Last Look (19 page)

He paused and looked at the crowd, which had grown silent.

“Okay, then. I know there are a lot of rumors going around right now, so let me set the record straight.” Andrew cleared his throat as lights flashed on from different parts of the front yard. “Twenty-four years ago, Shannon Randall disappeared and was presumed dead. Though a body was never found, a young man from Hatton, Eric Beale, was arrested and convicted of first-degree murder on circumstantial evidence.” He paused for effect, then added, “Strong circumstantial evidence, but circumstantial all the same. Eight years after his conviction, Eric Beale was executed.”

He glanced around the crowd. It was easy to spot the neighbors amid the reporters. The neighbors stood stock still, as if waiting for a bomb to drop. The reporters were taking down every word.

“Today, in June 2007, we’ve learned that everything we thought back then was wrong. Shannon Randall did not die in 1983.” There was a soft gasp from one of the neighbors at the back of the crowd. “Eric Beale was telling the truth when he said he was innocent. The Hatton Police Department and the FBI both deeply regret the errors that were made that resulted in Eric Beale’s execution. Any time an innocent person pays the ultimate price for a crime he did not commit, we all are diminished by justice not having been served.” Andrew paused for a moment before continuing.

“Several days ago in Georgia, the body of a young woman was positively identified as that of Shannon Randall.” This time there was more than one gasp. Andrew waited until the first wave of buzzing started to subside. “She was killed by a person or persons unknown. Our information is very sketchy at this time, so I’m asking that you be patient with us while we unravel this mystery. We’ll tell you what we know when we know something definitive. Right now, all we know for certain is that the body is that of Shannon Randall. I’ll take a few questions….” He pointed to the reporter nearest the porch.

“What happened to Shannon Randall in 1983? Did she run away? Was she abducted?”

“We believe she was a runaway, but we have no other information at this time.” Andrew cut her off and turned to the left side of the yard. “Next question.”

“Where has she been all these years?”

“We have reason to believe she lived in several different cities throughout the south. Next.”

“Any idea who killed her?”

“No. That’s what ‘person or persons unknown’ means. Next question.”

“How was she killed?”

“She was shot.” No need to add
and stabbed,
Andrew decided, since it was the gunshot that killed her.

“About the family of the executed man—”

“They’re meeting with someone from the Bureau.” Andrew hoped that was true. “I’m not involved in that aspect of the case, so I can’t answer any questions pertaining to Eric Beale’s family. Next?”

“Was Shannon Randall involved in prostitution? Can you comment on that, Agent Shields?”

Andrew hesitated. John had told him not to utter any words he’d have to eat later. At the same time, he didn’t want to feed the fires of lurid speculation, either.

“Whatever Shannon did or did not do in the time she’s been away from her family is not at issue here. Right now, we have a family who is dealing with the death of their child, grandchild, sister—for the
second
time. They’re also dealing with a lot of unanswered questions, and I’m going to ask you to respect their privacy. This is a very difficult time for this family. Please allow them to grieve in peace, to bury her in peace. Try to put yourself in their place and respect what they’re going through right now.”

“The FBI was part of the investigation in 1983,” someone toward the back called out. “Is that why you’re here now? To do damage control for the Bureau?”

“I’m here to help find out what happened back then that caused a lot of people to believe that an innocent man was guilty. And I’m here to make sure that whoever is responsible for Shannon’s death is apprehended and punished.”

“This is a big case,” the reporter added. “How many other agents are involved in this investigation?”

Andrew hesitated briefly before answering as truthfully as he could. “For the time being, I’m the only agent assigned.”

“What about Agent Collins?” Chief Bowden asked from the side of the porch.

Andrew turned to him hoping that his response would not be picked up by the microphones. “Agent Collins isn’t officially assigned.”

Chief Bowden looked at him blankly.

“How does Senator Randall-Scott feel about her sister being a hooker?”

“I’m not going to comment on that.” Even as he spoke, he knew this same crew would be camped out in front of Natalie Randall-Scott’s home within the hour.

“Thanks for your time, everyone. As soon as we know anything else, we’ll be sure to let you all know.” Andrew cut the conference short. The pertinent information had been given. He wasn’t going to feed into speculation.

Ignoring the protests and the rush of questions that followed his announcement, Andrew stepped back inside the house, then looked behind him. Chief Bowden was leaning over the porch rail, talking to a reporter. Andrew walked over in time to hear the chief say, “Dorsey Collins, I’m pretty sure her name is…yes, she’s definitely with the FBI. Maybe she got called out to work another case, maybe that’s what he meant. Maybe he’s waiting for someone to replace her—”

“Chief,” he said pointedly from the doorway.

“I’ll be right there.”

Andrew took a deep breath and closed the door behind him. Hopefully the reporter Bowden was talking to wouldn’t make anything of his remarks. He had briefly thought of asking Bowden not to mention Dorsey’s name, but decided that would make her presence there seem more mysterious than he wanted it to be. Besides, what were the odds someone would have asked?

Apparently better than he’d suspected.

“Thank you, Agent Shields, for handling everything so delicately.” Judith met him in the hallway, tissues clenched in each hand. “For your sensitivity. We still don’t know what to think, what to believe, about Shannon. And the speculation is just going to be more than I can bear….”

Andrew patted her gently on the shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can to find the truth, Mrs. Randall, and to make certain you and your family hear it before anyone else does.”

“We appreciate that.” She dabbed at her eyes.

“Now, where might I find your husband?” Andrew asked.

“He’s back in his office, waiting for you,” she said. “The first door on the right.”

“Thank you.” Andrew started down the hall just as the police chief came back through the door.

“Agent Shields, about Agent Collins—” Bowden called to him.

“She’s not officially on the case,” Andrew told him truthfully.

“Could have fooled me.”

“She’s here as a special observer only. But that information doesn’t need to be shared.”

Andrew debated whether to offer more of an explanation, then decided against it. Maybe later. Right now, he wanted to get on with his questioning of Franklin while the man was still willing.

“Are the reporters leaving?” Andrew asked.

“Some have, some are taking their time,” Bowden told him. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“What if they come back and start asking more questions?” Judith said. “Agent Shields said you’d arrest anyone who didn’t leave….”

“And I will, Miz Randall. But let’s give ’em a few more minutes to pack up their cameras and get themselves moving. Nobody’s answering any more questions until Agent Shields is ready to call another conference, so just don’t you worry about that.”

Andrew started off for his meeting with Randall, wishing Bowden had thought of that before he’d started answering the inquiry about Dorsey. He was hoping that cat wasn’t too far out of the bag.

At the first door on the right, he stopped and knocked lightly on the half-closed door.

“Come in, Agent Shields. And close it behind you.” Franklin Randall sat behind his desk in his wheelchair. He pointed to a dark green leather club chair and said, “Sit there.”

Andrew did as Randall requested.

“Thank you for what you said out there. They all gone yet?”

“Chief Bowden is keeping an eye on the stragglers. He’s making sure the last of them leave.”

“What is it you wanted to know that you didn’t already learn from my wife, my mother, or my daughters?” Franklin said, cutting to the chase.

“I want to know what Shannon was running away from twenty-four years ago, Mr. Randall.” Andrew could be just as blunt. “You have any thoughts on that?”

“No one’s convinced me yet that my daughter ran away. Could have been she was forced.”

“The evidence doesn’t support that.”

“But twenty-four years ago the evidence supported that she’d been murdered by that Beale kid.” Franklin snorted derisively. “Enough evidence then to support a guilty verdict and a death penalty.”

“Right now, I can’t explain how that conclusion was reached, though I do have some theories. But if you look at the facts—”

“Well, which facts are the FBI looking at this time?”

“The facts Shannon gave her roommate, Mr. Randall.”

“Shannon told this girl she ran away to become a whore?”

“She told her roommate she ran away, yes.”

“And this girl, she’s a whore, too?”

“She’s been working as a prostitute, yes, but—”

Franklin waved his hand at Andrew as if dismissing him.

“Can’t believe anything she says, then.”

“Mr. Randall, stop playing this game with me,” Andrew said calmly. “We both know Shannon ran away and I think we both know why she left and why she never came back.”

“What are you talking about?” Franklin snapped.

“I’m talking about the fact that someone had been sexually abusing your daughter. She ran away to escape further abuse.”

Franklin’s jaw all but dropped onto his chest.

“
What
? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” His face went from pale to scarlet in a heartbeat. “Who would have done such a disgusting thing?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Andrew replied levelly.

Franklin stared at Andrew for a very long moment before his eyes widened.

“You are not suggesting…you couldn’t possibly think that I…”

“Most abusers are members of the family, or someone well known to the family.” Andrew spoke firmly, calmly.

“No. No. The very thought of it”—Franklin shook his head—“No. No one would have…no.” He covered his mouth with a badly shaking hand. “Oh, God, no…not my little girl…no.”

“Mr. Randall, we’re fairly certain someone was abusing Shannon,” Andrew repeated. “If it wasn’t you, odds are it was someone close. Was there a family friend who maybe spent a lot of time with your family back then, who would have had access to your daughter?”

“No, no.” Franklin’s arrogance was gone. In its place was a pain that Andrew could almost feel reaching out to him from across the desk. “There was no one. We did everything as a family back then; I don’t think any of us were hardly ever alone. And being so busy at the church—I spent every day there. We were an active church, you understand. There was something going on there every day.” Franklin’s voice grew quiet as he seemed to look back in time. “There was hardly a day when I wasn’t there from morning through evening, working side by side with my father. That was his church, he started it in a small place over on Sunset. Built the new church back in 1980, mostly with donations from his congregation.”

“You served as assistant pastor?”

“I did. I assisted my father in every way I could. He was starting to slow down back then, you see. It was his dream—and mine—that I gradually take over for him. The plan was that someday, we’d reverse roles, and I’d be taking the lead and he’d be assisting me.” He appeared totally defeated now. “That wasn’t to be for long, as you can see.”

“Surely you could have continued to preach…?”

“I was in therapy for a very long time after my accident, Agent Shields. The church needed someone who could fully minister to the congregation. Thank God my Paula Rose was ready and able to step in and serve.”

“Did your father spend a lot of time in the company of your daughter, Mr. Randall?” Andrew asked pointedly.

“Of course he did. Shannon helped out in the office.”

“Alone?”

“Well, certainly, she sometimes—” He stopped in midsentence as Andrew’s meaning became clear. His eyes narrowed and he gripped the arms of his chair with knuckles that had gone white. “My father was a man of God, Agent Shields. I won’t have you maligning his name. He no more would have done such a thing than I would have.”

“Are you willing to take a lie detector test, Mr. Randall?” Andrew asked coolly.

“Get out of my house,” Franklin said darkly. “Get. Out. Of. My.
House.
”

“I’ll be asking formally for the test.” Andrew stood. “In the meantime, if you think of anyone else I should talk to, you have my card.”

Andrew turned and left the room, and the magazine Franklin flung after him hit the doorjamb and flopped to the floor.

16

“Agent Shields.” Judith stood near the front door, gazing out, watching as the last of the reporters packed up and left.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Andrew attempted to walk around her to get to the door, but she placed one hand on his arm to detain him. He held his breath. If she’d heard any of the conversation he’d just had with Franklin, she’d be unloading on him all over again.

“I was thinking about what you said when you were here last time. Wondering if maybe Shannon had tried to contact us and we didn’t realize it.” She swallowed hard and looked up at him. “I snapped at you, threw you out of my house.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Randall. I understand that you’ve been through a lot—” He opened the door to leave.

“I’m thinking maybe I reacted a little too hastily. Should have thought that through some before I jumped all over you.” She followed him out onto the porch, still holding on. “I’m thinking now maybe…at least, I’ve been wondering if maybe…”

“Maybe?” He paused at the steps. Apparently she hadn’t overheard his conversation with her husband after all.

“Maybe she did try, and we just didn’t know.” Another hard swallow. “There were hang-up calls, but you know, everyone gets those. Wrong numbers and such. But there were times when it seemed that whoever was on the other end stayed on for longer than you’d expect for a wrong number. Well, I always figured those for kids playing a prank, you know how they do? I’m wondering now if…do you think that maybe…”

“I think it’s possible, in retrospect. I think if you were my mother and I was far from home, I’d reach out to you,” he said as he patted the hand that gripped his arm.

“There was something else, I’m wondering now if maybe it should have made me think a little. Maybe I should have given more thought to it at the time.”

“What was that?”

“For a while there, envelopes came to the house that had just a tiny something in it, if anything at all.”

“What kind of things?”

“One time it was a little white clover flower.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Most times it was nothing at all.”

“Do you remember where they were postmarked?”

“The one with the little flower was from Nashville. I remember that one because I always wanted to go there, never did. Didn’t know anyone there, either.” She forced a half-smile. “I always used to say that in my next life, I was going to come back as a country-western singer. That I was going to sing at the Grand Ole Opry.”

“Do you remember where the others were from?”

“Not really. Just places.” She was crying now, tears spilling onto her face. “There was a postcard from Memphis once. It came on my birthday, about eight years ago. It had a picture of Graceland on the front. The girls used to tease me because I’d told them I was a big Elvis fan back when I was just a girl.”

“Did you recognize the handwriting?”

“No. It wasn’t Shannon’s, if that’s what you mean. I would have recognized that. I would have known.”

“When did you receive the last envelope?”

“Oh, it’s been some time now.” She gazed upward as if searching for the answer. “Maybe four years or so.”

“And the phone calls? Do you remember the last time someone called and hung up?”

“Oh, it seems we always get those, but maybe just a few months back there was one like the others. Like someone was there and didn’t want to hang up but they wouldn’t speak.” She shook her head. “Wouldn’t that have been something, if that had been Shannon?”

“Mrs. Randall…the empty envelopes. Who did you think they were from?” Andrew couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think much about them at all. I just figured someone had sent us something and it had fallen out because it wasn’t sealed in the back. The flaps were tucked inside the envelope, not sealed.”

“How often did these envelopes arrive?”

“Oh, every few years or so. Not frequent enough that it would make me think about it so much.” She took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her face. “Though that clover…that did make me wonder some. It never occurred to me that it could have been from her, that she could still be alive. But it should have made me think just a little.”

It was the second time she’d used that phrase.

“Think about what?”

“Shannon always made those little clover chains, you know? She used to fashion them in a big circle and I’d have to wear it on my head.” Judith was openly weeping. “She used to say I was the clover queen, and she was my princess….”

Andrew took a step toward her, to comfort her, when Franklin appeared in the doorway.

“I told you to leave! Get the hell away from my wife. Get off my property!” He banged furiously at the closed screen door. “Judith, get in this house immediately! Do not speak to that man!”

“Franklin, what on earth…” Judith turned to her husband.

“Thank you, Mrs. Randall, for sharing your recollections with me,” Andrew said quietly.

“You stay away from my wife, stay away from my family!” Franklin rolled his chair out onto the porch and wheeled past his stunned wife. “You hear me? Bastard!”

With Franklin Randall’s curses following him all the way to the end of the block, Andrew was more than happy to reach his car and escape the harsh aftermath of his interview with the man. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb. He could have sworn he could still hear Franklin yelling.

He turned on the radio to drown out the voice ringing in his ears, but it didn’t help, so he snapped it off. Suddenly, he felt very tired, and wished he was home. Or if not home, then someplace, anyplace, where kids weren’t abused by people who were supposed to love and protect them, where kids didn’t cut themselves, didn’t prostitute themselves, didn’t give up bright futures in attempts to bury their horrible pasts.

He drove through quiet Hatton, his stomach rumbling. He called Dorsey to let her know he was on his way back and was grateful to learn she had in fact saved him some pizza. He parked his car in a space between her room and his and ignored the reporters who’d returned to the motel in hopes of getting some extra tidbit from him. He walked toward her room, prepared to knock, but when he raised his hand to the door, she opened it while keeping out of sight.

“Sorry,” she said as she closed the door behind him. “Nothing personal, but I figured the last thing you needed right now was speculation on who the redhead in the motel might be.”

He laughed ruefully and took off his jacket. “I have a feeling they might already know.”

“What do you mean?” Dorsey stood with her hands on her hips.

“I mean you’ve been outed.” He hung the jacket on the back of the room’s lone chair. “Please tell me you have beer.”

“In the bathtub.” She nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “What do you mean, ‘outed’?”

“One of the reporters asked how many agents had been assigned to the case and I told him one.” Andrew disappeared into the bathroom. “Oh, wow. You know, you just might be the perfect woman.”

He came back out with a dripping wet bottle of beer in his hands. “Ice in the bathtub. Brilliant.”

“Thanks. It’s going to make for a damn cold shower later, but hey, at least the beer isn’t warm.” She directed him to the desk. “The pizza might still be, though. I wrapped it in a blanket.”

“You really are brilliant, did I already say that?” He sat wearily at the desk and opened the lid of the pizza box. “I’m so hungry right now I could eat the box.”

“The pizza tastes better. Go on and eat.” Dorsey sat crossed-legged on the end of the bed. “Finish the part about me being outed.”

“I said, one agent had been assigned. Me. And Chief Bowden said, ‘Oh, but what about Agent Collins?’”

“And you said?”

“I said,” Andrew chewed and swallowed, “Agent Collins wasn’t officially assigned. Which would have been fine, except that after the mics were turned off, I heard the reporter asking Bowden about you.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I went inside to interview Franklin and hoped that the reporter didn’t think anything more of it.”

“That will depend on how good the reporter is. How curious.”

“Right. But anything else I said at that point would have had him wondering what the big deal was, so I acted like it was nothing. Sometimes the more you say, the more they want to know.” Andrew licked tomato sauce off his thumb. “Did I ever tell you that my favorite pizza was sausage, sweet peppers, and mushrooms?”

“Just a good guess on my part. Now talk. What happened?”

Andrew filled her in on his remarks to the reporters and his conversation with Franklin.

“What was your gut feeling about him?” she asked. “Too much protest? Overly indignant?”

“Neither. To tell you the truth, I didn’t get that vibe from him.”

“The vibe that says, I’m lying through my teeth, or the vibe that says, you’re way off base.”

“The lying vibe. I think he was telling the truth. I don’t think he was the one Shannon was running from.”

“Who do you think it was, then?”

“I think it might have been his father.”

“Reverend Paul? Founder of the church? The man who, according to Paula Rose, brought truth, justice, and salvation to the good people of Hatton?”

Andrew shrugged. “You asked me what my gut was saying, and that’s it. Look, he was there at the church that day, we know that for a fact. Shannon was in his office.”

“Martha said he had an appointment.”

“Maybe Martha was lying.” He polished off the first slice and took a long pull from the bottle. “A little more pizza and I might turn back into a human being again.”

“Hmmm. Grampa Paul as abuser.” She rubbed her chin as if considering the possibility. “I like it.”

“I’m thinking the other sisters knew about that.”

“Probably. If it was the old man, I’d be real surprised if he started with the third sister.”

Andrew took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “It would be unusual, with those two older sisters around, for him not to have started with one or both of them.”

“It’s certainly something worth exploring.”

“You know, you’re awfully calm for someone whose cover has just been blown.”

“We knew it could happen.” She shrugged. “But you never know, the whole thing could have gone right over this guy’s head.”

“Your name is out there. All it takes is one reporter with a contact in the Bureau to find out who you are.”

“Well, let’s hope this guy was slow on the draw. I’m not really ready to back out of this yet. Too many questions remain unanswered. I’d like to be around to answer a few of them.”

“I’d like you to be, too.” He caught her eye and held her gaze. She looked like she was trying to think of a snappy comeback and couldn’t. He let her off the hook by adding, “It’s a complicated case. Of course you’d want to finish what you started. See how all the pieces fit together in the end.”

She nodded thoughtfully, eyes downcast. Then she looked up and grinned. “So how long exactly was it before Franklin kicked you out?”

“Maybe twenty minutes or so.” He laughed. “About average for the Randalls.”

He grew sober then, and related Judith’s recollections of hang-up phone calls that lasted a little too long, of envelopes that often contained nothing at all.

“I’d bet anything that was all Shannon,” Dorsey agreed. “But boy, the empty envelopes speak volumes, don’t you think? Wanting to connect, wanting to reach out, but not wanting them to really know….” She shivered. “That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Everything about this case is sad.” Andrew went into the bathroom. “Can I get you another?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He emerged with a bottle in each hand, and passed one over to her.

“Do you ever think about doing anything else?” Andrew asked as he sat back down at the desk.

“No. I don’t know what I’d be doing if I didn’t do this.”

“Doesn’t it ever get to you?”

She thought about her last case, about the two young men now sitting in a federal prison awaiting trial. Over a period of three months, they’d kidnapped, raped, and murdered seven girls in the Florida panhandle. Seven Dorsey knew of, anyway. Who knew how many others there might have been?

“Yeah.” She took a drink from the bottle. “Yeah, it gets to me.”

“You see these families, they appear so solid. And then you find out there was something underneath it all that just was not right, and you wonder what went wrong.”

His gaze went distant. To bring him back, she asked, “You’re talking about the Randalls or the Beales?”

“Neither. Both.” He focused on the pizza, as if debating whether or not to have another slice. “Maybe I was thinking about the Shields.”

“Your brother.”

“All of us. We came from this great, tight-knit family. We had two parents who loved us. Yeah, Dad was gone a lot, but Mom was no pushover, believe me. That woman ran a tight ship. She was strong, the real anchor of the family. I look back and remember how close we all were, how we were all such good friends. Me, Brendan, and Grady. And how protective we all were of Mia. She was the only girl in the entire family, you know? The baby sister. Even Connor and those guys doted on her.” He looked up at Dorsey with haunted eyes. “I just don’t understand what went wrong with Brendan. How he could have turned out so bad, when everything he came from was so good.”