Last Look (22 page)

“I wanted to tell you.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I would not permit it,” John responded before Andrew could open his mouth. “If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me. I ordered him not to tell you, as I promised your father I would. He was afraid you’d do exactly what you’re doing now, which is putting yourself in harm’s way. I agreed with him, by the way. And since I’m Andrew’s boss, his job depends on following my orders.”

“You’re John Mancini?” Dorsey hesitated.

“Yes.” John walked toward her, Jeanette Beale momentarily forgotten. “And you’re Dorsey Collins. I’m glad to finally meet you. Andrew has had nothing but good things to say about you.”

She refused to look at Andrew, and could think of nothing to say except, “Shit.”

“Sorry?” John came closer.

“So am I. Glad to finally meet you.” Swell time and place to meet the man she’d hoped to work for. She suppressed a grimace. Not much she could do about that now.

“I was hoping you’d come in for an interview next week. Maybe we could save you a trip, take some time to talk now.”

“Please don’t treat me like I’m an idiot. Don’t try to distract me with a job interview, hang it out in front of me like a carrot. I need to talk to my father. I need to know he’s all right.”

“You’re Matt Ranieri’s kid?” A woman Dorsey had not noticed approached from somewhere behind John.

“Yes.” Dorsey nodded.

“Your father is fine,” the unsmiling woman told her. “At least he was about ten minutes ago.”

Dorsey frowned. “How do you know?”

“I’m Tim Beale’s mother. You want to go in, that’s fine with me.”

She took Dorsey by the arm. “More than fine. I’d say this just about balances things out, wouldn’t you, Mr. Mancini?”

Jeanette Beale looked straight ahead and called out, “Timothy, you open that door now, hear? Me and my new friend are coming on in—”

“No. Uh-uh. No way.” Andrew shook his head and raised his hand to pull his gun. “She’s not going in there.”

“I don’t think that’s a decision for you to make.” Jeanette Beale stared at the gun, then started toward the trailer, still holding Dorsey by the arm. She called out to her son, “Timmy, you keep that gun pointed right at Matt’s head. If there ain’t two of us coming through that door in about thirty seconds, you blow his brains out, hear?”

“I hear you, Mamma,” Tim Beale called back. “I got him right here.”

The door swung open, held there by Tim’s foot. Through the doorway, everyone could clearly see Matt Ranieri seated in a chair at a small square table, his hands tied behind his back. Tim Beale stood over him, pressing a gun against the former agent’s forehead.

No one outside the trailer moved, except Dorsey and Jeanette Beale, who climbed the three steps into the trailer. The door was pulled closed and slammed from inside.

Andrew’s hand was still on his holster. Dorsey and her father were captives of the family Matt had unwittingly helped destroy, and there wasn’t a damned thing anyone could do about it.

20

“Well, now, isn’t this nice?” Jeanette Beale stood in front of the closed door facing the table that stood in the middle of the tiny living space her son called home. “Mother and son, father and daughter. I’d call this cozy. Timmy, I think it’s time to put on the tea.”

“Dorsey, what in the name of God are you doing here?” a weary Matt said loudly. “I specifically told John I didn’t want you here. For this very reason.”

“I should be here.” She forced a calm, steady tone into her voice. No need for anyone—her father or the Beales—to know how hard her heart was pounding at that moment. This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she arrived at the trailer. She had no idea her father was being held at gunpoint by Eric Beale’s brother.

“And I’m here because Mrs. Beale thought it was a good idea.”

“Very funny.” Jeanette pointed to Dorsey’s shoulder bag. “I want to see what’s in that bag. Hand it to me.”

The urge to swing the bag at the woman’s head was almost overwhelming, but Tim still was holding a gun on her father, though he’d moved to the other side of the table. How quick would he be to fire off a round? How accurate was his aim? Dorsey didn’t think she wanted to find out. She passed the bag to Jeanette and watched as the woman rifled through it.

“Now, this isn’t a very ladylike thing to be carrying around.” Jeanette held up Dorsey’s Sig Sauer and tsk-tsked.

“Maybe we should search her.” The woman’s son stared at Dorsey. “She might have another gun hidden someplace.”

“She’s wearing a tank top and a short skirt. Where do you suppose she’s hiding a gun?” Jeanette asked with a touch of sarcasm. “You watch too much TV, Timmy. I’ve been saying that from the time you were three years old.”

Tim shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was tall and slim with thinning, light brown hair and pale, vacant eyes. He seemed to have inherited the same air of poverty and desperation worn by his mother.

Jeanette leaned on the counter in the miniscule galley kitchen, the gun held loosely in her hand. She pointed it in Dorsey’s general direction and looked Matt in the eyes and said calmly, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take your daughter’s life, same as you took my son’s.”

“We could start with the fact that there are several of her fellow agents outside along with some local law enforcement officers. That might be something for you to consider. You’ve dealt with the legal system before, both of you.” He looked from son to mother. “You know there’s no chance you’ll walk away. You’ll either die here or you’ll be arrested and face murder charges.” He addressed Jeanette directly. “You want your daughters to have to deal with that?”

“My daughters would understand,” Jeanette told him. “That the best you got?”

She was in control and liking it, but Dorsey noticed she’d shifted the gun slightly so that it pointed downward.

“No pleading for the life of your child, Agent Ranieri?” Jeanette asked.

“I don’t suppose that would be very effective, Mrs. Beale. And for the record, I’m no longer with the Bureau, so I’m not Agent Anyone anymore.”

“Ahh, that’s right. So I’ll just call you Matt. And you can call me Jeanette, since we’re all so cozied-up here.” She narrowed her eyes. “I seen you on TV. You’re the big expert they call in to talk about all them tough criminal cases, aren’t you? The guy they always bring in when they want a professional,
expert
opinion on those big cases no one can solve? The man they go to when they want to figure it all out, right?” She snorted. “Well, I’m bettin’ that’s one job you wished you never signed on for.”

“You have no idea,” Matt told her solemnly.

Jeanette slammed her fist on the table hard enough to make Dorsey flinch.

“My son was innocent,
Matt.
You and that dumb shit of a police chief we had back then railroaded that boy.” The woman’s small body shook with fury. “You killed my boy. You, Matt Ranieri. You built up a case out of nothing. You made it all up.” She wiped tears from her face with a shaking hand. “You told the jury Eric murdered that girl, and you made them believe you. My son was killed for a crime he did not commit, because of what you made up. The Bible says an eye for an eye.”

She turned the gun onto Dorsey and repeated, “So tell me again why I should not take your daughter the same way you took my son.”

“Momma, let me do it.” Tim touched his mother’s arm gently. “He’s right. Someone gets killed here, it’s murder one. I been in before, I can handle myself. You’d get eaten alive in that place.” He took a deep breath. “You want her to pay the price, I’ll do it. I’ll do him, too”—he pointed at Matt—“if that’s what it will take to end this for you.”

Before Jeanette could reply, Dorsey spoke up boldly.

“Before you blow either of us away, I’d think you’d want to know the truth about what happened back then.”

“We know the truth,” Tim told her, his face twisted with anger. “Your father figured he’d come into this little town, take over this case, show Chief Taylor how it’s done, solve the case just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“make a big name for hisself, ride right on back out of town and onto a big career on the TV. So he sets up Eric, he—”

“No,” Dorsey said. “It was Chief Taylor who set up Eric, not my father.”

“Why would he have wanted to do that?” Jeanette sneered. “What’d he have against Eric?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll bet he knows.” Dorsey pointed at Tim. “Go ahead. Ask your son.”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about, Momma, I swear,” Tim protested. “She’s just saying anything she can think of to save her ass.”

“Both you and Eric had run-ins with Jeff Feeney,” Dorsey reminded him.

“Yeah, so?”

“So what were the fights about?” Dorsey met his eyes levelly.

“I don’t remember,” Tim muttered.

“Isn’t that funny?” Dorsey said. “Jeff doesn’t remember, either.”

“What’s so funny about that? It happened a long time ago.”

“I remember the bar fight that got you sent away, but I don’t remember hearin’ nothing about no fight with Jeff Feeney.” Jeanette turned her attention to her son. “What was it you was fightin’ about?”

“I said I don’t remember.”

“Timothy Beale, you have never been a good liar. You look me in the eyes and tell me what that fight was about,” Jeanette demanded.

“It was something personal between me and Jeff, okay?”

“And the fight with Eric was personal between him and Jeff?” Dorsey asked.

“Yes. I mean, I suppose so. I don’t know.”

“You were already in prison then. When Eric and Jeff got into it, you were already serving time,” Dorsey reminded him.

“Was there something going on back then I didn’t know about, son?”

“Momma, this ain’t the time,” Tim told her.

“I’m standin’ here with a gun on this man, and I’m thinkin’ about pulling the trigger. If there’s something I need to know, if something else happened back then, damn it, I need to know it now.”

“Jeff was always on me. Always gettin’ in my face back then. First me, then Eric.”

“About what?” Jeanette’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper, as if she knew what his answer might be. When he started to shake his head, she snapped, “Say it.”

“It was about you, Momma,” Tim told her. “He was always goin’ on about you. Tellin’ the most awful lies about you. I can’t even repeat them, they was so bad.”

Jeanette stared at her son for a very long time, her color fading until her skin lost its early-summer tan and turned pasty white.

“You argued with Jeff Feeney about me. Eric argued with Jeff about me,” she repeated.

“About the lies he was sayin’. Every time he saw me, he’d say it. And he was always teasing Eric.”

“It was all about me?” Jeanette appeared dumb-struck.

“It was all about lies, Momma.” Tim raised his voice to his mother for the first time. “If you knew what he was saying about you—” He stopped himself.

“I want to know what he said.”

“He said you were…said you were a whore,” Tim whispered, as if saying it would make it so. “Said he…said he even seen you one time with his own grandfather. I knew it was an ugly lie.”

Jeanette crossed to her son, sat down, and buried her head in her hands. After a few minutes, she raised a tear-stained face and whispered, “It wasn’t a lie, Timmy. It wasn’t a lie.”

The silence in the room grew as seconds ticked on.

“If he told you he saw me and Roy Feeney together, he was most likely telling the truth. Me and Roy, we were together for a long time, Tim.” She wet her lips. “If that makes me a whore, well—”

“That can’t be true.” Tim stared at his mother as if she were a stranger. “You and that old man…” Tim screwed up his face in a look of disbelief. “You…you had an affair with him?”

“Might as well get it all out on the table, since it’s come up.” Jeanette wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. “Roy Feeney was Eric’s father.”

“That can’t be true, Momma.”

Jeanette nodded. “I’m sorry, son. I never meant for anyone to find out.”

“Wait…is this Mrs. Taylor’s father we’re talking about?” Dorsey broke in. “Chief Taylor’s father-in-law?”

“Yes,” Jeanette answered.

“But he died right about the time Eric was arrested, right?” Dorsey frowned. “I remember someone saying that Mrs. Taylor inherited big time from her father.”

“Roy was pretty well off, it’s true,” Jeanette said. “I imagine he left quite a bit to her and to his son.”

“I bet if Mrs. Taylor found out her father’d had another child, she would have been one angry lady. She might have wondered if Eric—or you—might be thinking about making a claim on the estate,” Dorsey said thoughtfully.

“I never would have done that. Besides, Eric didn’t know,” she said, speaking to Tim now.

“But Mrs. Taylor wouldn’t have known that,” Dorsey thought aloud.

“You think maybe she thought Eric knew?” Jeanette frowned. “Boy, she sure wouldn’t have wanted that story goin’ around town. She was pretty uppity, you know?”

“She still is.”

“You met her?”

Dorsey nodded. “We went to ask her about the chief’s file on the case. We wanted to read over the witness statements but the file was missing. Chief Bowden suggested we ask Mrs. Taylor if any of the old files were still in the house, but she wouldn’t give us the time of day.”

“Why were you wanting to read the file?” Jeanette asked.

“Because it looked like somehow the evidence had been slanted to make everyone believe that Eric had killed Shannon. And since we know that Shannon didn’t die in 1983, I was trying to figure out what really happened back then, and why.”

“I’m sorry, but I am totally lost,” Matt said.

“When you arrived in Hatton, what were you told by Chief Taylor, Pop?”

“That Shannon had been murdered, her body hidden, and they were pretty sure Eric had killed her. Taylor had the bloody shirt, he had Eric’s admission he’d picked up Shannon that afternoon, and Taylor told me Eric had all but confessed to him.” Matt thought for a moment, then added, “And there was a witness who said she’d seen Shannon in Eric’s car about an hour after Eric swore he’d dropped her off.”

“We now know that was a lie,” Dorsey turned to her father. “Kimmie White admitted to me she made that up. The chief told her that all he needed was an eyewitness. She was pissed off at Eric for turning her down for a school dance, and then going with someone else. She said she just wanted the police to scare Eric, bring him in for questioning, then they’d let him go.”

Matt put the rest together. “And when they searched his car and found the bloody shirt, which Kim had no way of knowing about, they figured they had the killer.”

“You mean that bitch—” Tim clutched at the gun.

Dorsey nodded. “Yeah. She lied.”

“But why would Chief Taylor go after him like that? Why was he so convinced that Eric…” Matt started, then paused, nodded, and said, “Oh, Christ. The wife.”

“Mrs. Beale, you said Roy Feeney died around the time Eric was arrested. Do you remember if it was before or after?” Dorsey asked.

“Roy died two weeks after Eric was arrested, but he’d been very sick for a while,” Jeanette told her. “It had been months since I’d seen him, but I’d heard he was just going downhill every day. He was in and out of a coma for weeks, and no one knew if he was going to survive or not. I don’t believe he was ever aware that Eric was arrested.”

“Did Roy ever talk about adding Eric to his will?” Matt asked.

“Yeah, plenty of times,” Jeanette said, nodding, “but I kept telling him I wasn’t sure it would be worth all the trouble it would cause for Eric and for me, after he was gone. I figured Eric would make his way in life, just like everyone else had to. Roy’s wife had been gone for about eight years before we ever got together, but he had those two grown kids. I wouldn’t have wanted to tangle with either one of them. They’re both nasty things.” She grew thoughtful. “I always thought it was so strange that such a sweet man could have such awful kids. Anyway, I figured with Eric not being the wiser, we should just let it be. And of course, there was the fact that my husband would have killed me. We were still living together back then. He would have killed me and Eric without a second thought, if he’d known about me and Roy.”

“But Roy’s two adult children wouldn’t have known that. So if he mentioned to his daughter that he was going to add another heir to his will, she’d probably have been pretty upset, right?”

“She wouldn’t have wanted to share Roy’s money, that’s for sure.” Jeanette nodded. “Everybody in town knew she had her heart set on that big house, on fixin’ it up and livin’ like royalty once she came into money.”

“So didn’t it ever strike you as odd that Eric was arrested by Chief Taylor—Roy’s son-in-law—just weeks before Roy died?”

“No.” Jeanette shook her head. “If I’d known that Eleanor knew, yeah, maybe. But I had no idea that anyone knew except me and Roy. I figured that Taylor being married to Roy’s daughter was just an unfortunate coincidence.”

“And wasn’t it convenient that Shannon just happened to go missing right around that time,” Matt said. “Then when Kimmie set Taylor onto Eric and they found the bloody shirt—”