The Running Girls(4)
She hurried back and dumped the bike inside. Changing into her tennis shoes, she retrieved her firearm from the safe and headed to her truck.
Her first thought had been to call David, but he was away on work and telling him now would only make him worry. Her husband had lived for sixteen years without Frank Randall in his life, and could survive another couple of weeks without having to know that his father had returned.
Laurie’s more pressing concern now was David’s grandfather, Warren Campbell. Campbell was the ex-chief of police. If Laurie knew Randall was back, she could be sure as hell that Warren had found out too.
As she headed out to Randall’s old place, Laurie tried Warren’s number, cursing as it went straight to voicemail. She’d always got on well with her now grandfather-in-law, had even taken his surname since David had disowned his father’s surname. She’d been a rookie detective when Warren was chief. He’d been well respected and liked by her colleagues. On the few occasions they’d talked, he’d always been supportive and encouraging, and it had been a sad day when he’d retired.
However, she often wondered if Frank Randall would have ever left his home alive if Warren had found him the day Annie died. She could picture the scene as if it were yesterday. She’d only been on detective duty for two months and it was her first big case working alongside her mentor, Jim Burnell.
Randall had reported his wife missing when their dog, Herbie, had returned alone after leaving for a walk with Annie three hours earlier. Randall claimed he’d spent the next two hours with Herbie trying to find his wife before calling it in. When Laurie arrived at the scene, Warren was already there. He’d been talking to Randall, who’d looked shell-shocked. Warren was up in his face, the conversation only going one way, as if somehow Warren already knew what Randall had done. Only Burnell’s intervention stopped Warren doing something he may have later regretted.
Annie’s body was discovered three days later. Although half ravaged by the local wildlife, there was enough of her left to enable an identification. Laurie winced as the memory of Annie’s twisted body played before her. She’d been found on her side, one knee higher than the other, one hand on her hip, the other extended before her. One of the CSI commented that, had she been lifted from her prone position, it would have looked as if she was running. Annie had died from a savage incision to her neck that had severed her carotid artery. The autopsy would reveal that her legs had suffered multiple breaks and fractures, the patellae on both legs cruelly dislocated, both ankles snapped into unnatural positions. It was not known if the injuries had occurred before or after her death.
Randall pleaded innocent but, although the murder weapon was never found, the evidence soon mounted against him. The DNA evidence found on Annie was damning, if partly explainable due to the marriage, but what sank him was the skin samples found under Annie’s nails, which matched the wound Randall had on his face at the time. As the case developed, people came forward claiming they’d seen the Randalls arguing on numerous occasions, with one important witness describing seeing the couple arguing near the Camino Real area on the day she died. Eventually, Randall changed his plea to guilty. His lawyer somehow managed to plea bargain, and although he was convicted of homicide, Randall used the defense of sudden passion to mitigate the charges against him and was sentenced to a maximum of twenty years.
Laurie met David during the preparation of the case against his father, but their relationship didn’t start until a year later. By that point, Warren had changed. Since then, Laurie had seen a similar change in too many parents who’d lost their children. Usually, they looked older, as if the life had literally been sucked out of them. It had been different with Warren. He’d had that hounded look too, but something in him had also hardened during that period. He’d remained a strong and loyal grandparent to David, and had been there for both of them during their recent troubles, but something had been lost in him the day his daughter’s body was found, and now she was worried he was going to try and get it back, her fear intensifying as she spotted Warren’s truck blocking the turn into Randall’s old house.
Laurie parked up next to the truck, her legs heavy from cycling, her shorts and T-shirt still sodden from perspiration. The track up to Randall’s house was only just recognizable beneath the vines and barnyard grass, which appeared to have been left unchecked since Randall had been taken away. She’d been able to drive up the track during the investigation but a hundred yards in now and the weeds had swallowed her up. The hush, broken only by the sound of the insects, was unnerving, as if the land was holding its breath.
She found herself drawing her firearm. Now would be the right time to call in the situation, but, right or wrong, she wanted to try and contain it herself.
She saw Warren first as she reached the end of the track. Despite his advanced years, he loomed above his two companions, his back iron-straight. She recognized the two men flanking him, Warren’s old deputies, also retired. Between them they totaled nearly two hundred years, but she knew that wouldn’t stop them from giving Randall a beating. Or worse.
Laurie placed her hand against a solitary oak tree, distracted by the sight of a gnarly vein snaking up the back of her hand and bisecting a thick ridge of muscle on her forearm. Behind the men, the house where David had lived as a child was in serious disrepair, which wasn’t surprising considering it had stood sixteen years abandoned.