Last Look (3 page)

“Morning, John.”

“How’s it going?”

“Not bad, for the middle of the night.”

“Oh, did I wake you?”

“Very funny.” Andrew covered a yawn.

“So I was looking over the assignments last night, and I noticed you’re working on the Gilchrist case.”

“Right.”

“I need you somewhere else.”

Andrew waited. He’d been half-expecting this. The Gilchrist case wasn’t exactly low profile, and he knew several of the other agents working the case were less than happy when he’d been assigned to join them. Less than happy? Who was he kidding? A couple of them looked downright pissed to see him show up on the job that first day.

Andrew wasn’t sure he could blame them.

“Andy?”

“Yeah—I’m listening.”

“I need you to pack for maybe a week.”

“Where am I going?”

“Shelter Island, Georgia, to start…”

“What’s there?” Andy asked.

“A public-relations nightmare, if what I’m hearing is true.” John sighed.

“What’s this all about?”

“It’s about a twenty-four-year-old case that just came back to life.”

“Want to fill me in?”

“In 1983, the Bureau got a call to lend a hand with an investigation in Hatton, South Carolina. One of the daughters of the local preacher had gone missing two days earlier, and all indications were that she’d been murdered by a young guy she knew from town. The Bureau sent a team with one of its up-and-comers—Matt Ranieri—to lead the investigation.”

“Ranieri. He’s the guy on TV every time there’s a big case ongoing. He’s like Mr. Crime on the talk show circuit.”

“Right. After the Randall case—that was her name, Shannon Randall—Ranieri landed a lot of TV gigs.” John cleared his throat. “Anyway, the young kid was arrested, the case went to trial even though the body had never been found—revolutionary down there in that day—and the kid was convicted on circumstantial evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“A shirt covered with her blood was found under the seat of his car, along with her school assignment book, and an eyewitness saw him driving her out of town. She was never seen again.”

“And the boy’s explanation?”

“The kid admitted he picked her up that afternoon, but said she was bloody when she got into his car, that someone had worked her over, and he’d given her the shirt to wipe her face on.”

“He say who beat her up?”

“He maintained he asked, but she refused to tell him. Says he drove her to a park, she went into the ladies’ room and cleaned up, and then he drove her home. Says she asked to get out a few blocks from home, so he let her.”

“And the cops didn’t believe him.”

“They had a witness who said otherwise.”

“Who was the witness?” Andrew asked.

“A friend of the girl’s. Said the guy had a big crush on Shannon, was hanging around her all the time but Shannon wouldn’t give him the time of day. You know the rest.”

“So where’s the problem? You had an arrest and a conviction…” Andrew stopped and thought for a moment, then said, “Let me guess. There’s DNA evidence to prove his innocence and he’s getting out.”

“No, and there will be no getting out for him,” John told him. “He was executed back in ’91.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“The deal is, we just got word that a body found in Georgia has been positively identified as Shannon Randall’s.”

“The vic whose body was never found?”

“Right.”

“So great, case closed.”

“Not quite,” John said. “The body had only been dead for maybe eight hours.”

“What?” Andrew frowned. “How can that be?”

“That’s what we’re sending you down there to find out.”

Andrew hesitated, then said, “John, if this is true, if this is Shannon Randall, this could become a high-profile case.”

“Not could,” John corrected him calmly. “Will.”

“So, don’t you think you’d rather assign someone else?”

“If I wanted to assign someone else, I’d have called someone else,” John said coolly.

“This could be national news.”

“Say it, Andy. Say it once, and get it over with.”

“Look, I’m just back from leave.” He wanted to keep going, but the words stuck in throat.

“I know that. Go on.”

“You’re going to make me say it?”

“Damn right I am.” John sounded angry.

“I’m just saying, a Shields may not be the best man for the job. After everything that happened last year—”

“I will tell you this one more time, and if I ever have to say it again, I’ll fire your ass on the spot. I never want to have this conversation with you again, understand?” Without waiting for a response, John said, “You are not your brother. Many families have a black sheep. Brendan was yours. He betrayed everyone who loved him. His family. His friends. The Bureau. But—and this is the important part, so listen good—you are not Brendan. You are not responsible for what he did, and you are not expected to pay for his sins. If anyone in the Bureau thinks otherwise, I want to know who, because I will personally straighten out his or her ass. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, sir,” Andrew said quietly.

“You’re a damn fine agent, Andy. I have full confidence in you. This case is going to blow up in our faces unless we get to the bottom of it real fast. It’s most likely going to blow up anyway. We had a hot-shot agent pushing for the death penalty and a jury that was happy to give it to him. The Randall family was well-known and highly respected in town, and the family of Eric Beale was not. Dad and mom reportedly were drunks, dad had been arrested for beating up the wife and kids on more than one occasion. Older brother served time for assault. The kid who went to jail had apparently had a run-in with the nephew of the police chief’s wife the week before.”

“So back then, it almost didn’t matter if he was guilty or not.”

“Well, that was then, this is now. It matters. I want to know the truth. I want to know what happened to this girl, and how.” John paused, then added, “Did I mention that Shannon had apparently been making her living as a prostitute all these years?”

“Ah, no. I think you left that part out.” Andrew swung his legs over the side of the bed. “They’re sure it’s her? They’re positive?”

“Positive.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“So when do I leave?”

“This morning. I want you there before noon. I don’t know how long before the press gets wind of this, so you’re going to have to move fast. Go over the original file with a fine-tooth comb and find out what went wrong. Figure out where this girl’s been all these years, and why no one knew she was still alive. And then, after you’ve done all that—”

“I’m going to have to solve the case,” Andrew finished the sentence. “Who killed Shannon Randall, and why.”

“You’re pretty good at this, you know.”

“Hey, I’m a special agent with the FBI. You can’t put much over on me.” Andrew smiled. “By the way, who’s working with me on this?”

“No one. You’re on your own. It’s a sensitive case, and I expect you to treat it as such.”

“I will.”

“Stop in and pick up the file on your way to the airport. I’ll have everything copied and ready for you.”

“I’ll be there within the hour.” Andrew stood, ready to hang up.

“Oh. There’s one more thing,” John said.

“What’s that?”

“You’re going to have company.”

“You just said you weren’t assigning anyone else,” Andrew reminded him.

“I’m not.” John paused. “I mentioned Matt Ranieri…”

“You have to be kidding.” Andrew laughed out loud. “You couldn’t possibly let him in on this.”

“Of course not. You will, however, be joined by his daughter.”

“His…John, that’s almost as bad.”

“His daughter. Dorsey Collins, you hear of her?”

“The name sounds familiar. She’s with the Bureau?”

“She’s been working out of the Florida office for the past six years or so. She’s good, she’s smart, she’s tough, and she’s honest. She can’t be officially connected with the case, I don’t want her name showing up on so much as one damned scrap of paper, but she can shadow you.”

“If anyone figures out who she is…”

“Then she’s out of there in the blink of an eye. But I don’t know how anyone would know. She has a different last name and she’s never exploited the relationship with her father. I heard from Decker that even after her divorce, she kept her married name so as to not ride Matt’s coattails. I don’t think more than a handful of people at the Bureau know she’s his kid.”

Andrew sat silent.

“Look, from what I hear, she’s going to want in on the investigation. I figure she can work with us, or she can go off on her own and end up working against us. I’d rather have her right there where we can see her.”

“May I say something?” Andrew asked.

“Of course.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, John. I know you’re the boss and it’s your decision, but I have to go on record and say I don’t think this is good.”

“Objection noted. Just trust me on this. Decker says she’s good, Andy. I wouldn’t saddle you with anyone who isn’t. And she’s going to have to play by my rules if she wants to be allowed to play at all. I don’t think she’ll be a problem. If she is, she’s gone.”

“So when can I expect her to show up?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken with her yet.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know she’s going to want in?”

“Because I know her reputation. And I know Matt. I spoke with Steven Decker last night. He’s already told her about the situation. I don’t expect it will be much longer before I hear from her. I’ll have her call you.”

“You think you have everyone figured out, don’t you?” Andrew said, only half kidding.

“That’s why I’m the boss of the best of the best.” Andrew could hear the humor in John’s voice.

“John, the boy who was executed…if this is really Randall, and it sounds like it is, someone’s going to have to talk to his parents before word gets out to the press.”

“That’s my problem. I have someone trying to locate them as we speak,” John told him. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be expecting you by 6:30.”

The line went dead, and Andrew folded his phone shut.

He was well aware of the gift he was being offered, but didn’t know quite how to express his thanks. His family had a proud history in the service of the FBI almost since its formation. His father and uncle had served, three cousins, both his brothers, his only sister. Theirs had been a respected name for decades, their collective record impressive. And in one moment, as long as it had taken for a high-powered rifle to be fired, their name, their reputation, had been destroyed.

Andrew’s brother Brendan was the black sheep John had referred to. He’d marked their cousin, Connor, for murder, and mistaking Connor’s brother Dylan for Connor, pulled the trigger on the wrong man and blew away a one-in-a-million guy. In Dylan, both the family and the Bureau had both lost an irreplaceable member.

But even that had not been the worst of Brendan’s sins.

Somehow, Brendan had gotten mixed up with another rogue agent and became a willing participant in a sex-slave ring kidnapping children out of Central America. When Brendan suspected their brother Grady’s wife might be catching on, he facilitated her murder as well.

Andrew still couldn’t quite believe it himself. Nor could he understand how someone you know and love—someone you have known and loved your entire life—how that person could turn into a monster right before your eyes without you seeing, without you knowing. How is it possible that none of them had recognized the evil in him? Had any of them even known him at all?

More than a year later, Andrew was still asking himself the same question. How could we have not known?

Andrew thought back to the Christmas before it all fell apart, to their cousin Aidan’s wedding, to family dinners where they’d all gathered. If there had been anything in Brendan’s behavior that might have tipped them off to the demon that dwelled within him, why hadn’t they recognized it? Try as he might, Andrew could not recall one incident that might have given it away. Brendan had always been…Brendan. Fun loving, happy-go-lucky. When had his jovial façade become a mask for something sinister?

Andrew would never know. None of them would. Brendan now lay as dead as Dylan. Because of him, the family had lost two of their beloved. Grady had been the big loser. He’d lost not only his brother and his cousin, but he’d lost the love of his life as well. After it was all over, Grady had retreated to the house in the Montana hills he’d shared with his Melissa. Other than an occasional call to their father, no one had heard from Grady in months. Andrew knew his brother would never be the same—how could he be?—nor would his father. Frank Shields had given thirty years to the Bureau, and it was mostly because of him that Andrew had decided to return to the job after his leave was over. Not to have done so would have been, in Frank’s eyes as well as in Andrew’s, cowardly. The name Shields had stood for something. Andrew knew it was up to him, and his sister, Mia, to make certain it still did.

He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He’d have to hustle if he was going to make it into the office before rush hour traffic clogged the highways. He wished John had given him a choice about whether or not Dorsey Collins should be permitted to tag along through his investigation—silent partner or no—but as John had pointed out, he was the boss. In general, John was a damn good judge of character, which is how he’d managed to put together the best and most specialized unit within the Bureau. Well, except for Brendan, but if his own family hadn’t seen his flaws, John couldn’t be expected to.

Then again, John admitted he hadn’t even met this woman yet. So why, Andrew asked himself, would John go out on a limb to let her become part of an investigation when all the facts seemed to indicate she shouldn’t be permitted within miles of Shelter Island?

Good question.
Andrew turned on the water and set it for hot. Just one more to be answered before the investigation was over.

Just one more to be added to a long list of questions: What really happened that night twenty-four years ago? Where had Shannon Randall been all that time? How did she get there? And why? Had anyone known she was still alive? If so, why didn’t that person speak up? And who killed her now, and why?