The Running Girls(52)
Someone had obviously been talking to the press. If she were to guess, Laurie thought the insight had probably come from Tilly. “I questioned him on his extramarital affairs. I didn’t want to presume Frank Randall’s guilt,” said Laurie, giving Lieutenant Filmore a quick glance.
“Harrington didn’t confess though, did he?”
Laurie managed to keep her composure. “Of course not. I questioned him over his ex-lovers, including a college intern who was practically the same age as his daughter. It definitely made him uncomfortable, as you would expect. We have no firm alibi for him during the estimated time of Grace’s death. He was supposedly at his apartment in Houston, though we can’t find anyone to corroborate that.”
“I don’t suppose he’s there now, is he?”
“We’ll be notified if he enters that building.”
“And the murder weapon?”
The search of the local area was continuing now that it was light again, but, as during the Annie Randall investigation, it felt unlikely the weapon would be discovered. “The Harringtons consented to a search. We haven’t applied for a warrant for Frank Randall’s house yet.”
“OK, Detective Campbell. That reminds me, how is Warren? I hear he got into a bit of mischief yesterday.”
“He’s fine.”
The chief nodded absently, as if he wasn’t really listening to her. “Good. What is your gut on this, Laurie?”
“Something is definitely off with Glen Harrington. We’ll know more when Forensics get back to us.”
“Which will be when?”
“I’ve been told tomorrow by the latest.”
The chief clasped his hands together. “Maybe give them a nudge, Filmore? Would be prudent to search the Randall place for the murder weapon sooner rather than later,” he said, glancing down at his paperwork to signal the end of the meeting.
“You going to give them a nudge, Lieutenant?” asked Laurie, once they were out in the bullpen.
Filmore smiled, the tension easing from him now they were away from the chief. “I’ll give them a call and find out how long we’ll have to wait. This hurricane warning isn’t helping any. We still have eyes on Randall?”
Laurie nodded, even though Filmore already knew a team were stationed outside Frank’s house. “He went to the beach yesterday evening with his brother.”
“In this weather, as frail as he is?” Filmore cracked, walking off to his office before she had a chance to respond. Like seemingly everyone else, he clearly considered Frank Randall plenty spry enough to abduct a fit young woman, kill her, and take her to a remote beach area.
Returning to her own desk, she found a cup of hot coffee was waiting for her. “This your work, Remi?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thought you’d need it after meeting the board of governors in there.”
“Anyone tell you you’re an angel, Remi?” said Laurie, sipping the nectar.
“Only my mom.”
“Well, you tell her I said she’s a great judge of character.”
Every time Laurie looked up from her laptop screen, she caught a glimpse of the large television glued permanently to the Weather Channel, trailing Hurricane Heather, which still seemed to be on a direct course to Galveston.
When she could tear herself away from the image of the looming cloud system, Laurie caught up with some of her outstanding cases. Although investigations were active in Grace’s case—the hunt for Glen Harrington the current number one consideration—it felt as if they were playing a waiting game on that front. Not for the first time, Laurie wished that the CSI worked like they did on TV and film, with an almost instantaneous response. As it was, they were using the Forensic Science Center in Houston to process the results from the Grace Harrington crime scene, and it could be some time before they received what they needed.
Laurie searched through an unrelated missing person case, a fifty-seven-year-old man who hadn’t turned up to his work on board a local fishing boat three weeks ago. Everything that could be done had been done, and Laurie signed the investigation off. The missing man had no immediate family in the States; a brother in his native Puerto Rico had been notified but hadn’t responded beyond an email of acknowledgment. The fisherman would become another name to add to the list of thousands of people who went missing nationwide each year, and Laurie sighed as she filed away the report.
“Laurie,” mouthed Remi, nudging her as he took a call on his cell phone. “Hey, Alex, what’s up?” he said into the phone, as Laurie looked on. “Hey, that’s great. You saw him go into this apartment?”
“We’ve got him,” he said to Laurie as he hung up the call a moment later. “My contact at the apartment building in Houston saw Glen Harrington enter the building five minutes ago.”
“What are we doing sitting here, then?” said Laurie, shutting down her laptop.
It was a relief getting out of the building. Remi coordinated with local officers in Houston, who had been instructed to detain Glen Harrington if he left the apartment block.
As they drove along Seawall Boulevard to the causeway, it was apparent from the steady stream of traffic leaving the island that notice of the evacuation had already been announced. Many lowlying areas of Houston were also on standby, and there was concern that an evacuation order might be issued in the city as well. The last thing Laurie wanted was to get cut off in Houston. She needed to get in and out as quickly as humanly possible. As they approached South Houston, she switched on the inbuilt siren and lights, and they made the apartment building twenty minutes later.