The Running Girls(79)
Laurie watched the helicopter fade away into the distance, the sound of its whirling blades replaced by the rushing wind, which seemed to highlight her remoteness. If anyone had been foolish enough to have stayed on the peninsula for the hurricane, they were nowhere to be seen. It was as if she was the only person left on the narrow strip of land. Less than a hundred yards away was the swirling sand of the beach. As she glanced toward the gulf, she saw the floating remains of a beach house in the distance. Nearer to shore, a number of motor vehicles bobbed along in the water, some upturned. The muddy patch of land she was standing on felt like the safest place for miles around, and she was stoking up the courage to leave it when a message crackled through on the radio.
“Detective Campbell, where the hell are you?” Lieutenant Filmore’s voice was surprisingly clear, considering the still stormy conditions. Laurie gave some serious consideration to ignoring before deciding to answer. She explained where she was, and how she’d got there, and waited for an uncomfortable few seconds for Filmore to answer.
“Have you lost your fucking mind? I told you . . . I ordered you not to go after Randall or Mosley. You’re risking your career, Laurie, not to mention your life.”
“The opportunity arose to get over here and I was unable to reach you, Lieutenant,” said Laurie, grimacing at her lie.
“Don’t bullshit me, Detective. You have willfully and knowingly disobeyed an order. What the hell are you thinking? You’re out there on your own?”
“Lieutenant.”
“This is negligent behavior, Laurie,” said Filmore, though she noticed his tone was easing. “You shouldn’t go after someone like this without backup at the best of times, but now . . .”
“I know the risks, but I can’t let Mosley get away,” said Laurie, omitting her desire to locate Frank Randall, which was perhaps her greatest priority at that moment.
“It’s not too late, Laurie, but I can only give you this last chance. Do you understand me?”
Laurie didn’t answer, feeling the weight of the radio in her gloved hand as she considered how she was going to respond to Filmore’s likely demand that she return to the mainland.
“You come back now, we can forget this . . . anomaly. You should never have been involved in this investigation, and that’s on me. Couple that with the hurricane and let’s say communication issues, and I can let this slide. But it’s official now, Laurie. You’re putting yourself, and possibly others, in danger, and I can’t have that. Return now or you’re suspended from duty.”
Laurie thought about the damage heaped upon her family because of Mosley. She needed to understand what had truly happened, for David’s sake as well as hers. “Sorry, Lieutenant, reception is terrible here, can you repeat?” she said, placing the radio back in its holster before stepping into the warm, muddy water.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Dressed in her all-weather suit, Laurie waded through the bathwater-warm, debris-choked water. She stepped carefully, trying not to think about the snakes and God only knew what other desperate wildlife that might be lurking in the murk. The radio had power but she ignored the occasional calls. Her decision was made, and the consequences would have to be faced. It was a liberating position to be in and helped drive her onward, past an area where the road appeared to have been lifted, shaken, and dumped back in a mound of debris.
Sadie Cornish’s place was situated off Nelson Avenue, close to Horseshoe Lake. It was a stilted property, which would already have been in need of some renovation before the hurricane struck. It now appeared to be balancing on a carpet of water, like the few other properties in the vicinity, and Laurie approached with caution. Although she was pretending the radio wasn’t working, she made sure it was switched on as she waded through the dank water. She wanted her location to be known and the radio had a GPS tracker. Filmore had been correct in stating that ordinarily she would need backup, but this was no ordinary situation. As she crept along the side of the house, edging glances at its blown-out windows, she withdrew her firearm and checked the chamber before continuing.
For now, she had to work on the principle that Mosley was the killer, and if he was here and paying attention, she would be an easy target for him.
Creeping along the brushy edges of the property, she cleared its perimeter while keeping a keen eye on the gaping holes where the windows had once been.
The water was still a foot high beneath the stilts and had pooled in the sunken ground of the front yard. The place, like the rest of the peninsula, appeared deserted, but Laurie kept her gun in front of her as she climbed the slimy steps toward the black opening where the front door dangled from its hinges.
She could tell something was off even before she finished crossing the porch and cleared the doorway, then completed a hurried scan of the front room. The water hadn’t reached the upper level, but the breeze whipping from one set of glass-free windows to another did little to eliminate the god-awful smell permeating the darkened room. As Laurie’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, the source of that smell became obvious. She didn’t need to check for a pulse. The woman in the wheelchair had been dead for at least some number of days. Insects swirled around her, and fed busily on the various liquids beneath the chair.
“Mosley? Frank? Are you in here?” she called out toward the back rooms of the small house, to silence.