“Shut the door,” said Filmore.
Laurie did as instructed, sitting down without invitation. There was no point bitching about Warren being in the bullpen. The man commanded more respect than anyone in the station, the current chief included, and his legacy had been cemented by the terrible ordeal he’d endured with his daughter. Lieutenant Filmore was a good man, and a good leader. She tried to see it from his position, and decided Warren being around was a burden she could carry for now.
“The lawyer has arrived,” Filmore said. “Out-of-towner by the name of Neil Mosley. He’s been hired by the brothers Grimm and representing them both. Even tried to argue for a joint interview.”
“OK. I’ll start with Frank, then move on to Maurice. See if their stories match.”
“I have heat coming on me from everywhere, you appreciate that, Laurie?”
Laurie sat up straight, fearing that Filmore was about to take her from the investigation. “I’ve got it covered, Lieutenant.”
“A quick result would be great for everyone, get the vultures off us.”
Laurie sucked in a breath as a cramp attacked the calf muscle on her right leg. She didn’t immediately respond, waiting for Filmore to fill the gap.
Filmore appeared to study her for a time before continuing. “Of course, the most important thing is we find the right person,” he said, as if he thought she’d been testing him.
Laurie could feel her calf muscle vibrating, as if something foreign were wriggling within her veins. She waited for the pain to ease before speaking. “On that front, you should be aware that we have some information about Glen Harrington.”
“Do I want to hear this?”
“Probably not,” said Laurie, proceeding to tell the lieutenant about Harrington’s extra-marital affairs.
Filmore rubbed the stubble on his face, grimacing as if he wished he’d never let her speak. “You had any inkling of this before?”
“We knew he’d had an affair. Sandra Harrington had made that clear. No idea of the ages of his conquests.”
“This gets out, the man is going to be ruined.”
It was Laurie’s turn to pull a face. “That’s your concern?” she said, incredulous.
“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s disgusting as well. But Frank Randall is a fit for this case. Imagine losing your daughter, then having your reputation ruined.”
Laurie couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Sorry, but you are kidding me, Lieutenant. If Harrington didn’t want his reputation ruined, then maybe he shouldn’t have coerced young women into his bed.”
“He coerced them?”
“He’s forty-nine. He was their boss. They were eighteen and nineteen. That sound right to you?”
“You misunderstand me.”
“No, I don’t think I do, Lieutenant. You must see this makes him a potential suspect?”
“They were of legal age.”
Realizing her mouth was hanging open, Laurie closed it. “He is over twice their age. I know some older guys are prone to this sort of behavior, but a man having an affair with young women close to the age of his daughter—you know what that could mean.”
As Filmore rubbed his hands down his face, Laurie tried to control her breathing and the rapid thud of her heartbeat. She’d entered Filmore’s office giving him the benefit of the doubt, telling herself he was a good man, and now this?
“Just because he sleeps with young women, doesn’t mean he has an unhealthy fixation on his daughter.”
“It might.”
“Yes, all right, it might, but the point is we have a very strong suspect in Frank Randall.”
“I am going to question Glen Harrington over this, Lieutenant,” said Laurie, daring him to object.
“Let’s just see how the interview with Frank Randall goes. Who knows, we might get a confession from him.”
Wouldn’t that be convenient for the boys’ club, thought Laurie, leaving the office before she said something she would forever regret.
Chapter Twenty
Randall tried to fight the perverse sense of comfort he felt from being in the holding cell. This wasn’t a reward, it was a punishment, but he’d spent nearly all of the last sixteen years in confinement and, aside from the last few months, it was all he knew. Rules and order were something you became used to, and though he couldn’t say he loved being back inside, at least he knew where he was, and what was expected of him.
Two cells down, the bickering tones of his brother reached his ears. The man could sure raise hell when he wanted and had barely shut up since the cops had arrived at the church.
What really troubled Frank was Laurie’s involvement. That disappointed look of hers wasn’t something he would be able to shake any time soon. She’d looked at him as if he’d been conning her these last few months, and he could imagine her going back to David to tell him he’d been right all along. His father was the good-for-nothing so-and-so he’d always thought he was.
Any minute now, he would have to face her again and would displease her even more. Maurice’s lawyer, Neil Mosley, whom he’d met at the rectory, had instructed him not to say anything. According to Mr. Mosley, he was only being questioned on the basis of historic events, and they had nothing beyond the similarities in the killings to link him at the moment. The lawyer didn’t even ask him if he’d done it. “Keep quiet, let me do the talking, and we’ll be out of here in the next couple of hours,” he said, giving Randall the same unnervingly intent look he’d given him back at the church.
It didn’t seem right, but what option did he have? During the humiliating journey from Maurice’s house, Randall had tried to piece together the last few days. Laurie had told them a young woman had been found by the shore, but nothing else beyond that. Randall understood the gaps in his memory would be viewed as a guilty conscience, but for the life of him he could only hang on to snippets from the last few weeks. How could he remember the past with such pinpoint clarity, yet fail to recall what he’d been doing these last few days? Nowadays, it was as if each day bled into the next. What he could say for certain was that he had visited the beach, and had sensed a storm forming, and that Maurice had visited him once more and persuaded him to return to his house. Other images flashed through his mind—the loneliness he’d felt down by the water, playing Pooh sticks on the bridge near the church, meeting his brother’s parishioners on the walk, and the accountant and lawyer at the rectory—but if Laurie was to ask him where he’d been on a specific day or time, he wouldn’t be able to answer with any clarity, even if he wanted to.
Mr. Mosley returned with one of the guards. “They’d like to talk to you first, Mr. Randall,” said the lawyer, his compassionate smile the kind you give a helpless child. “Remember what we discussed. Let me do the talking.”
Randall didn’t like the way the police officer looked at him as he opened the cell door. The man went to cuff him, but Mr. Mosley cut that short. “My client hasn’t been charged with anything and is here voluntarily,” he said, his brow furrowed in disdain.
The officer hesitated, seemingly weighing whether it was worth the argument, before putting the cuffs away. “Right. This way,” he said, guiding them to an interview room.