Last Look (13 page)

“Her roommate for the past several years,” Dorsey explained.

Shannon’s grandmother thought this through, then said, “She must have had something with her that had her name on it when she developed amnesia. Perhaps that boy hit her over the head with something and she lost her memory. Then when she looked at the…driver’s license, perhaps—”

“Shannon wasn’t old enough to drive when she disappeared, Mrs. Randall,” Andrew reminded her. “She didn’t have a driver’s license.”

“Her school identification card, then. She saw her name on something,” the woman said triumphantly. “I’m sure that was it. She knew her name, but not
who
she was. That would explain it.”

“But wouldn’t she have tried to come back to Hatton?” Andrew asked.

“Well, not if she couldn’t remember it. If she couldn’t remember
being
from here, why would she want to
come
here?” Mrs. Randall said as if it were a given. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face, Agent Shields. If my granddaughter had known who she was, she would have come home, not gone to who knows where, doing who knows what.” She shook her head adamantly. “Our Shannon was a good, God-fearing girl. She was baptized in the church by my husband, and she was raised in his church. She would never have chosen a life of sin. Never. If she was up to…to what they’re saying she was up to, it has to have been because someone forced her.”

Mrs. Randall folded her arms across her chest in a manner that clearly indicated the matter was closed.

“About the night she disappeared, Mrs. Randall,” Andrew ventured.

“You wanted to know what I recall of that.”

“I understand you saw Shannon at the church shortly before she disappeared,” he said.

“I did indeed.” Motion from the doorway distracted her. “Dorothea, don’t stand there like you don’t know where to put that tray. Right there on that table, just like always. Thank you. You may go back to what-all you were doing.”

When the woman left the room, Mrs. Randall muttered, “Listening at the doorway, no doubt.”

To Dorsey she said, “Would you mind, dear?”

“Would I mind?” Dorsey asked.

“Pouring the lemonade. Made it fresh this morning. I’m sure you and Agent Shields could use a cold drink on a day as warm as this one. And you know the weather people are saying it’s just going to get warmer.”

Dorsey did as she was told, and passed glasses to Mrs. Randall and to Andrew, then poured one for herself. She took a sip and told her hostess, “Delicious.”

“An old recipe of my mother’s. The trick is to boil the lemon juice with the water and add just a bit of lemon zest.”

“I’ll remember that.” Dorsey smiled to hide her indifference. The last thing on her mind was the fine art of making lemonade.

“So, you were saying?” Andrew tried to steer the conversation back to the night in question.

“Yes, yes. The night Shannon disappeared. My husband and I arrived at the church right around 4:45.”

“You arrived with him?”

“Yes. He was supposed to meet with someone in his office at 5:00, and I had to pick up the proceeds from the church’s winter carnival to take to the bank the next day.”

“Doesn’t the church treasurer do that?” he asked.

“Back then, I was the church treasurer, Agent Shields. On Sunday night, I locked the money in a drawer in my husband’s office, but when I went to get it on Wednesday evening, it was gone. I looked everywhere for that envelope—I’d put it in a brown envelope for safekeeping—but it was nowhere to be found. I looked upstairs, I looked in the church. Why, I even drove home and looked all around the house, thinking maybe somehow I’d picked it up without thinking, but I could not find it.”

“The church didn’t have a safe?” he asked.

“No, not back then.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to take the money home with you?”

“Of course not. We never had a break-in at a church in all the years I’ve lived in Hatton, but homes had been robbed, now and then. It never crossed my mind that someone would steal from a church.”

“Why wasn’t the money deposited in the bank?” Andrew wondered.

“Because Thursday was my banking day. I went once each week, on Thursday morning. My sister, Gloria—she worked in the bank back then, rest her soul—and I met at noon every Thursday. I did my banking business, she took care of the deposits and such for me, and then we would have lunch together. We used to go to a little teahouse down on Montgomery. They had the loveliest little sandwiches and fruit tarts.”

“On that Wednesday, while you were looking for the missing money, your husband was in a meeting?” Andrew steered the interview back to the night in question.

“I believe he was.” She nodded.

“Who was the meeting with?”

Her hands fluttered again. “Truthfully, after all these years, I cannot recall. Goodness knows there are days when I can barely remember my own name, but I believe it was someone from the congregation, someone who was having problems of one sort or another. In any event, I searched for an hour or better at the church, then I went home thinking maybe I’d stuck it into the purse I had with me on Sunday. I was so tired by the time the carnival was finally over, you know, that when I didn’t find the envelope in the drawer, I thought perhaps I’d only
imagined
I’d put it in there. So I went home and looked in that purse, but of course it wasn’t there. So I searched the house, then went back to the church and searched some more. Missed choir practice that night, I was so busy searching for that envelope.”

“And you never found it?”

Her head moved slowly side to side. “Never did. I finally had to accept the fact that someone had gotten into the church and stole it.”

“So you’re pretty sure you had locked it in Reverend Randall’s desk,” Dorsey asked.

“I am. Which means that sometime between Sunday night and Wednesday afternoon, my husband must have unlocked the desk and either he forgot the money was there, or I’d forgotten to tell him—it was all so long ago, and you know, as much as I hate to admit it, the truth is, my memory isn’t what it used to be. Had I just said that?” She sighed with resignation.

“In any event, someone must have gone into his office and taken the envelope, because it was never found.”

“You reported it to the police?” Andrew resumed his questioning.

“I did. But not until we got home that night. Maybe, oh, 10:30 or so. I spoke with Chief Taylor himself.”

“Did he send someone out to investigate?”

“Oh, yes,” she told him. “First thing in the morning, the chief showed up himself, along with one of his officers. I believe it was that nice young Brinkley boy—what was his first name? Margaret and Ted’s middle boy, I believe he was. He married one of the Connelly girls? Kathleen, maybe?

“Anyway, they met me over at the church around 8:30, and we were downstairs in the office—they took fingerprints all around my husband’s office and around the doorways as well—when I heard a commotion over near the church hall. Well, we went on upstairs, and there was Judith, ranting something fierce at Franklin about Shannon not being in her bed this morning and where was she?”

“Your son was there early that morning for a breakfast meeting,” Andrew read from his notes.

“That’s correct. The senior citizens’ weekly breakfast. Franklin was there in the community room over in the church hall with my husband and a few others. So Chief Taylor and Officer Brinkley picked up the investigation from there and took over. Talked to Judith for a while, talked to Franklin, then the chief called up another officer—Bob Donohue, that was—to take the two of them on home in case Shannon showed up, or called. Of course, they were of no earthly use at that point.”

“I’m sure they were very upset,” Dorsey said.

“You just cannot imagine. Why, we were all just beside ourselves. Nothing like that had ever happened in Hatton before, it was just too hard to believe.”

“What had you believed at the time, Mrs. Randall?” Dorsey asked. “What did you think had happened to Shannon?”

“Well, I thought what everybody thought. I thought that boy had taken her and killed her.”

“You mean Eric Beale?” Andrew resumed his questioning.

“Why, yes, of course.” Mrs. Randall nodded.

“Who first brought up his name, do you remember?”

“I think it must have been Chief Taylor. I vaguely recall one of Shannon’s friends saying something about how the Beale boy was always offering Shannon rides in his car. And then someone said they’d seen Shannon in his car that afternoon.”

“Do you remember who that was?”

“I’m sure I do not, but maybe someone down at the police department might know. Chief Taylor’s been gone now for about seven years—the cancer, you know—but maybe Jeremy Brinkley might remember. He’s retired now, but he lives somewhere nearby. Simpson’s Creek, I think, about six miles outside Hatton on the way to Charleston.”

“We’ll check with him, thank you.”

“And maybe you can talk to that FBI agent who came down here and arrested the boy. He was so sure that boy was guilty. I know he convinced me and my husband that the boy had killed her. That’s who you want to talk to, that FBI man.” She shook her head. “He was so sure, he made us all so sure. Now, looking back, looks like he didn’t know squat. Maybe he was just wanting to finish up his job quickly. If he’d worked a little harder, maybe we’d have found her. Way things were, with him telling us Shannon was dead and that boy had killed her, we never bothered to look for her.”

She shook her head again. “You ask me, he’s the cause of all this. Our girl missing all these years, and that boy convicted and executed. All his family went through…such as his family was. It was still a terrible thing. So I think you should look within your own house, Agent Shields. I’m thinking that’s where the answers lie, if you’re asking why we all believed Shannon was dead.”

“We will be speaking with former agent Ranieri about that,” Andrew assured her.

“I would certainly hope so.”

“Mrs. Randall, do you remember what Shannon’s state of mind was when you saw her at the church that night?” Dorsey asked.

“What on earth do you mean?” Alert blue eyes narrowed and focused on Dorsey like lasers.

“I mean, did she seem as if something was bothering her? Did she appear upset about anything?”

“Oh, goodness, no,” the woman said. “Why, she was just her usual happy-go-lucky self.”

“Were you and Shannon very close?”

“I am close to all of my granddaughters.”

“So if something or someone had been bothering her, she’d have confided in you,” Andrew said.

“I feel certain she would have, yes. But she did not.”

“By the way, how much money had the carnival taken in?” he asked.

“Almost three thousand dollars between Friday and Sunday night.” She smiled. “Most we ever made. It was a rousing success. We had raffles and carnival rides and concessions going practically nonstop for three days. Everyone was so pleased. We’d planned on using the money for a community center. We did eventually build it, but it was a few more years before we could afford to.”

“Did Shannon know the money was in the drawer?”

“I believe she may have been with me when I placed it in there.” Mrs. Randall stared at Andrew for a long moment. “Agent Shields, are you implying that my granddaughter was a thief?”

“I think we have to consider that she might have taken the money. In retrospect—”

“Shannon was not a thief, Agent Shields. She would not have stolen from her church.” The old woman’s gaze could have turned him to stone on the spot.

“Mrs. Randall, I think in light of what’s happened over the past week, we need to consider—”

“I believe our little chat is over, Agent Shields.” Mrs. Randall raised her chin and called out, “Dorothea? You may show Agents Shields and Collins to the door, please.”

“Mrs. Randall…”

The old woman turned her face to the window.

“My apologies, Mrs. Randall,” Andrew said softly.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Randall,” Dorsey added.

Still looking out the window, Mrs. Randall waved a hand dismissively.

“Twenty-five minutes on the nose,” Dorsey calculated the time after Dorothea had closed the front door behind them. “Who’d have thought it would have taken so long?”

“And I’d been doing so well up to that point.”

“Well, never let it be said I’m a sore loser. Looks like dinner’s on me.”

11

“So, shall we compare notes?” Andrew rested his forearms on the edge of the table in the small restaurant where he and Dorsey had stopped for dinner.

“First things first. I’m famished. Do you remember what time it was when we last ate? I can’t, and I can’t think until I eat.” Dorsey read from the menu, “Barbecued ribs, barbecued chicken, barbecued pork. Slaw. Hush puppies. Okay.” She folded the paper menu over and slapped it onto the tabletop. “One of each, please.”

“I’d pay to see you eat all that.” He laughed.

“You might want to think twice about that.” She grinned. “I’m ravenous.”

She signaled the waitress, who looked like a high-school girl on her first job.

“Are you ready to order?” The girl, whose red-and-white name tag identified her as Jessie, appeared immediately when summoned.

“I’ll have the chicken barbecue with all the fixings,” Dorsey told her. “And a diet Pepsi, please.”

The girl began to write down the order, then looked up and asked, “Did you want the small, medium or—”

“Large,” Dorsey nodded. “Definitely large everything.”

“Okay.” She scribbled and turned to Andrew.

“I’ll have the same. Iced tea, though.”

“I’ll be right back with your drinks,” Jessie told them.

“Doesn’t it seem that no matter where you go, the summer help gets younger every year?” Andrew asked.

“They do get younger every year. Because we get older. The older you get, the younger sixteen or seventeen looks.” Dorsey smiled at Jessie who returned with their drinks.

“I’ll have your dinners in just a few minutes,” the young waitress told them.

“Just another thing Shannon didn’t get to do,” Dorsey observed after Jessie had walked away.

“What’s that?” Andrew asked.

“Get that all-important first summer job as a waitress.”

“Was that your first summer job?”

“Yes, but I didn’t last very long.” She chuckled, remembering. “I lasted ten whole days. Only job I ever got fired from.”

“Dropped a lot of meals, did we?”

“Dropped things, got orders mixed up, spilled things on customers.” She leaned her elbow on the table, and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “I learned at the tender age of sixteen that I was not good at waiting on other people. Which limited my future career choices.”

“When did you decide you wanted to get into law enforcement?” he asked.

“Ironically, when my dad ‘solved’ this case.” She smiled ruefully. “Watching him then, seeing how he was so focused on this girl, how dedicated he was. How important it all seemed back then, finding the killer. Finding the truth.”

“Those things are still important,” he said. “They always will be.”

She eased a long lock of hair behind her ear. “I guess.”

“No, not you guess. You know.” He looked almost as if he was about to scold her, then thought better of it. Instead, he said, “You know how important it is to find the truth. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I do know,” she admitted. “But what about you? When did you decide you wanted to be a special agent for the FBI?”

“I don’t remember ever deciding.” Andrew shrugged. “It was just always assumed.”

“Because of your family.”

He nodded. “You know that my dad and my uncle were both agents. Then my cousin Connor joined…”

“Connor. International man of mystery.”

He laughed. “You know him, then.”

“No, actually, I’ve never met him. But he’s sort of a legend, you know. The man who always seems to move through the shadows. People talk about him in hushed voices,” she wiggled her eyebrows, “but you never really meet anyone who’s met him, so you wonder if he’s real, or a fictional character someone at the Bureau invented to lend a bit of mystery to the job.”

“Oh, he’s real enough.” Andrew laughed again. “And as for what he does, or where he goes, no one seems to know except John Mancini and the director. And I’m not sure John always knows, to tell you the truth. Connor just sort of appears and disappears.”

“There was a woman in my class at Quantico who said she went out with him a few times, but no one believed her.”

“Oh, she could have. He’s been known to play the field. And he has spent some time teaching covert skills at the academy.”

“Covert skills,”
she repeated with a grin. “That sounds so dangerous. Makes those classes on investigative techniques seem so mundane.”

“Yeah, well, Connor’s a hard act to follow. It’s all that tall, dark, and handsome stuff, combined with that air of mystery and touch of danger.”

“You left out sexy. I’ve heard he’s really sexy.”

“Gets the girls every time. Like I said, he’s been known to play the field.”

Dorsey looked across the table. Was he not aware he could as easily be describing himself? Without the dangerous element, of course. Andrew didn’t seem to Dorsey to exude danger in the way Connor was reputed to.

“I don’t think he’s ever had his heart broken, or been the one left holding the bag when a relationship ended. I don’t even know that he’s ever
been
in a long-term relationship, come to think of it.” Andrew rubbed his chin. “He’s always been a bit of a loner. Dylan always used to say he wanted to be around when Connor finally fell for someone, because it was bound to be headfirst.”

Andrew paused. “Of course, Dylan won’t be around when that happens.”

“But I’m thinking the rest of you will probably enjoy watching him take a header.”

“Without question.” Andrew nodded. “I can’t remember ever seeing him with the same woman more than once or twice. God only knows what it is he’s looking for.”

The waitress appeared at the table with a large tray and proceeded to serve their meals.

“So did you join the Bureau because you felt you were expected to, or because you wanted to?” Dorsey asked after Jessie had moved on.

“Both. I felt I had to—everyone else in the family already had, or was planning on it—but I also wanted to. It was exciting as well as ordinary, if you know what I mean. I’d seen the excitement firsthand, with my dad, and later with my older brother and cousins—Connor’s brother, Dylan, was older as well, and he’d joined right out of college. There always seemed to be something going on. But I saw the other side of it, too. The days on end when my dad would be gone working a big case, as well as the days when it almost seemed to be a nine-to-five job.”

“I don’t recall it ever seeming ordinary to me,” she told him. “It always seemed exotic and thrilling. Then again, I always thought there was a touch of the exotic about my dad, though maybe a better word might be dramatic. There was a bit of drama around everything he ever did.”

“I’d say recent events bear that out.”

They ate in silence for a moment.

“Dorsey, I didn’t mean—” Andrew began, and she silenced him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s true. I know. It’s true.” She sighed. “His role in this case has complicated things. I thought I could look at this as though he hadn’t been involved, and I’m finding I can’t. I keep thinking there must have been a reason why he zeroed in on the Beale kid and wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t look for other suspects. I haven’t seen anything that would have convinced me that the only option was that this boy had killed her. I want to see it through my father’s eyes, so I can understand, but I just don’t seem to be able to. I’m just not seeing Beale at all.”

“Maybe because we already know that Shannon was alive, but no one knew that back then.”

“
Someone
knew, Andrew,” she told him solemnly. “Someone knew. We just have to find out who it was. Maybe then we’ll know how my father could have messed up so badly.”

“Do you think someone could have deliberately led him in the wrong direction?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. If he’d had all the facts, would he have assumed Eric Beale was guilty?”

Andrew put his fork down and appeared to be considering what she’d just said.

“You’re thinking maybe I’m not being objective, aren’t you?” she asked.

“The thought did cross my mind, yeah.”

“If at any time you feel my actions are not objective, or might compromise the investigation, you can tell me to leave.”

“I wouldn’t have a choice,” he said softly, “but I’d hate for that to happen. You’ve been helpful so far. You have good instincts, good skills. I’d hate to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’ll do my best to make certain you’re not put in that position.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They ate in silence for a few more moments, then Andrew said, “So, what are your thoughts at the end of day two?”

“It seems like it’s been more than two days, doesn’t it?”

He nodded. “We’ve covered a lot of ground in a short period of time. Anything stand out?”

“Yeah. The more I see of the Randalls, the more screwed up they seem.” She chewed a bite of chicken thoughtfully. “I mean, here you have their daughter, sister, granddaughter back from the dead, so to speak. But definitely dead this time. Wouldn’t you expect more emotion? Wouldn’t you have thought the daughters would have been at their parents’ home? Did you see any sign that the family was gathering together to mourn?”

“Nope. Everyone seems to be off doing their own thing. Business as usual,” Andrew agreed. “Paula Rose certainly didn’t appear heartbroken.”

“I haven’t even heard anyone mention a word about a funeral, not even Paula Rose. Did she seem like she was immersed in preparing a service for her beloved, long-lost sister?” Dorsey picked at the cole slaw on her plate. Before he could respond, she went on. “And another thing. Everyone so far seems to think she was kidnapped. Forced to leave. Even back then, they all knew this money was missing from the church. How come it never occurred to anyone that she might have taken it and run off?”

“You know, if she took the money from her grandfather’s desk on or before Wednesday afternoon, it means she knew she would be leaving home Wednesday night.” Andrew looked up at Dorsey. “Would she have gone home to pick up clothes and maybe some more money? Would she have left Hatton with nothing but the clothes on her back?”

“She might if she was running away from something. But she could have packed some things in her backpack before she left for school that morning. It wasn’t found in Eric’s car, remember. They only found her assignment book. So let’s assume she had that with her when she left. She could have had at least one or two changes of clothing in there, maybe whatever money she had saved up in a bank or something at home.”

“So maybe she had it planned, knew about the money from the carnival, and decided to take that too.” He paused. “So who smacked her around? And how did she get out of town?”

“Someone had to have driven her. Maybe the same person who smacked her.”

“But everyone connected to her had an alibi,” he reminded her. “Except Eric Beale, and I don’t believe he helped her run away. He’d have said so. And if he’d taken her someplace, like the bus station here in town, someone would have seen her, right? All the publicity this case got back then, if she’d been there, someone would have said so. But no one did.”

“True. Same thing if she tried to hitch a ride. Someone would have had to have seen her.” Dorsey nodded. “But again, no one’s stepped forward to say they did, and as you point out, that wouldn’t follow, in a case like this. It’s hard to imagine someone not reporting having seen her, or having picked her up.”

“What about Dad?” Andrew took another bite of his dinner, and barely seemed to notice. “We don’t know what time he got back to the house that night. The report said he was at the church until 7:30 or 8:00 that night—then he went home and went directly into his study.”

“Paula Rose said her father was in the study all night, working on his sermon for Sunday.”

“I don’t think she said she saw him, though.”

Dorsey drew small circles on the table with the tip of her index finger. “The most common reason for girls to cut is because they’re being abused, and most abusers are someone in or close to the family. Same with girls who run away—look hard enough, and you’ll probably find she was running away from someone who was hurting her.”

“It’s no secret that most girls who turn to prostitution have been sexually abused,” Andrew noted. “Doesn’t look too good for Reverend Dad, does it?”

“He’s at the top of my list.” Dorsey appeared thoughtful. “You know, if he was abusing Shannon, chances are he had been abusing one or both of the older sisters. Or still was. He might not have moved on to Paula Rose just yet, but I’m betting Natalie and or Aubrey knew what was going on.”

“So we’re going to have to talk with him sooner rather than later. Which I’m guessing he won’t like.”

“If he doesn’t cooperate, we could ask Chief Bowden to invite him down to the station for a chat.”

“He’ll like that even less,” Andrew told her. “We have a meeting with Bowden first thing in the morning. With luck he’s found the PD’s file and we’ll see exactly what Franklin said back then.”

Dorsey looked across the room to the clock on the wall.

“It’s really late. I think we need to get back to the inn. Our meeting with Bowden is at what time?”

“Eight.”

Dorsey groaned. “I’m thinking we should probably be staying here in Hatton after tonight. We still have a pretty good drive ahead of us.”

“That’s not a bad idea. We passed a motel out on the highway, coming into town. Maybe we can stop there on our way in from Deptford in the morning and get a couple of rooms. Plan on driving your car and we’ll meet up there in time to be at the police station by eight.” He signaled for their bill. When it arrived, Dorsey reached for it.

“That’s mine. Dinner’s on me,” she reminded him. “Never let it be said I’m a poor loser.”

He laughed and handed it over, just as his cell phone rang.

“Shields.”

He listened for a minute, then said, “We have an appointment first thing in the morning and I don’t know how long we’ll be tied up. But if we could meet with you later in the afternoon…yes, four would be fine. The address?” He fished a pen from his pocket and scribbled on a paper napkin. “Thank you. Yes, I’ll see you then.”

He snapped the phone closed and returned it to his pocket. “That was Senator Randall-Scott. She and her sister Aubrey would like to meet with us tomorrow.”