When Randall moved away from the window, he grimaced in pain as his knee gave way, the crippling agony in his leg reminiscent of the day it had happened. He could picture those two convicts with much more clarity than anything he could recall over the last few months back in Galveston. Their shaved heads, slick with sweat, as they took turns kicking him before the smallest of the two brought the metal bar down onto his knee and whispered the words, “This is from Warren Campbell.”
“What is it?” said Maurice, reaching him in time to stop him falling to the ground.
“Let them take me,” said Randall, as his daughter-in-law left her car and walked toward the house. He didn’t know how he knew, or what it meant, but he was sure his greatest fear had come true and that someone else had died.
Chapter Nineteen
After checking with the officers waiting outside, Laurie rang the doorbell. It was almost a surprise when Maurice Randall answered the door. The officers had told her about their run-in with the pastor, but it was still surreal to see the man—technically a relative—for the first time in the flesh. He looked older than in the file photos she had of him. Loose skin dangled from the angular frame of his face, his eyes sunken, his back arched as if he were crumbling under the force of gravity.
Laurie displayed her badge. “Detective Laurie Campbell,” she said, noting the hint of recognition in Maurice’s narrow eyes.
“You’re Frank’s daughter-in-law?”
Maurice was sharper than his withered body would have suggested, and Laurie chided herself for once more reaching conclusions based solely on outward appearances. “Is Frank inside?”
“He is safe.”
“Can I come inside and speak to you both?”
Maurice straightened up. “Frank is very tired at the moment.”
“As am I, Mr. Randall. I’ve come a long way, and I’ve had a very hard day. I would appreciate your cooperation.”
“What is this about?” he said, his thin arm stretching across the door as a barrier.
“Laurie?” came a voice from behind the man. “Is that you?” said Frank, coming into view.
“Hello, Frank. I was hoping to speak to you.”
“Well, what are you waiting for, Maurice? Let her through.”
Maurice held Laurie’s gaze, his distaste evident by the way he tightened his thin lips together. “Very well,” he said, moving his arm.
Laurie followed Frank into the sitting room, where a fierce fire billowed in the hearth. Sweat prickled her skin as she unbuttoned her coat. “Everything OK, Frank?” she murmured.
Frank nodded, but couldn’t hide the confusion in his eyes. He had the look to Laurie of someone in shock.
“So what is this about?” Maurice demanded again.
“Please, sit,” said Laurie, before telling the brothers about Grace Harrington’s death.
Maurice appeared unperturbed by the news, but Frank was visibly shaking. “Would you like some water, Frank?” said Laurie, glancing at Maurice, who reluctantly left the room to fetch it for him. Laurie waited until he’d gone before asking, “You know what this means, don’t you, Frank?”
“It’s exactly the same?” said Frank, trembling.
“The body was left in a very similar position to Annie, yes.”
For an old man, Maurice was sprightly, returning with some water before Laurie had a chance to question Frank further. “And what has this to do with us?” he said, placing the glass in the shaking hands of his brother.
“I need you to come in for questioning.”
“Don’t be ludicrous,” said Maurice. “Frank has been with me for the last few days. When did this girl go missing?”
“You collected Frank from his house?” asked Laurie.
“That is correct.”
“When?”
“Last Saturday.”
“And returned him?”
“Wednesday morning.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
Maurice snapped his head back as if he’d been slapped. “My word not good enough for you?”
Laurie stifled a laugh. “I’m investigating a homicide, Mr. Randall. I’m afraid I need more to go on than your word, however honorable that may be.”
“Ridiculous.”
The dynamic in the house troubled Laurie. Maurice was doing all the talking.
“Frank, I need you to come with me,” she said, ignoring the preacher’s protestations.
“That’s fine,” said Frank.
“No, it is not,” said Maurice. “I have called my lawyer. We will wait for him.”
“Listen, Mr. Randall. I understand your concerns, but I’m afraid you’re not in a position to argue. Your brother is an active suspect, and due to your proximity to him, I have to insist that you accompany me back to Galveston as well. Your lawyer can meet us there.”
“And if I don’t? I know my rights, you know.”
Laurie took a deep breath in through her nose. The heat inside the room was stifling. She longed to be on a run with the biting fall air in her face. “If you don’t come in voluntarily, I’ll have no option but to arrest you. Now what will it be?”
Twenty minutes later, Laurie was heading back to the island with Maurice and Frank in the patrol car behind her, the state cops happy to assist. She was glad to be free of the rectory, with its oppressive heat and uneasy atmosphere. Maurice Randall had complained so much as he and his brother had been led to the car that they’d been forced to cuff the pair. Even that hadn’t stopped the pastor, the sound of his threats to sue the whole police department continuing until the patrol car door was mercifully shut on him. It was hard to imagine Maurice as a man of God, let alone to picture him in front of a congregation. Harder still to imagine him being related to Frank and David.
Laurie glanced in the rearview mirror, searching for sight of Frank in the back of the patrol car. The news of Grace’s death had clearly rattled him, and she was trying to determine if that was because of a guilty conscience. The brothers’ alibi needed to be verified, but Frank had allegedly been away from Galveston when Grace had gone missing. She thought again about the possibility that Grace had suffered the injuries to her legs when she’d been alive, shuddering as she imagined the pain and helplessness Grace would have endured.
But that was all conjecture. There was a danger in trying to arrange the details so they conformed to her preconceptions. It was something she was going to come across when she returned, as most people had already reached their conclusions. Laurie understood that—Frank had only been out of prison a few months, and Grace’s death was identical in so many ways to Annie’s—but she wouldn’t be forced into thinking along those lines unless there was proof. She still found it hard to believe that Frank had anything to do with Grace’s death, and not just because she’d found him good company these last few weeks. He was frail, and his bad leg would have greatly hampered any attack. That didn’t mean he didn’t do it, and with Maurice as an accomplice, it was definitely something they could have achieved together. But there were still so many unanswered questions, none more important than why target Grace Harrington?