As they approached Bolivar, it was clear that most of Highway 87 was still underwater. If Frank and Mosley had made it to the peninsula, they would have had to have done so before the hurricane made landfall. Judging by the flooding and the property damage below them, they would have done very well to have survived the last twenty-four hours.
“You have to wonder why folks would rebuild here after last time,” said Patrick, flying low over the waterlogged Crystal Beach Road to the bay side, close to the address they had for Sadie Cornish. “This the area?”
“This is it,” said Laurie, staring at the flooded land, which held no sign of life.
“I can’t in all good conscience put you down here, Detective, even if I could find somewhere to land. I’d likely be dropping you to your death.”
Laurie was tempted to agree. It already looked like a fool’s errand, and there was also the fact that Filmore had forbidden her to make the trip. Still, she had no option. “I understand what you’re saying, but we have an active, highly agitated killer on the loose down there,” she said, still unsure who exactly that was. “Just letting him wander around and go off on somebody else isn’t an option for me. Surely there must be somewhere to land.”
Patrick shook his head slowly as if she were nuts, but he did appear to be scanning for some solid earth. As it happened, though, it was Laurie who spotted some. “What do you think about that, down there?” she said, leaning forward into the cockpit and pointing down at what seemed to be a clear patch of muddy ground.
“Not much,” said Patrick. “That’s only about a thimbleful of dirt.”
“I don’t require much. Dainty little me.”
He heaved a sigh as they hovered over it. “Last chance to think it over, ma’am. Your lunatic down there won’t be going anywhere.”
“Only way to be certain of that is if I get down there.”
After grumbling something that got lost in static, Patrick said, “All right, ma’am. Fellas, let’s get Detective Campbell prepared.” He cranked a look back at her. “You’ll have to go down the hard way, I’m afraid.”
“Story of my life.”
A few minutes later, Laurie was in a harness lashed to one of the coastguardsmen, and the two of them were being lowered to the ground. Deprived of her headset, the world was a madness of noise, what with the racket of the helicopter above them and the high winds pushing them to and fro as the machine battled to hold steady over their target. After maybe two minutes that felt like an hour, the pair settled squarely onto it. Laurie had never been more pleased to sink into ankle-deep mud.
“You sure about this, ma’am?” the guardsman said, detaching her from him and helping her free of the harness.
“Oh, not in the least, Guardsman,” she said, “but thanks for all your help, anyway.” She slapped him on the shoulder and turned away like she had an immediate plan for where in the hell to go. When she looked back, he was already being lifted up to the helicopter, which hovered for another few minutes before moving off.
Laurie watched the helicopter fade away into the distance, the sound of its whirling blades replaced by the rushing wind, which seemed to highlight her remoteness. If anyone had been foolish enough to have stayed on the peninsula for the hurricane, they were nowhere to be seen. It was as if she was the only person left on the narrow strip of land. Less than a hundred yards away was the swirling sand of the beach. As she glanced toward the gulf, she saw the floating remains of a beach house in the distance. Nearer to shore, a number of motor vehicles bobbed along in the water, some upturned. The muddy patch of land she was standing on felt like the safest place for miles around, and she was stoking up the courage to leave it when a message crackled through on the radio.
“Detective Campbell, where the hell are you?” Lieutenant Filmore’s voice was surprisingly clear, considering the still stormy conditions. Laurie gave some serious consideration to ignoring before deciding to answer. She explained where she was, and how she’d got there, and waited for an uncomfortable few seconds for Filmore to answer.
“Have you lost your fucking mind? I told you . . . I ordered you not to go after Randall or Mosley. You’re risking your career, Laurie, not to mention your life.”
“The opportunity arose to get over here and I was unable to reach you, Lieutenant,” said Laurie, grimacing at her lie.
“Don’t bullshit me, Detective. You have willfully and knowingly disobeyed an order. What the hell are you thinking? You’re out there on your own?”
“Lieutenant.”
“This is negligent behavior, Laurie,” said Filmore, though she noticed his tone was easing. “You shouldn’t go after someone like this without backup at the best of times, but now . . .”
“I know the risks, but I can’t let Mosley get away,” said Laurie, omitting her desire to locate Frank Randall, which was perhaps her greatest priority at that moment.
“It’s not too late, Laurie, but I can only give you this last chance. Do you understand me?”
Laurie didn’t answer, feeling the weight of the radio in her gloved hand as she considered how she was going to respond to Filmore’s likely demand that she return to the mainland.
“You come back now, we can forget this . . . anomaly. You should never have been involved in this investigation, and that’s on me. Couple that with the hurricane and let’s say communication issues, and I can let this slide. But it’s official now, Laurie. You’re putting yourself, and possibly others, in danger, and I can’t have that. Return now or you’re suspended from duty.”
Laurie thought about the damage heaped upon her family because of Mosley. She needed to understand what had truly happened, for David’s sake as well as hers. “Sorry, Lieutenant, reception is terrible here, can you repeat?” she said, placing the radio back in its holster before stepping into the warm, muddy water.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Dressed in her all-weather suit, Laurie waded through the bathwater-warm, debris-choked water. She stepped carefully, trying not to think about the snakes and God only knew what other desperate wildlife that might be lurking in the murk. The radio had power but she ignored the occasional calls. Her decision was made, and the consequences would have to be faced. It was a liberating position to be in and helped drive her onward, past an area where the road appeared to have been lifted, shaken, and dumped back in a mound of debris.
Sadie Cornish’s place was situated off Nelson Avenue, close to Horseshoe Lake. It was a stilted property, which would already have been in need of some renovation before the hurricane struck. It now appeared to be balancing on a carpet of water, like the few other properties in the vicinity, and Laurie approached with caution. Although she was pretending the radio wasn’t working, she made sure it was switched on as she waded through the dank water. She wanted her location to be known and the radio had a GPS tracker. Filmore had been correct in stating that ordinarily she would need backup, but this was no ordinary situation. As she crept along the side of the house, edging glances at its blown-out windows, she withdrew her firearm and checked the chamber before continuing.