Last Look (23 page)

“Roy’s daughter saw her chance to eliminate the competition,” Dorsey said, finishing Matt’s train of thought. “Roy probably hadn’t added Eric to his will by then, he was in a coma, but there was no guarantee he’d stay that way. If he survived and wanted to change his will, his daughter would tell him, look, this kid is a murderer, why would you own up to him now? You don’t want anyone to know he’s your son.”

“She must have been counting on Roy dying without coming out of the coma, so the secret would end with him.” Matt nodded. “Even if Eric was acquitted and Jeanette made a claim on the estate, who’d have believed her?”

“But why would Taylor call in the FBI?” Dorsey wondered.

“Easier to wash his hands,” Matt replied. “No matter what happened, he would be clean. He knew Eric was innocent, but if he was convicted, it wasn’t Taylor’s fault. And if Eric got off, he could tell his wife the FBI had screwed up. He eases his conscience, either way.”

“But wouldn’t he be afraid you’d learn the truth?” Jeanette asked. “Make him look stupid?”

“If I’d done my job the way I should have, yeah, he ran that chance,” Matt admitted. “But as it was, there were no other suspects, no reason to think Shannon would have run away or that Kimmie had lied. The lake outside of town has a lot of caves underneath it. The word was that Shannon’s body had been dumped in the lake and had gotten into one of them. We had divers go in, but there were too many caves and passages between them to search them all. The police searched the woods for days but came up with nothing. There was no trace of Shannon anywhere except in Eric’s car. If it turned out otherwise, he could always say, he couldn’t override the FBI.”

“Lie upon lie, secret upon secret,” Jeanette muttered. “Sin upon sin…”

Matt reached across the table for her hand. “I’m so sorry,” he told her. “I’d give anything to go back in time and make this right, for Eric and for you, to do what I should have done.”

She stared at him for a long thoughtful moment. “I believe you would.”

“Momma?” Tim spoke up. “What are we going to do now?” He waved the gun as if to remind her he still had it. “You see any point in shooting him?”

Jeanette sighed. “Hell, I guess I don’t want anyone to die. But I did want someone to answer for what happened to Eric. I guess you’ve done that, best as anyone can.”

“I think the ones we need to be shootin’ are Kimmie and Mrs. Taylor,” Tim said.

“We’re not shootin’ anyone. Let it go, son.” Jeanette stood. “It’s time to just let it go. We got some answers, that’s more than we had yesterday.”

“What about them?” Tim waved the gun at Matt and Dorsey. “We just let them go?”

“Yes, and put that damned gun away.”

“How do you figure we’re gonna get out of here without
them
”—Tim pointed toward the yard—“blowin’ our heads off?”

“I can take care of that, if you’ll give me my bag,” Dorsey said.

Jeanette handed over the bag and Dorsey searched inside for her cell. She dialed Andrew’s number.

“Tell everyone to stand down. This has all been a big misunderstanding. We’re all coming out now, and I want your promise that Mrs. Beale will be free to leave, and that no charges will be filed against her or Tim.”

“Are you kidding?” a skeptical Andrew asked.

“No, I’m not kidding.”

“Are you sure everything’s all right? They’re not making you say this at gunpoint?”

“No, it’s fine. I swear it.”

“All right. I’ll take care of it, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Thanks, Andrew.” Dorsey hung up and turned to Mrs. Beale. “He just needs a minute to get everyone calmed down.”

She looked at the gun Tim was still holding. “You plannin’ on puttin’ that away before we open the door? Someone might get the wrong idea, they see you walkin’ out with that thing in your hand.”

“How do I know you’re not trickin’ us?” Tim asked Dorsey.

“Agent Shields gave me his word. He’ll keep it.”

“Don’t know that I’m ready to trust you. Either of you.”

“Then you can sit in here on your butt by yourself,” Jeanette told him. “I’m goin’ out with them.”

She stood and handed over Dorsey’s gun. Dorsey slipped it into her bag.

“You satisfied?” Jeanette turned to Tim. “If she was going to do something, she’d have turned that gun on me right then and there.” She softened slightly. “Put it away, son, untie the man, and let’s go.”

Tim reluctantly did as he was told, removed the cords from Matt’s wrists, then put his gun in one of the kitchen drawers and opened the door. He turned back to Matt and asked, “You comin’ with us?”

“I’m right beside you.” Matt gratefully followed Tim out of the trailer, followed by Dorsey and Jeanette.

Dorsey looped her hand through Jeanette’s arm as they crossed the yard, the entire gathering of law enforcement watching for one misstep on the part of either of the Beales. When Dorsey reached Andrew, she said, “Have you met Mrs. Beale?”

“Not formally. Andrew Shields.” He shook her hand. “We’re all so sorry for what happened. Believe me when I tell you that any one of us would do anything to undo this.”

“That’s pretty much what Matt said, back in there.” Jeanette nodded slowly. “I appreciate that.”

“Dorsey, the county sheriff is down there and he wants to know what we’re charging them with,” John Mancini asked as he approached.

Jeanette Beale went white.

“They’re not being charged,” she said, and as she turned, the sheriff walked up with his hands on his hips.

Before he could say a word, Dorsey told him, “This has all gotten out of hand. No one had any intention of hurting anyone. Tim and his mother just wanted some time to speak with my father without being disturbed. All the press here spooked them, and they had questions they wanted to ask.” She gave him her best smile, then turned to John and said, “And Mrs. Beale provided us with some important information. I’m pretty sure I know how it all went down back then, thanks to her.”

John and Andrew pretended they didn’t see Jeanette’s eyebrows raised in question.

“So you’re telling me that boy threatened to put a bullet in your father’s head just so he could have some time to talk?” The sheriff wasn’t buying it.

“That was all blown out of proportion,” Dorsey assured him calmly. “There was never any real danger.”

“I think we’re fine here, Sheriff.” John extended his hand to the man and shook it soundly. “I appreciate your backup. Sorry to have called you out on a false alarm.”

“Right.” The sheriff shook his head as he walked back to the road.

“Mrs. Beale, please introduce me to your son.” John took Jeanette’s arm. “He’s right over here with Matt and a few of our other agents.”

Dorsey started to follow, but Andrew grabbed her arm.

“I want you to know I’m really sorry. I wouldn’t have cut you out if I’d had a choice.”

She waved off his apology. “It worked out okay. I understand the position you were in.”

“So you think you have the whole case worked out?”

“I am ninety-nine percent certain.”

“Want to tell me about it over dinner?”

She glanced at her watch. “It’s four in the afternoon.”

He shrugged. “We’ll be just in time for the early-bird special at the diner in town.”

Dorsey laughed. “My father—”

“Is more than welcome to join us.”

“I’ll ask him what his plans are.” She started toward her father, but the reporter who’d stopped her earlier was there when she turned around.

“Was the FBI trying to hide your presence in Hatton because your father was involved in the original Shannon Randall case? Wouldn’t you call that a conflict of interest?”

She walked past him without responding, but he followed.

“You’re not denying that you’re Matthew Ranieri’s daughter, right? What part did you play in the investigation? How can you justify not telling anyone here in Hatton that you’re really Dorsey Ranieri?”

She continued to ignore him even as he persisted. John realized what was going on and calmly reached out to the reporter. Nodding to Dorsey to continue on her way, John told the reporter, “This is an ongoing federal investigation, so I’d appreciate you not trying to question my agents when they’re not permitted to respond. Thanks for your time.”

Dorsey mouthed a thank you to John as she reached her father. She tapped him on the shoulder.

“Pop, do you have your phone on you?”

“Yes.” He patted his pocket. “Why?”

“Use it,” she told him. “Call Diane and let her know you’re okay. She’s been worried. Oh, and Pop?”

He paused before he dialed and looked up at his daughter.

“Tell her I said thanks.”

21

Dorsey folded the long knit shirt she’d slept in the night before and put it in her suitcase, wishing she wasn’t going back to Florida just yet.

Over dinner the night before, she and her father had a chance to go over with Andrew everything that they’d figured out while they were in the trailer with the Beales. He’d agreed that all the pieces seemed to fit. He also agreed Dorsey and Matt had been very lucky. The situation could easily have turned out very badly for everyone involved.

“With Tim holding that gun, things could have been very different,” he reminded her.

“In the end, the Beales really only wanted the same thing we wanted. The truth. And we feel we have that. Except we still don’t know how and why Shannon left town that night, and who beat her up.” She frowned. That still rankled, that they hadn’t been able to nail that down. “And we’ll probably never be able to prove that her grandfather was her abuser.”

She hated leaving before she’d seen the entire case through to the end, when Shannon’s murder was solved—but she wondered if it ever would be. That part of the case was ice cold at the moment, and unless there was a break, it was likely to remain so.

Still, she reminded herself, she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do in the very beginning: she’d found out why her father had traveled down the wrong path twenty-four years ago. That was something she and Matt both needed to know.

Funny how things had worked out. Matt had needed to speak with Jeanette Beale every bit as much as she needed to speak with him. There’d been questions—and guilt—on both sides. To deal with his own culpability, before Matt left Hatton he’d made a call to Owen Berger and arranged to be Owen’s only guest on his Friday evening show.

“There are things that need to be said publicly,” Matt told his daughter before he’d left. “Someone needs to step up and take responsibility for Eric Beale’s death. That someone is going to have to be me. I’m just telling you ahead of time, there may be some fallout.”

“I can handle it,” she’d told him, “but are you sure you want to do this?”

“There’s nothing else I can do, honey. I screwed up big time. I didn’t do my job. I should have reinterviewed every witness, I should have personally checked out every fact—”

“You were part of a team,” she reminded him.

“I was the leader of that team.” He shook his head. “For years, I took the glory when it appeared Eric had been guilty. Now that we know he was innocent, I have to stand up and take the heat.”

“Think that will cost you your career as a crime expert?” she wondered aloud.

“What’s that worth, compared to what Eric Beale lost?” he countered.

Matt took the first flight out of Charleston back to Philly. Back to Philly and Diane, Dorsey reminded herself. Diane, who’d unwittingly saved the day—and probably Matt’s life—when she’d called Dorsey the day before.

There were still issues Dorsey needed to discuss with her father, but those would wait for another day. The past twenty-four hours had left them both with plenty to think about. Right now, she was happy they’d both come out alive, happy that there’d been resolution and closure of a kind for him, happy she’d been there to share that with him. Soon, though, they’d have to speak of other things. She wondered if she’d ever be able to talk to him about her self-mutilating. They’d long since talked about her mother’s death and the aftermath, but she still wasn’t sure how to talk about her cutting without making Matt feel guilty, making him feel he’d failed her. Maybe when things settled down, she’d be able to talk to him about how she’d been driven to take a razor and slice her flesh, but not now.

Maybe not ever.

Did it matter? She didn’t know.

Dorsey tossed her toothbrush into the suitcase, then took one more look around the room. Satisfied she hadn’t missed anything, she zipped the case closed, then turned off all the lights. One hand dragging the suitcase, the other searching her bag for the car keys, Dorsey paused at the door. Shannon’s diary and the envelope were still in her bag. She’d meant to hand them over to Andrew the night before, but it had slipped her mind at dinner. She’d do it now, before she forgot.

She walked outside and went directly to her car, where she opened the trunk and put her suitcase inside. She slammed the trunk and went to Andrew’s room. As she raised her hand to knock, the door opened, and Andrew stepped out. She backed up to avoid a collision.

“Hey,” he said. “I was just on my way to see you.”

“I beat you to it.” She opened her shoulder bag and took out the items Edith had entrusted her with. “Shannon’s diary. Unfortunately, there’s nothing in here about her being abused. Nothing, really, to help the case, except those remarks about how mad Kimmie was at Eric.”

“Good move on your part, getting her to admit to her lie.” He took the diary and turned it over in his hand. “I guess I should give it back to her mother.” He tapped it in the palm of his hand. “Then again, maybe it really belongs to Edith.”

“It’s your call,” Dorsey said. “Me, I think it means more to Edith. It’s all she has of Shannon. Oh, and she’s leaving the life. She’s moving to Cincinnati and getting into a program there that’s designed to help hookers become former hookers. Teach them their self-worth, get them off the streets, help them to find other means of employment.”

“I’m really glad to hear it. She just didn’t seem to belong there.”

“I agree. Oh, and there’s something else.” She gave him the envelope. “What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when you return this to Martha Randall.”

He opened his mouth to say something but his phone rang. He excused himself to answer it, but hardly said a word while he listened. Finally, he said, “Where is she? I’m on my way.”

He turned to Dorsey and said, “Aubrey Randall was admitted to the hospital about four hours ago.”

“An accident?” Dorsey followed him to the parking lot where he was headed toward his car.

“If trying to kill yourself with pills is an accident. I’m smelling a guilty conscience here.”

He got to his car and she walked toward hers. So much for my big good-bye scene, she thought wryly.

“Where are you going?” He stood next to the open driver’s side door.

“Well, back to Florida. I thought—”

“Come on, get in. Until someone tells me you’re out, we’re going to assume you’re in.”

“John didn’t say, get her the hell out of here?”

“Nope. Not his style, anyway.” He waved her on. “We’ll figure out how we want to play this between here and the hospital. I’m thinking we’ll have the three sisters all to ourselves.”

She got in the passenger side and he handed her the diary. “Here, hold on to this. It just might come in handy.”

Aubrey Randall lay on the hospital bed, the head of which was slightly elevated. In spite of the day’s heat, a blanket was pulled up to her chin. On her right sat her sister, Natalie, and at the foot of the bed stood Paula Rose, who appeared to be in the middle of saying something when she glanced up and saw Dorsey and Andrew in the doorway.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” she said to Dorsey. “Didn’t that reporter on the news last night say something about it being a conflict of interest, you working on Shannon’s case?”

“He was referring to the old case—which she wasn’t assigned to. The case we’re here to talk about, Shannon’s murder, has nothing to do with Dorsey’s father,” Andrew responded.

“How’s that going?” Paula Rose asked. “Any progress on finding her killer?”

Dorsey just smiled, then turned her attention to Aubrey. “How are you feeling?”

Aubrey wet her lips slowly. “I’ve felt better.”

“Why the pills, Aubrey?” Dorsey stood next to the bed.

Before Aubrey could respond, Paula Rose said, “She just can’t cope with everything that’s happened. She’s simply collapsing under the stress of having Shannon turn up dead, after all these years.”

Dorsey pulled over a chair and sat across the bed from Natalie. “How are your parents taking this?”

“We haven’t told them. Aubrey’s been admitted under a different name to keep it from the press,” Natalie told her.

“Well, I suggest you get used to it. The press, that is. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.” Dorsey looked from the woman in the bed to her two sisters. “So. Which one of you answered the phone when Shannon called a month or so ago?”

The silence was thick enough to slice.

Andrew stepped farther into the room and said, “She called your parent’s home, like she’s been doing all along. She hadn’t intended to speak, but this time, she was caught off guard. She was expecting your mother to answer. She didn’t mean to speak your name, but she did. And you recognized her voice. What was it that gave her away? What had she said?”

“What makes you think she called the house?” Paula Rose asked, a challenge in her tone.

Andrew tapped Dorsey on the shoulder, and from her bag she pulled out the diary and waved it slightly.

“What is that?” Natalie asked.

“I think you know that it’s Shannon’s diary.” Dorsey nodded.

“Where did you find it?” Aubrey asked.

“Her roommate had it. She thought it might be helpful in solving the case,” Dorsey replied.

“May I see that?” Natalie reached for it, but Dorsey dropped it into the bag saying, “Sorry, but it’s evidence.”

“So I ask once again. Who answered the phone the day Shannon called?” Andrew studied the faces of the sisters.

“It was me.” Aubrey’s voice was weak and breathy. “I answered the phone.”

“Shut up, Aubrey,” Paula Rose snapped. She turned to Andrew. “Aubrey isn’t herself, she’s coming out of a near coma. I’m afraid she’s very susceptible to suggestion right now. She’s liable to say just about anything.”

“Paula Rose, stop it.” Aubrey attempted to sit up. “Just…stop.”

“Careful, Aubrey,” Natalie cautioned her. “My sister really is quite ill, Agent Shields. She could have died. I don’t think this is the time or the place for this.”

“It’s okay, Nat,” Aubrey told her. She turned to Paula Rose and said, “It’s no use. I just can’t carry this pain around inside me anymore.”

“Aubrey, we’re all in pain over Shannon.” Paula Rose went to her sister’s bedside and took her hand.

“Please.” Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut. “Just stop pretending it didn’t happen. I can’t pretend, Paula Rose.”

“Aubrey.” Paula Rose took her sister’s chin in her hand and forced her to look into her eyes. “Shut. Up.”

“No,” Aubrey whispered. “I’m really sorry, honey, but I can’t. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“Whose idea was it to meet with Shannon?” Dorsey cut in, smelling a confession.

“Mine,” Aubrey told her. “I couldn’t believe it was really her. I drove down to Deptford one day by myself, to meet her for lunch in this little restaurant. I had to see if it was really her. I just couldn’t believe it. She looked so old, and so sad. I mean, we’re all twenty-four years older, but you always have this image of someone looking just like they did the last time you saw them. I knew she’d look older, but I wasn’t expecting her to look so hard. So tired and worn out.” Aubrey shook her head. “Then when she told me what she’d been doing all those years, the kind of life she’d led, it just broke my heart. My sister, my little Shannon, selling herself on the streets like a common whore.”

“She was a common whore,” Paula Rose told her. “I believe that’s already been established.”

“She could have put it behind her,” Aubrey protested. “She could have come home and started over.”

“And when the story got out about her coming back from the dead, everyone would want to know where she’d been all those years, what she’d been doing.”

“Not necessarily,” Natalie spoke up. “No one needed to know the truth.”

“She was going to tell, Natalie.” Paula Rose snorted. “She said she was going to tell
everything.
”

She stared into her oldest sister’s eyes and repeated, “
Everything,
Nat. She was going to tell it all.”

Paula Rose held her sister’s gaze for a long time, for as long as it took for that flash of understanding.

“Now, don’t you think that would have brought on an awful lot of uncomfortable moments come election time,
Senator
?”

“I could have handled it,” Natalie told her calmly.

“Right. Just the way
she
”—Paula Rose jerked her thumb in Aubrey’s direction—“thought she could have handled it when the news teams from the network that carries her show started interviewing some of Shannon’s street pals. Some of her johns.”

The silence returned. Finally, Andrew asked, “Whose gun was it?”

“Daddy’s,” Aubrey told him. “Paula Rose took it from his desk.”

“Aubrey, for the love of God—” Paula Rose growled.

“Strange time to be bringing up God, Paula Rose,” Natalie said very softly.

Aubrey’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I swear to you, I didn’t know she had it. I didn’t know what she was planning to do.”

“Tell us what happened, Aubrey,” Dorsey said.

“Paula Rose said the next time Shannon called, we should make plans to go see her, so I told her we’d drive down, pick her up, and go for a picnic out in the woods, like we used to do when we were kids. We were going to talk about the best way to tell Momma and Daddy she was still alive—we all agreed that if she just showed up at their door, it would be the death of them both. Paula Rose said she had an idea about that, that we could plan it together.”