Filmore nodded. “I appreciate that, and I’m on your side. Hell, maybe they won’t even pick up on it. You carry on as normal for now.” He nodded down toward the crime scene. “Crosby wants to speak to you.”
Terrence Crosby was the lead CSI. Laurie had known him for ten years and they’d always got on well, rising through their respective ranks together. He nodded to her as she approached the knot of white-overalled figures still gathering evidence, the search for the murder weapon extending out into the grasslands.
“You remember the Annie Randall murder?” said Laurie, as they watched the paramedics preparing Grace Harrington for her transfer to the mortuary.
“Bit before my time,” Terrence deadpanned.
“You suggesting you’re younger than me, Crosby? I know for a fact that isn’t true.”
He made a little doubting sound. “If you say so, Laurie.”
“Well, I’m old enough to remember, and from what I can see of this poor girl, there are a number of similarities.”
“Of course I remember Annie Randall,” said Crosby. “I’ll have to look at the old pictures, but I agree the positioning of the bodies is similar, if not identical. It will be interesting to see if the cut to the carotid artery was by the same blade.”
The murder weapon that had killed Annie Randall had never been found, but the laceration had been caused by a blade 4.44 mm thick. “And the fractures to the legs?”
He nodded. “It appears both patellae have been fractured as well as the ankles, as I believe was the case with Annie Randall. Again, I’ll have to check, and obviously the autopsy will tell us more.”
“What else can you tell me?”
Terrence grimaced. “We’re going to have to wait for the ME’s report, but I would estimate the time of death to be within the last ten to twelve hours.”
If that was true, it suggested the killer had kept Grace in captivity prior to killing her. Laurie took in a deep breath. Her chest felt heavy, as if she was recovering at the end of a long run. They both knew there was a question being left unasked. Laurie wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but Terrence wasn’t going to volunteer the information. “The injuries,” she said, her voice wavering. “Post or pre-death?”
“Again, we’ll have to wait.”
“Come on, Terrence.”
He shook his head again, his eyes downcast. “From what I can remember, Annie Randall’s injuries were sustained when her husband attacked her and he fractured her legs before killing her. I would say something similar happened in this instance. If I had to guess, I would say this poor young lady was still alive when her legs were fractured.”
Chapter Seventeen
Laurie waited until Grace’s body was in the back of the ambulance before leaving the scene. Terrence and the CSIs would remain for the time being, working with her team in a final sweep of the surrounding area before darkness fell. She left Rodriquez in charge and returned to her car, calling Remi as she made the short journey to Frank Randall’s house.
“I’ve found Glen Harrington’s ex-lover,” said Remi, on answering. “A young intern by the name of Bonnie Webb.”
“You’ve spoken to her?”
“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.