The Running Girls(80)

Had this unfortunate creature once been Sadie Cornish? Laurie moved closer, making a cursory survey for signs of homicide while trying not to contaminate the crime scene. Nothing was immediately apparent. Her skin was a pallid gray, her body limp. Laurie was no expert on such things, but the absence of rigor mortis, and the condition of the body, suggested that the woman had been dead for at least a week, long before the hurricane had struck. Had she died alone, her body left to rot as the island was vacated? Laurie glanced at her neck but couldn’t see any knife wound. As she lifted her radio to call the situation in, a sudden swell of wind billowed through the gaping holes on either side of the room, for some reason making her lift her gun.

“I would drop that if I were you,” came a familiar voice.

Laurie turned around to see Neil Mosley holding a firearm trained not at her, but at the bound figure of Frank Randall, clutched to his chest like a rag doll. Frank was gagged, his frail body being used as a shield. She had the opportunity for a shot to Mosley’s head, but in the gloom it was a risk she couldn’t take.

“Last chance,” said Mosley, pressing the gun into Frank’s skull.

“OK,” she said, bending down and placing her gun on the floor.

“Kick it over to me, then lie on the floor with your hands laced behind your head.”

Laurie kicked the gun and began to ease slowly to the floor. Now might be the only chance she would have—firing off toward him like a sprinter exploding off the blocks—but Mosley was intensely focused on her. There was nothing for her to do but settle to the floor. He pushed Frank to the side, his gun locked on her as he retrieved her firearm, then swept toward her in two long strides and placed one knee squarely into the small of her back.

“You wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve had getting you here,” he said, dragging her arms back with considerable force and pulling a zip tie tight across her wrists.

“People know I’m here,” said Laurie, trying not to show Mosley she was in pain.

“I’ve no doubt of that, but for the moment, you’re very much on your own, Laurie. I saw the Coast Guard drop you off. I knew you would come,” he added, standing and pulling her roughly upright in one motion. “Didn’t I, Dad? Said she would come, didn’t I?”

Frank was slumped on the ground. He glanced over at her, then dropped his eyes again.

“Why are you doing this, Neil?” she asked.

“That’s a very complex question. We’d need to have a stenographer handy to take it all down. Your husband know you’re here?”

“No, why?”

“It’s a shame brother dearest won’t get to watch this firsthand, but not to worry, I will record it for prosperity. Now, if you don’t mind, we must be going. I have an uninvited guest I need to deal with before we get to the main event.”





Chapter Forty-Eight


So that was that, Mosley was David’s brother and had been responsible all along. This piece of knowledge had so many potential repercussions that it made her head swim as she watched Mosley place the radio on the lap of his departed mother, before kissing the corpse and ushering Laurie and Frank out of the house.

Laurie was still coming to terms with her situation, Filmore’s warning not to go alone ringing in her ears. The zip ties were tight around her wrists and were already digging into her skin. Aside from that, she wasn’t injured. She could walk freely enough and Mosley had yet to gag her.

“Neil, how about you take the gag from Frank’s mouth?” she said, at the sound of Frank’s labored breathing as they stumbled through the long grass at the rear of the property. The landscape conspired to shelter them from the wind here—the first time in what felt like weeks that Laurie could recall being outdoors without being buffeted by it. Frank sounded like he was near death.

“Why not?” said Mosley. “It’s not as if anyone can hear us. Isn’t that right, Dad?” he added, untying the gag and ripping it from his mouth.

“You OK, Frank?” said Laurie.

Frank nodded. “I’m so sorry,” he said, stumbling as he was pushed forward.

“That was your mother? In the chair?” Laurie asked Mosley, who was by her side, pushing Frank ahead of him like an errant child.

“I guess that’s why you’re a detective.”

“How did she die, Neil?”

Mosley opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at her. “I hope you’re not suggesting anything untoward, Detective?”

When she only met his eyes in silence, he grinned and set the three of them in motion again.

At the back edge of the property, the water deepened and Mosley grabbed hold of Frank, allowing Laurie to make her own way, mosquitoes flying off the rancid water in clouds as they made their slow progress through this becalmed landscape.

“She’s been dead for some time,” Laurie said.

“She has indeed. Natural causes. It was a wonder she lasted as long as she did, considering the way he refused to help her,” said Mosley, pushing Frank forward until he fell face-first into the water.

“Help him,” Laurie cried out as she stumbled over to Frank, who was writhing in the water like an eel.

A perplexed look came over Mosley as he absorbed her concern. “Don’t worry,” he said, lifting Frank from the water with one arm as if he weighed less than air. “There will be a time for Daddy to die, and this isn’t it.”