Last Look (14 page)

“Really. Fancy that.” Dorsey counted out bills and handed them to the approaching waitress. “I’m not real happy about interviewing them together, though.”

“I agree. But unfortunately, that’s the invite. Maybe we’ll find a way to separate them.” Andrew pushed back his chair. “Ready?”

“I am.” She stood.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll bet more carefully next time.” She walked toward the door and Andrew followed. Once outside, she paused.

“You go ahead to the car,” she told him. “I need to make a call.”

“Okay.” He continued walking.

She took her phone from her bag and checked her voice mail. Nothing. She hit redial.

“Come on, Pop. Answer.”

The phone continued to ring and ring. Voice mail picked up, but she didn’t bother to leave another message. She’d left three over the past two days. If he was checking his phone, he already knew she wanted him to call.

She slipped the phone back into her bag and walked across the lot to Andrew’s car, wondering where her father could be.

12

Hatton’s police department was housed in a two-story restored clapboard house smack in the middle of the town’s only commercial district. Smart shops sat on either side—gourmet goodies on the left and a women’s boutique on the right—an odd juxtaposition given the fact that the other shops in town were much more mundane. Strip malls out on the highway were home to national chains—home-supply stores, bookstores, supermarkets, clothing. But here in downtown Hatton, there was an ice cream shop spelled with the obligatory
ppe
at the end that still boasted the same chipped Formica counter and red leather seats topping stainless-steel stools that had been installed in the 1950s. The newsstand still sold men’s magazines from under the counter, the postal clerks knew the name, address, and history of everyone in town, and the old-fashioned grocery store at the very end of the block still delivered and sent a monthly bill.

Chief Ryan Bowden ushered Andrew and Dorsey into his office in the back of the building. Judging from the corner cupboards and the fireplace mantel adorned with carved wooden fruit, Dorsey guessed this room had served as the dining room for the family who’d once lived there.

“Nice office,” Andrew was saying as they were seated in uncomfortable-looking chairs with high wooden backs.

“Thanks.” Chief Bowden nodded amicably and lowered himself into his own cushy leather seat. “Coffee? Tea?”

“None for me,” Andrew declined.

“I’m fine,” Dorsey said.

“So you want to talk about the…” Bowden glanced at the doorway. From the next room came the sound of early-morning office conversation. The chief got up and closed the door. “You’re here to talk about the Randall girl.”

Without waiting for an answer, he shook his head side to side. “Who’d ever thought she’d be alive all these years? Doesn’t that just beat all?”

“That pretty much sums up everyone’s reaction,” Andrew said.

“Everyone who knows”—Bowden pointed to the door—“and I’m not sure just how many people that would be at this point. I’ve been keeping a lid on it, out of respect for the family, but that doesn’t mean someone doesn’t have loose lips.” He waved a pink While You Were Out message slip and said, “This here’s a call from one of the TV stations in Charleston. Want to bet they’re not calling to ask about Aubrey Randall’s driving record?”

“Does she have one?” Dorsey asked.

“Nah. Oh, she’s been stopped a time or two lately—mostly for driving a little too fast—but I figure I owe the girl some slack, you know, her sister turning up alive…well, dead…and being a hooker and all that.” He shook his head again. “If anyone’d ever told me years ago that Shannon Randall would end up hooking….”

“You knew her?” Andrew asked.

“Sure. I knew all the Randall girls back then. ’Cept Paula Rose, she was just a little kid.”

“So you grew up in Hatton.” Andrew leaned back against the seat and tried unsuccessfully to get comfortable.

“Oh, yeah. Lived here all my life.”

“How well did you know the Randalls?”

“About as good as I knew anyone else in town. I knew Aubrey the best. She and I were in the same homeroom. I asked her out once, but the reverend gave me such a third degree I never asked her out again, figured it wasn’t worth the interrogation.”

“Would you say Reverend Randall was strict with the girls?” Andrew continued.

“Pretty much, yeah. They were all about appearance, you know what I mean? Most of the girls’ social activities centered around the church, at least until they turned sixteen. After that, they were allowed to date, but only in a group. They could go to dances, but only at the school or at the church, and they had to be home right after the dance ended.”

“And before that?” Dorsey asked. “Before they turned sixteen?”

Chief Bowden grinned. “I don’t think life began in that family until you reached your sixteenth birthday. Up until then, it was all about the church. Everything centered around the church. Those girls had to leave home to have any kind of life at all.” He paused to reflect on what he’d just said. “I guess maybe that’s what Shannon did, right?”

“Did you ever get the feeling that their father was maybe too involved with their lives?”

“No more than most fathers were around here back then, I guess. Tragic what-all happened to him. Losing his daughter, losing the use of his legs and all.” He shook his head sympathetically.

“So I guess you remember when Shannon disappeared?” Andrew asked.

“Oh, yeah. That was the biggest thing ever to happen around here. No one could believe it, you know?” Bowden stared into space for a moment, remembering. “We’d gone on a class trip that day. The first thing we heard when we got off the bus was Shannon Randall was missing. I thought Aubrey was gonna fall over and die right then and there.”

“What were people saying, that first day? Do you remember?” Dorsey asked.

“No one was sure what happened, not that first day. By the next night, though, the story was going around that she’d been murdered and Eric Beale had killed her.”

“Right off the bat, they were talking about Beale?” Andrew slanted a look that said
I’ll take it from here
in Dorsey’s direction. “Were there any other names tossed around?”

“None that I recall. Pretty much it was all Eric Beale.”

“I guess you knew Eric, too?”

“Sure I knew Eric. He was a senior that year. We didn’t have any classes together, and I didn’t know him real well. I knew his sisters and his brother, though.”

“Was Eric on that class trip, too?”

“I don’t think so. We went to see a play we were studying in English, and he wasn’t in that class.” Bowden rubbed his chin. “You know how they always say, you make your own luck? The Beales made their own, all right, but their luck was all bad.”

“Give me a for instance.”

“The father was a mean drunk, drank himself to death even before Eric was executed. Some said it was because everything that happened with Eric, but tell you the truth, I’d seen that man on a bender. He didn’t need an excuse to drink, know what I mean? I don’t think Eric’s situation had anything to do with that.”

“By Eric’s situation, you mean him being arrested, tried—”

“Convicted, yeah, the whole thing.” The chief nodded. “Timmy, Eric’s older brother, he was in prison for assault, he’d been in some bar fight. Mrs. Beale, she had her hands full, what with a drunk for a husband and four kids to keep track of. She got into fights with her husband a couple times a week, or so they said. He beat up on her a lot, her and the kids.” He glanced from Andrew to Dorsey and said, “That was back in the days when no one ever interfered with the way a father raised his kids. Nowadays, you beat up on your wife or your kids like that, you end up in jail.

“Anyway, yeah, Mr. Beale was not exactly father of the year. Both girls dropped out of school as soon as they were legal. Funny thing was, Eric was the only one in the family who looked like he’d amount to anything. He got himself a job at the gas station in town and I heard he was saving up to go to college. Ironic, isn’t it? He might have actually made something of himself, if he hadn’t been arrested for murdering Shannon.”

“Do you have any idea where Mrs. Beale is living now?”

“No, she moved from Hatton years ago. I have no idea where she went,” Bowden said, “but I can ask around. Seems to me people were happy enough to see her go. Her being here while Eric was on death row, and after—well, it just made some people uncomfortable, you know? Like the whole town just sort of breathed a big sigh of relief after she left.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. “She had a sister who lived out on Camp Hill Road down around Pebble Run. She’d know, if she’s still there.”

“How about the brother? The sisters?”

“Timmy, I think I heard was living in one of those trailers out by Naylor’s Marsh, fifteen, sixteen miles from here. The sisters, I don’t know. They both got knocked up before they were sixteen—apologies, Agent Collins, but that’s the truth. Maybe some in town might know where they are. I can ask and let you know.”

“We’d appreciate it,” Andrew said. “By the way, were you able to find Sheriff Taylor’s file?”

“I was not. I was just going to tell you that. I’m sorry, but it’s not in either of the file rooms.” Bowden did his best to look apologetic. “You have to understand, the police department here in Hatton has been in about three different places since 1983. Files were dragged around from here to there and back again. I did search, but I’m afraid I don’t have a clue to where it could be. Could have been it was in the boxes that were stored in Chief Taylor’s garage when it caught on fire ’bout ten years ago.”

“Any chance you overlooked someplace?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t think so, but if anything comes to mind, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Can’t ask for more than that.” Andrew glanced at his watch, stood, and offered his hand to Bowden. “We appreciate your time. If you think of anything, anything at all, even if it’s just rumors you recall….”

“I’ll be sure to call you, Agent Shields.” Bowden stood to shake Andrew’s hand, then Dorsey’s, before walking them out to the front door. “Where you off to now?”

“We have an appointment with Jeremy Brinkley.”

“He’d have a better recollection of what was going on, I’m sure. I was just a kid back then.” Bowden shrugged again, as if his shoulders were loose and he had to hitch them up every once in a while. “But Jeremy was with Chief Taylor on that case. He’s likely to have some insights I don’t have. No tellin’ what he might know.”

“Thanks again,” Andrew called over his shoulder to the chief who now stood on the top step, watching them walk away.

“Well, that wasn’t much help,” Dorsey said when they got into the car.

“At least now we know where to find one member of the Beale family.” Andrew started the car and shifted into reverse. “I’d sure like to hear some of this tale from the Beales’ standpoint.”

“I’m wondering what part we’re missing. You know the old, if two people witness an accident, there will be three versions of the same story, what each witness saw, and what really happened.”

“I’ll ask John if he’s been able to get through to anyone in the family. He said he’d be handling the Beales, and I don’t want to step in if he hasn’t been able to locate them yet.”

Andrew made a U-turn and headed out of town while he searched a pocket for his phone. He dialed, then left voice mail.

“I guess we’re still standing down as far as Tim Beale is concerned, but I’m sure John will get back to me on that.” He looked around for landmarks, then said, “Brinkley’s home isn’t too far down from here. He said we’d come to a fork in the road about eight miles outside of town, and to take the left toward Simpson’s Creek. There should be a sign and then it’ll be another mile or so before we come to his house.”

“He tell you what to look for?”

“He said the house is made of logs and sits back a bit on the right. There’s a mailbox with some kind of viney thing growing around it.”

“We should be able to find that.” Dorsey watched out the window as they passed the remnants of the old rice fields on either side of the road. “Interesting, don’t you think, that even Bowden, who was just in high school at the time, knew by the next evening that Beale had been the only person pulled in for questioning?”

“Only one he knew of, anyway.”

“You see anyone else’s name in the Bureau’s file?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Well, think about it. According to Bowden, approximately thirty-six hours after Shannon was discovered to be missing, Chief Taylor declared her dead and named Eric Beale the sole suspect in her murder. No body? No problem. You have to wonder why he jumped on that so fast.” She pointed straight ahead. “There’s the fork in the road. And the sign for Simpson’s Creek.”

Andrew made the left.

“And for reasons I don’t understand, my father was brought into it, just like that,” she murmured.

“Maybe he didn’t accept it all that quickly. We don’t really know how much investigating he and the other agents actually did here. That’s something we need to talk to him about.”

“I would, if I could find him. I’ve been trying to get him to return my calls since I arrived here.”

“You haven’t spoken with him in three days?”

“No.”

“Any idea where he could be?”

“No. He always has his phone with him. If he’s not calling me, it’s because he’s avoiding me.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Very.”

“What do you think’s behind that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe”—she paused for a moment—“maybe he’s off somewhere with Diane, this woman he’s dating. Maybe he just doesn’t want to discuss his love life with me.”

“You think that’s it?”

“No, but it sounded like a good rationalization.”

“Look, if you’re worried, you can take off a few days and go—”

“Nope. Pop’s a big boy. Yes, I’m worried, but I’m not in constant communication with him under normal circumstances, and frankly, I don’t know that he doesn’t just take off sometimes, alone or with a friend. Maybe he’s done just that. Maybe this whole thing has played on his mind so much, he’s just gone off somewhere to work things out in his own head. I don’t know what he’s thinking. And I guess that’s what’s bothering me.”

“We could ask John to send someone to—”

“Uh-uh. The last thing he needs right now is to think the Bureau is looking for him. For whatever reason. I think I just have to let it be. For now.”

She turned her head to look out the window. “There’s the log house.”

Andrew pulled to the right and parked alongside the rustic post-and-rail fence. The small house was set back from the road, sheltered beneath a stand of live oaks.

“You think he has the file?” Dorsey got out of the car and waited for Andrew.

“It’s certainly possible. Big case—probably the biggest case of his career, file shifted around from place to place, it’s easy enough to explain how it could get misplaced.” Andrew stopped to roll up his shirtsleeves. “Make one hell of a souvenir. Bloody shirt and all.”

“Let’s go see if he has it.”

“
If
he admits to having it. I’m betting he won’t.”