“What did you think of Frank before it all happened?” asked Laurie, a question she’d wanted to ask him ever since the day Annie’s body was found.
A flicker of indecision crossed Warren’s eyes as he went to answer, as if he was debating how much he should tell her. “I was never for it, if that’s what you mean.”
“Frank and Annie getting married.”
Warren recoiled. “Wasn’t a secret. I know all daddies say it, but he wasn’t good enough for her.”
“Why was that?”
“Just a feeling?”
“A feeling? Come on, Warren . . . Don’t you think now might be a good time to start sharing?”
Warren linked his hands together and placed his chin on a bridge of fingers. A steeliness had returned to his eyes, and as he stared back at Laurie he was no longer her grandfather-in-law, but the former chief of police. “He was a good-for-nothing ladies’ man, that’s what he was,” he said, but there was little conviction in his voice.
“Did he ever cheat on Annie?” asked Laurie, unable not to think about Rebecca Whitehead.
“Probably.”
“You can do better than that, Warren.”
“Hell, I don’t know, but that ain’t the point,” said Warren, getting to his feet. The sudden movement and anger left him breathless. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. You’re doing your job, and you’re doing an amazing one at that. You know how proud I am of you.”
“I need to be sure, you understand that. If there is anything I should know, you need to tell me.”
Again, she saw the indecision in Warren’s eyes before he answered. “There’s nothing. Wait for forensics, and put him away where he belongs. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to sleep off this hangover.”
David was asleep by the time Laurie got home. She glanced in on him, wondering how they’d ever got to this point—then admitting that she knew very well, each and every sad step. She made some cocoa and watched the news channels, all of which were focused on Hurricane Heather. After leaving Warren’s, she’d been notified of an emergency meeting at the station the following morning with the chief, mayor, and members of the armed forces who’d been called in to deal with the possibility of a full island evacuation.
Had David been awake, she would have suggested that he take Warren off the island for a few days, though she had no idea where they would go. The storm appeared to be losing some power over the gulf, but now clearly had them in its sights. Neither man had ventured much out of the state in the past, and all their immediate family were located close by. David would resist leaving, especially when she told him she would be staying, but she hoped Warren’s safety would compel him to take things seriously.
Why don’t you drive him directly to Rebecca Whitehead’s house and be done with it?
Lord, she was sick of herself. Surely some things were more important at that moment than her quite possibly—maybe even probably?—unfounded jealousy. She thought about Warren’s dust-covered apartment, and how his drinking appeared to be getting out of hand. Recalling what he’d said about Frank Randall, she began to worry about him as well. Frank was all but under house arrest with his brother, but it was important to her—and, admittedly, to the investigation—that he remain safe. Although when it came to Lieutenant Filmore, safe was interchangeable with not absconding.
On the television, a giant illustrated cloud loomed over the Gulf of Mexico. Laurie felt her eyelids getting heavy, the last few days’ workload finally taking its toll. She wanted to get up and sleep in the same bed as David, despite their current difficulties. In her weary state, she tried and failed to generate the proper panic about the storm arriving and causing unimaginable havoc.
Falling into sleep at last, she pictured the gulf itself lifting up and tearing through the city, wiping everything in its path.
And in the remains, on every coastline, and in the wreckage of every building, she saw the ravaged corpses of Grace Harrington and Annie Randall.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Randall wasn’t sure why he was here, battling the stiffening breeze that threatened to take one or both of them away in the next gust of wind. Like he seemed to be doing more and more of late, he was following Maurice’s lead. His brother may have been weary and frail, but he carried an inner strength Randall begrudgingly admired.
“We can’t let them think you’re afraid,” Maurice had told him as they’d dressed for their little expedition. By “them,” he’d meant the officers who’d been stationed outside his house since the indignity of his police questioning. Heat rose in Randall’s cheeks at the very thought of that time in the station. The interview itself had been bearable for Randall, were it not for the disappointment painted so firmly on Laurie’s face. Randall had remained silent, as instructed by his lawyer, and had soon been free to leave. What had been unbearable was the way everyone had looked at him. It was more than disappointment he’d seen in the eyes of Laurie’s colleagues. Their disgust and anger was palpable, and in one corner he’d caught the eye of Annie’s dad, whose hostility threatened to boil over at any second. And through it all, all Randall could think was how much he deserved it. Not for the death of the young girl—his memory may no longer have been sharp, but he wasn’t responsible for her death—but for everything that had happened to Annie, which he thought about every waking second, and most of the time when asleep. The argument they’d had had been avoidable. He’d been keeping secrets from her, and if he’d only been honest they would never have had that fight, and she wouldn’t have stormed off, never to return. He may not have dealt the blows to her, but if not for him she would never have come within range of the madman who’d delivered them.
The police were with them now, two uniformed officers following them like shadows as they crossed over to the muddy brown sand of the beach. Maurice said something to him, but it was inaudible in the noise of the swirling wind. Randall didn’t want to be here. The weather aside, his leg was causing him a great deal of pain and every step brought with it painful memories both of his time inside and of those days leading to Annie’s death.
A storm had been brewing back then as well and had eventually hit after Randall was arrested. It was strange how so many of his past memories were picture-perfect clear, like being at the movies, while so much of his recent past was such a cloudy, indecipherable mess. He followed Maurice onto the sand, the boisterous water only yards away, and recalled how he’d walked this very spot with Annie two days before she’d gone missing.
She’d been angry then, after Randall had told her what he’d done; he’d been angry with himself for his deception. He’d come close to telling Laurie about it yesterday, though he couldn’t see the possible relevance, and may well have done so had it not been for the insistence of the lawyer.
Betrayal came in many different forms.
When they’d first got together, they’d discussed their former lovers. Randall had been forced to fight his ego, and his pathetic male jealousy, as Annie had counted off her former partners as if reciting a rosary. When it had been his turn, Annie had smiled at his awkwardness and had tilted her head at every name he mentioned. He’d come close to not mentioning Sadie, and that filled him with a double regret: that he’d come so close to lying to Annie, and that he’d wanted to betray Sadie’s memory.