The islanders were resilient, particularly the BOIs. Many had experienced Rita and Ike with stoicism, even during the dark days of no power or communication. Laurie had stayed herself during Ike, part of a small skeleton crew who’d manned the police station. David had been away at work and they’d gone six days without speaking to one another when the power cut. The relief of speaking to him again and, days later, seeing him, was a raw emotion she would never be able to forget. She’d been reminded during those times how fragile normality was, and how quickly it could be devastated by something as simple, yet powerful, as the weather.
News of an impending evacuation had obviously reached the station. Equipment was being packed for storage as Laurie made her way down to the holding cells to speak to Warren. Sergeant Nick Raynor was manning the holding cells and offered her a warm smile as she arrived. Nick was the longest-serving officer at the station and had worked under Warren’s reign as chief, and no doubt would be doing everything to look after him. “Last time I looked in on him he was asleep, or pretending to be,” he said.
“And the person he hit? Hear anything?”
“We managed to persuade him to drop charges,” said Nick, grinning. “It was either that or face a charge himself. Thankfully he had two DUIs to his name, so he didn’t want to risk anything stupid.”
Laurie didn’t want to know any more. “Can I take him home?”
“Sure, give me ten and I’ll do all the necessaries.”
Fifteen minutes later, Warren was led out by Nick, the pair sharing a joke as Warren collected his belongings. “You here to tell me off?” said Warren, eyes downcast as Laurie stood with her arms folded.
“If I didn’t have so much going on, I would’ve pushed for you to stay the night like an idiot teenager. Come on, let’s get you home.”
The drive to Warren’s house—a small family home near Sea Isle Beach—had started with Warren apologizing, but quickly progressed to the man falling asleep. Laurie parked outside the house and let him sleep some more, content to sit in relative peace as the storm raged outside.
“Come on, let’s get you in,” she said, when Warren finally stirred twenty minutes later.
“You haven’t told David, have you?” he asked as she walked him up the steep stairs to the front door of the stilted property and let herself in with her spare key.
“Not yet,” she said, a shiver running through her as she shut the door, cutting all sound but the low, ominous white noise of the storm.
“I’d rather you didn’t. He’s going through a lot just now, what with his dad coming back, and now all this.”
Laurie switched on the lights. The place looked tidy, the bookshelves well organized, but a closer look revealed a film of dust on everything. She and David had suggested Warren hire a cleaner, his wife having died some ten years ago, but the former chief was a stubborn soul.
“Have you spoken to him?” she asked him.
“Once or twice.”
It was absurd to be feeling this way, but part of her was jealous that David had spoken to his grandfather when she couldn’t get a word out of him. As she made Warren coffee, she wondered if he knew about Rebecca Whitehead. She watched him sip at the coffee in the same way David did, and decided she was being unfair.
“So you want to tell me what happened tonight, Warren?”
Warren’s hound-dog eyes looked away from her. Laurie had always admired his strength and resilience as chief of police and hated seeing the change in him. He looked another notch older than he had when she’d stopped him from beating Frank. “What can I say? I had a few too many beers.”
“Someone said something about Annie?”
Warren sighed, and Laurie heard so much emotion in the sound that she had to look away. Warren had been something of a surrogate father to David these last sixteen years, and had been a father figure to her, too, since she’d first started working for him. She’d enjoyed getting to know him better since she’d married David, and with her own parents having passed, she now considered Warren to be family. It pained her to see the weight he carried from Annie’s murder. “It came at the wrong time,” he said now, very quietly. “The guy was trying to bait me. I shouldn’t have responded in the way I did, but damn, he deserved everything he got”––for a second sounding like his old, fearsome self.
But Warren wasn’t the man she’d seen at Grace’s murder site, and then at the station. Maybe it was the hangover kicking in, or the stress of the last few days, but she knew there wouldn’t be a better opportunity to question him.
Pouring him a second coffee, she told him about Glen Harrington.
Warren accepted the cup with trembling hands. “Never met the man, but I’ve met his sort,” he said, some of the authority returning to his voice. “You think he may have killed his daughter?” he asked, sounding doubtful.
“We should get forensics back in the next couple of days,” she said.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up. Probably ashamed of himself, as well he should be.”
“I’m glad I got to see you, Warren, even under these circumstances, as I wanted to speak to you about the original investigation into Frank Randall.”
Warren shuddered at Frank’s name, sipping his coffee before replying. “And here I was thinking you were being the dutiful granddaughter-in-law,” he said, with a weary smile.
“I’ll always be there for you, Warren, you know that. I just need to get to the bottom of things.”
“You know how I feel. You’ll see when forensics get back to us. That poor girl will be swimming in that bastard’s DNA. Why they ever let him out is beyond me. They should have tied the key to a rock and sunk it to the bottom of the gulf.”
Laurie knew Warren would have done everything in his power to persuade the parole board that Frank was still a threat. “I’m sure you’re right, Warren, but I have to be prepared for all eventualities, you know that.”
He grunted, then sighed. “Then how can I help you, Detective?”
“I’ve been going through Jim’s notes from that time and although everything is above board, it does seem to me that his investigation was narrow in its focus.”
“How so?”
“Frank was the only real suspect.”
“You know as well as I do that sometimes it works out that way. Everything pointed to Randall being responsible, and thankfully we didn’t have to wait long for our forensics.”
Laurie couldn’t tell if that was a jab at her, but chose to ignore it. “Have you met Maurice Randall before?”
“The brother? No, not until yesterday.”
“You don’t find that odd? David aside, Maurice was Frank’s closest living relative, and Jim did nothing more than phone him up.”
“Laurie, I don’t understand this. Everything pointed to Randall being guilty. I know it don’t mean anything, but I could see it in him. The guilt. Made no difference to me, I’ll tell you that, but he was a guilty man.”
“If he felt guilty about Annie, then why has he done it again?”
“Who the hell knows? Just because they feel guilt, don’t mean they won’t repeat it. You know that.”