Chapter Twenty-Two
Every time Randall closed his eyes, all he could see was Annie’s mutilated body. It was like those first months after her death, when his memories of her felt forever tarnished by all he’d seen that day. Over the years, he’d been able to compartmentalize those images so they only appeared in his nightmares, or at moments of stress. Now, like then, every time he tried to think of their life together, the memory of her gentle beauty morphed in the space of a strangled breath into that lifeless figure in the sand.
It was so cruel that death had ravaged her in such a way. They’d occasionally talked about what would happen when they died, Randall readily accepting Annie’s pact that they both be buried. “I want to be worm food,” she’d told him. “I want to be part of the earth.”
She’d become food for more than worms in those three days she’d been left alone in the weeds by the dunes. Animals of all sorts had had their fill of her, until only the left side of her face had been recognizable, her red hair, still ablaze in the autumn sunshine, covering the savage wound that had bled her dry. Randall tried to shake that vision, clinging on to happier times. Forcing himself to recall their wedding day—the short ceremony in the Strand followed by a party on the beach, Annie impossibly beautiful as they ran hand in hand toward the gulf.
From the other room, a fresh salvo of Maurice’s snoring shook him from his reverie. Mr. Mosley had suggested they remain on the island, not wanting to give the authorities any grounds to incarcerate them. Already it was claustrophobic having his brother pressed into these rooms with him. In prison, he’d grown to accept tight quarters, but having Maurice in the house felt like a disservice to Annie. He still couldn’t pinpoint the source of her hatred for him, but she’d never allowed Maurice to stay here when they’d been together. Despite the circumstances, it felt like a betrayal to have him sleeping in David’s old room.
He left his bedroom and set water to boil on the stove. Funny how having someone stay over could make him feel so lonely. The only person he would have liked to see now was Laurie—or David, if he would ever consent to such a thing—but that was something unlikely to ever happen again. He’d seen the disappointment on her face as she’d shown him the photographs of that poor young girl. He’d tried not to look, but his eyes had sought out the images as if they wanted to punish him. The similarities were unmistakable and he’d struggled to keep the scream lodged within him from escaping. The girl had been a runner. She shared Annie’s long legs, her hair a darker shade of Annie’s fiery color. Like Annie, she’d been placed in that strange position, as if she’d been running on the sand; like Annie, her legs had been cruelly broken, and her neck severed.
It was as if time had come full circle, and as he sat in his armchair, the sound of Maurice’s snoring competing with the shrills and hoots from the wildlife outside, a never-ending kaleidoscope of images played through Randall’s mind of Annie and Grace, and the other girl who had started this all off.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Glen Harrington’s threats were nothing new to Laurie. She’d heard similar hundreds of times before, usually from those in privileged positions who didn’t think the law fully applied to them. She didn’t care how uncomfortable the questioning made him, or anyone else for that matter. All she cared about was finding Grace’s killer and if that meant upsetting some people on the way—and in particular those conducting sordid affairs with young women the same age as their daughters—then so be it.
Sandra, Glen, and Tilly had left the building thirty minutes after Laurie’s interview with Glen. As Laurie watched them file out, the distance between Glen and Sandra had been noticeable. All three had been questioned along the same lines at Laurie’s request, and she wondered what Sandra and Tilly were thinking about Glen as they left the building.
Shortly after, Laurie had attended Grace’s autopsy. It was never an easy experience, and Grace’s was no exception. The pathologist confirmed the worst fears of the CSI team. The injuries to Grace’s legs had been inflicted when she’d still been alive.
The fact haunted Laurie now as she worked through Annie Randall’s case file. Due to the delay in finding Annie’s body, it had never been determined for sure if Annie had endured the horrific fractures to her legs when she’d been alive. When Frank had finally admitted guilt, he’d claimed not to have remembered the attack. From the records, it appeared the DA had been torn between staging a big court case and pushing for a tougher sentence or—the decision that had finally been made—accepting the plea and with it the guaranteed prosecution. They had chosen the latter, and because of that no details were ever offered from Frank about the attack. He wouldn’t have been the first innocent person to accept a plea when facing overwhelming evidence. What if he had only accepted guilt to prevent a court case and the threat of a longer sentence, and possibly execution?
Either way, the rest of her colleagues still considered Frank Randall to be the only possible culprit in Grace’s death. A car was positioned close to his house, where he was currently staying with his brother. Lieutenant Filmore was one of many convinced that forensic reports would definitively link Frank to Grace, and that it was only a matter of time before they could arrest him and put him back behind bars.
Laurie couldn’t afford to think that way. She’d assigned Rodriquez and Abbey to work on the Frank Randall side of the investigation. The pair were currently in Dickinson, speaking to members of Maurice Randall’s congregation, trying to pinpoint the Randall brothers’ movements over the last few days. Laurie still felt it odd that David had never once mentioned his estranged uncle. As her tour of the Annie Randall case file reached the notes on Jim Burnell’s interview with Maurice Randall all those years ago, she again wondered what else her husband had been hiding from her.
Closing her eyes, she pinched her nose and set about the by now grimly familiar business of trying to dismiss the images of Rebecca Whitehead from her head. Grace was the only person who deserved her attention at that moment and she needed to stay focused.
Jim Burnell’s interview notes with Maurice Randall were succinct. He had only spoken to the pastor by phone, when Maurice had told him that he hadn’t seen Frank in over three years. Jim hadn’t seen any need to call Maurice in for further detail—despite him being the only surviving member of Frank’s extended family—and had closed the report.
It was no wonder Laurie couldn’t recall Maurice. Maurice’s involvement didn’t sit well with her and she wanted to know more about his relationship with Frank, especially considering the fact the two brothers were currently each other’s alibi.
The more she read through the Annie Randall notes, the more apparent it became that Burnell’s investigation had been single-minded from the beginning. It was clear there had only ever been one credible suspect and that Jim had gone after Frank Randall from the start, to the exclusion of all others.
Not that she could blame him. The evidence was substantial. There were witness reports of Annie and Frank arguing on the day she died, a fresh wound on Frank’s eye he admitted had come from Annie, and Frank’s DNA was found all over her body. Most telling of all were the abrasions found on Frank’s body, and his skin found under Annie’s nails, suggesting a struggle between the pair.