you want to get the wrong side of.”
“Okay, let’s see what this Bonnie Webb has to say,” said Laurie, ending the call as she arrived at Frank Randall’s place.
Leaving the car, she half expected to see Warren Campbell and his cronies making their way along the dirt track toward Frank’s place, ready to serve another helping of the ready-made justice they’d introduced him to earlier in the year. Although she sympathized with Warren, she now realized it had been a mistake not to report the incident. And by the way he was acting at present, it could become a decision she would live to regret.
Birdsong accompanied her as she walked up the dirt road. When the house came into view, she noted that Frank had transformed the surrounding area since his return, making it a much more hospitable place to live. Two uniformed officers were stationed outside the house, and Laurie was relieved when they told her they hadn’t seen Warren or anyone else. “Only Detectives Rodriquez and Abbey,” said one of the pair.
It was nearly 5 p.m., seven hours having passed since Laurie had discovered Grace’s body. From what she knew of Frank Randall, it wasn’t like him to spend so much time away from the security of his home. He’d told her that he liked to take an occasional walk to the water, but that his injured leg meant it was impossible for him to stay out too long.
She peered through the frosted panes of glass at the front of the house, unable to see more than the blurred outlines of Frank’s furniture. “You’ve checked all the doors?” she asked, knowing before she’d finished asking that it was a pointless question.
Both officers nodded, then one asked her if she thought Frank Randall was inside. “I think we have to check,” she said, radioing headquarters for permission to enter without a warrant.
“Do you think Mr. Randall is in danger?” asked the dispatcher.
“He’s elderly and in ill health. It’s unlike him to be away from his home for this long,” said Laurie, giving the necessary answers to provide her with reasonable grounds to enter the building.
Once confirmation had been given, she withdrew her firearm and knocked on the door once more. When there was no answer, she nodded to one of the uniformed officers, who aimed a strong kick at the ancient lock. The wooden door frame splintered with barely any sound, and the door opened easily.
“Frank, are you in here?” said Laurie, easing the door open. Fearing the worst, she switched on the light, revealing an empty living room. It didn’t take long to secure the rest of the house, and Laurie called in her findings, understanding only too well what would be made of it.
“Where the hell are you?” she said, lifting the framed photograph of the teenage David with his smiling parents. Could the handsome man with his arm wrapped around his son really be responsible for the gruesome killing of Grace Harrington? The certainty about Frank’s innocence she’d felt earlier had all but evaporated. Frank’s absence heightened her doubts, and would provide Warren, and anyone else who thought Frank Randall had struck again, with all the evidence they would need to make their minds up.
“You’re not making this easy for me, Frank,” she mumbled to herself, as she left the house and told the uniformed officers to remain in position until instructed otherwise.
A cold wind rustled the bushes next to the house, the breeze containing flecks of sand. So many thoughts rushed through Laurie’s mind that she struggled to compartmentalize them all. Her main focus was naturally on finding Grace’s killer, but she couldn’t shut out her worry about David and Rebecca Whitehead, and the more immediate problem of finding Frank. Remi’s revelation about Glen Harrington’s teenage lover was an interesting development, but nothing beyond finding Frank today would be considered a success. She needed to reexamine Annie Randall’s murder, but without Frank in custody it was going to be too easy for everyone to jump to conclusions.
Sheltering from the blustering storm in her car, she found the number for Maurice Randall’s church. She hesitated when the call rang through to voicemail, before hanging up and calling the state police. She spoke to a detective there who agreed to assess the situation at Maurice Randall’s house and to hold Frank, if he was there, at the premises until she arrived.
Chapter Eighteen
Laurie called in her destination before leaving for the church on the outskirts of Dickinson. Sandra, Glen, and Tilly would all have to be brought in for official questioning at some point soon, and leaving the island town at that moment felt like a dereliction of duty. But bringing in Frank Randall had to be the priority, whether she was sure of his guilt or not. State police had arrived at Maurice Randall’s church and were waiting for her to arrive.