Last Look

10

“Well, we’ve certainly scored big with the Randall family today, haven’t we?” Andrew drove to the end of Paula Rose’s street and made a right.

“We? I’d say you. I was doing just fine.”

“And here I always fancied myself a lady’s man.”

“We all have our little delusions.” She rested back against the head rest, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

“So what do you think of the Randalls so far?” he asked. “Any impressions you’d like to share? Other than the fact that they’re a strange group?”

“You thought so, too?”

“Definitely. Let’s start with the mother. She’s devastated about her daughter, yet when it comes time to make a positive identification, she sends her eldest daughter-alone-to do the deed.”

“Maybe, like she said, she just couldn’t face it. It had to be a shock, after all these years, to find out that Shannon could have been alive, only now she’s been murdered for real. Maybe she couldn’t face Shannon ’s death twice.”

“All I know is, if Shannon had been my sister, my mother would have walked barefoot over hot coals to get to her. And we’d have all been walking with her.”

“I can’t relate.” Dorsey looked out the window. “I have no siblings and my mother died when I was young.”

He glanced over at her as if he was about to say something, then thought better of it.

“And Paula Rose-you get the feeling she’s played that baby-of-the-family role for all it’s worth?” he asked.

“Definitely.” She nodded. “And I think I’d bite my tongue off before I went to her for guidance for any problem I was having. I noticed a definite lack of charity in her attitude toward her long-lost sister.”

“You’re referring to her comment about ‘the way Shannon turned out’?”

“Yeah. Very cold. Turned on her sister like that.” Dorsey snapped her fingers. “I didn’t get any ‘judge not’ vibes from her.”

“I can hardly wait to see what Grandma brings to the mix.”

“Well, let’s see if we-that would be you, actually-can strike out as thoroughly with the matriarch. Shall we bet on how long it takes you to piss her off? I’m thinking fifteen minutes, tops.”

“What’s the wager?”

“Loser buys lunch.” She looked at her watch. “Make that dinner. And the winner gets to chose the place.”

“You’re on. I should warn you, though. I’m planning on winning the elder Mrs. Randall over with my charm. I’m going to be a model of sensitivity.”

“Plan on finding a place that serves great barbecue, then, because that’s what I’m going to want as my winnings.” Dorsey took her cell phone from her pocket and checked for messages. There were none. She bit the inside of her lip, and wondered where her father was and why he hadn’t returned her calls.

“I was actually thinking along the lines of some good old-fashioned Southern comfort food.”

“We’ll see who gets to-oops!” Dorsey referred to the directions Judith Randall had given them. “I think you should have gone straight instead of making a turn at that stop sign. Mrs. Randall lives around the corner on the next street.”

“I just wanted to take a look around the back of the church property.” He reduced his speed to a crawl as they approached the wide drive that marked the rear of the church’s parking lot. “You never know what you might find.”

“Like that blue van parked behind the church?” she asked.

“Yeah. Like that.”

He turned into the lot and parked next to the dark blue vehicle. THE CHURCH OF THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE was painted on the both front doors in white block letters. Andrew parked the car and got out, but before he’d taken three steps, a man emerged from the stairwell leading up from the church basement. He was tall and broad and-though he looked to be in his late sixties-vigorous. He eyed Andrew suspiciously when he saw him standing close to the van.

“Help you with something?” He took a key ring from his pocket and unlocked van’s side door.

“You work here?” Andrew smiled and tried to look friendly and nonthreatening. He wished he’d taken off his tie and jacket when he’d left Reverend Paula Rose’s house. He was pretty sure his attire didn’t lend itself to casual questioning around Hatton.

The man nodded. “I am fortunate enough to offer my time in service to the church, yes sir.”

“You drive this van?”

“Right again.” The man wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief that he pulled from a pocket and turned to watch Dorsey round the back of his vehicle. “Hot as blazes today, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.” Andrew nodded. “May I ask what you use the van for?”

“May I ask why you’re asking?”

“We’re investigating something for the Randall family.”

“I use it for church business, whatever Pastor Paula wants me to do. On Sundays I pick up members who don’t have a ride to services, either ’cause they’re too sick or too old to drive themselves, or maybe ’cause their car broke down or something. Use it during the school year to pick up folks for choir and such. Starting next week, I’ll be using it to pick up kids for Bible camp. Church runs camp every year, two weeks in June, two weeks in July.”

“Anyone else drive it?” Andrew asked. “Reverend Paula, for example?”

“Nope, she hasn’t driven it once that I know of. No one else drives it, either. Just me.” He returned the damp cloth to his back pocket.

“Where is it garaged at night?”

“Garaged? Ain’t no garage. It goes home with me, every night, sits in my driveway until I drive back over here in the morning.”

“Weekends, as well?”

“Every day, seven days a week. Like I said, I pick up people for Sunday services, drive ’em back home again.”

“Thanks for your time.” Andrew started back to his car, then turned to ask, “This van hasn’t been painted recently, has it?”

“Nope. Always been dark blue, far as I know.”

“Thanks.” Andrew waved and got behind the steering wheel just as Dorsey got in her side and rolled down the window.

“You suspicious of Reverend Paula?” she asked.

“I’m suspicious of everyone right now.”

“The van spotted on the island that night was a light color, right?”

“That’s why I asked if it had been painted.” He circled around to the exit. “But you know that would have been too easy.”

“Right. And it never is.” She snapped on her seat belt.

“It would have been nice though. There’s the sister with the motive-God forbid anyone should find out the minister’s sister not only did not die twenty-four years ago, but ran away and has been doing the dirty for money all this time. Here’s the van the minister used to dispose of the body. And of course, as soon as we question the good reverend about it, she’ll break down and confess.”

“I’ve never had it happen like that, all wrapped up and tidy with the first suspect on the list.” She added wistfully, “Though I’ve heard about such things happening. Might be nice, just once, just to see how it feels. The very thought of a murder confession…well, it’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

“You’ve never had anyone confess? You’re kidding, right?”

“Not to murder.” She shook her head. “Everyone is always innocent. You can catch someone at the scene with the murder weapon in hand and they’ll tell you they were just holding it for someone. You forget, I’ve been in Florida for six years. That’s a death penalty state. Nobody admits to anything.”

“You’ve been in Florida for the entire time you’ve been with the Bureau?” Andrew drove slowly to the corner, then asked, “Which way?”

“Right, then right again at the next corner. Then straight for a block.” She folded the paper and stuck it in the top of her handbag. “I was in Cincinnati for a few years before I was transferred to Florida.”

“ Cincinnati was your first assignment?”

“Yes. That’s where I worked with Aidan. He was only there for my first few months, though.” She smiled wryly. “Then he went off to play with the big kids.”

“The big kids?”

“John Mancini’s unit.” She turned in her seat. “I think we passed it.”

He pulled to the curb and parked. “We can walk back. Which house is it?”

She got out of the car and checked the number on the nearest house. “I think it’s that gray bungalow about four or five houses back. The one with the black shutters and the red geraniums out front.”

The house they’d parked in front of looked vacant, and a sale sign had been placed at the edge of the unkempt lawn. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven in spots. By the time they arrived at Martha Randall’s home, Dorsey was wishing she’d opted for low-heeled shoes.

“This is it.” She nodded in the direction of the low-slung house with the wraparound porch. On one side, a trellis supported a trailing vine heavy with red-orange flowers. “Cute, but you’d have thought the family would have moved her into a better neighborhood.”

She glanced at the houses on either side of the house, then at those across the street.

“It does seem a bit run-down,” Andrew agreed as they walked to the front door. “Think she’s heard from her daughter-in-law by now?”

“Her daughter-in-law and her granddaughter, no doubt.” Dorsey rang the bell.

A moment later, a plump, unpleasant-looking woman in her thirties answered. She was dressed in a white blouse with stains under the armpits and a straight denim skirt. Her hair was secured into a tight bun in the back, and rhinestone trimmed glasses dangled from a beaded chain worn around her neck.

“Yes?” She gave each agent the once-over.

“We’re here to see Mrs. Randall,” Dorsey told her.

“She expecting you?” the woman asked.

“By now?” Andrew glanced at his watch. “Probably.” He held out his I.D.

“I’m going to have to check with her.” The woman closed the door in their faces.

“Did we expect otherwise?” Andrew asked.

“All things considered, no.” Dorsey grinned.

“For the record, annoying the housekeeper, or whatever she is, does not count as pissing off a family member.”

Before Dorsey could respond, the woman returned and pushed open the door.

“Miz Randall will see you.” She held the door for them and sighed deeply as they passed into the narrow foyer, as if their unexpected presence was a personal intrusion into her life. “She’s in the back room, right on through here.”

She directed them down a hall leading into the kitchen, and from there, to a screened porch overlooking a surprisingly pretty backyard. The room was filled with white wicker furniture. An elderly woman, white hair pulled back in a bun, sat in a rocking chair near the window.

“Mrs. Randall, thank you for seeing us like this,” Andrew said as they entered the room.

“If ‘like this’ means not calling first to see if this might be a convenient time, you needn’t worry. My daughter-in-law took it upon herself to announce your intentions.” The woman rocked gently, assessing them with cool blue eyes.

“Kind of her.”

“I’m sure.” Mrs. Randall pointed at the sofa positioned against the one long wall. “Please sit. I’m going to be getting a crinked neck from looking up at her.” She gestured at Dorsey. “You’re certainly a tall one, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.” Dorsey sat where she’d been instructed.

“Those high heels make you even taller,” she observed with more than a trace of the South in her speech. “Your mamma a tall lady?”

“Yes, ma’am, she was.” Dorsey nodded.

“Was?” The old woman leaned forward slightly. “Meaning she has passed on?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Recently?”

“When I was nine,” Dorsey told her.

“Who raised you, then?”

“My aunt and my father.”

“They did a fine job.” Mrs. Randall nodded approvingly. “You’re a well-mannered, polite young woman. You tell your daddy I said so.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Mrs. Randall.” Dorsey smiled.

“Now, what is it that you two expect to learn from me that you haven’t learned from my daughter-in-law or my granddaughter?” Before either could answer, Mrs. Randall called out, “Dorothea? You bring some lemonade on out here for our guests. And turn on that ceiling fan.”

She turned back to Andrew. “You were about to say?”

“My name is Andrew Shields. I’m a special agent with-”

Martha Randall waved her hand impatiently. “I know who you are and where you’re from. You wanted to ask me questions about our Shannon?”

He nodded. “I’m sure it was a terrible shock to find out she’d been alive all these years.”

“Oh, my land, yes. You simply cannot imagine what we’ve all been going through these past few days.” She placed a hand over her heart. “It’s been most unexpected, to be sure. Not just that she’s been alive, but where she’s been. What she’s been. And to find she’s been murdered, after all.”

Her small hands continued to flutter about the middle of her chest.

“Doesn’t this just beat all? Who’d have thought that girl could have been alive all these years. And to never let us know. Well, like I told Judith and Franklin, it must have been amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” Dorsey asked.

“That kept her from coming home.” Mrs. Randall stopped rocking in her chair. “She obviously didn’t know who she was or where she was from. Otherwise, she’d have come home long ago.”

“Actually, Mrs. Randall, the police were able to identify her and locate her family here in Hatton because she’d told her roommate her name, and where she was from,” Andrew told her.

“How is that possible?” The old woman frowned. “How could she have known who she was, and not tell us she was alive?” She looked at Andrew, wide-eyed, as if the mere suggestion was ludicrous. “And for her to have been doing what she was doing down there in Georgia…” She visibly shivered. “No, no, Agent Shields. No granddaughter of mine would have lived a life of sin the way that poor girl had been doing. If she’d known who she was, she’d have come on home, and gone to college, just like she’d planned.”

She looked at Dorsey and added, “She was going to be a nursery school teacher, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” Dorsey said softly. “Shannon gave her name-Shannon Randall, of Hatton, South Carolina -to her roommate. How could Edith Chiong have known, if Shannon hadn’t told her?”

“Edith Chiong?”

“Her roommate for the past several years,” Dorsey explained.

Shannon ’s grandmother thought this through, then said, “She must have had something with her that had her name on it when she developed amnesia. Perhaps that boy hit her over the head with something and she lost her memory. Then when she looked at the…driver’s license, perhaps-”

“ Shannon wasn’t old enough to drive when she disappeared, Mrs. Randall,” Andrew reminded her. “She didn’t have a driver’s license.”

“Her school identification card, then. She saw her name on something,” the woman said triumphantly. “I’m sure that was it. She knew her name, but not who she was. That would explain it.”

“But wouldn’t she have tried to come back to Hatton?” Andrew asked.

“Well, not if she couldn’t remember it. If she couldn’t remember being from here, why would she want to come here?” Mrs. Randall said as if it were a given. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face, Agent Shields. If my granddaughter had known who she was, she would have come home, not gone to who knows where, doing who knows what.” She shook her head adamantly. “Our Shannon was a good, God-fearing girl. She was baptized in the church by my husband, and she was raised in his church. She would never have chosen a life of sin. Never. If she was up to…to what they’re saying she was up to, it has to have been because someone forced her.”

Mrs. Randall folded her arms across her chest in a manner that clearly indicated the matter was closed.

“About the night she disappeared, Mrs. Randall,” Andrew ventured.

“You wanted to know what I recall of that.”

“I understand you saw Shannon at the church shortly before she disappeared,” he said.

“I did indeed.” Motion from the doorway distracted her. “Dorothea, don’t stand there like you don’t know where to put that tray. Right there on that table, just like always. Thank you. You may go back to what-all you were doing.”

When the woman left the room, Mrs. Randall muttered, “Listening at the doorway, no doubt.”

To Dorsey she said, “Would you mind, dear?”

“Would I mind?” Dorsey asked.

“Pouring the lemonade. Made it fresh this morning. I’m sure you and Agent Shields could use a cold drink on a day as warm as this one. And you know the weather people are saying it’s just going to get warmer.”

Dorsey did as she was told, and passed glasses to Mrs. Randall and to Andrew, then poured one for herself. She took a sip and told her hostess, “Delicious.”

“An old recipe of my mother’s. The trick is to boil the lemon juice with the water and add just a bit of lemon zest.”

“I’ll remember that.” Dorsey smiled to hide her indifference. The last thing on her mind was the fine art of making lemonade.

“So, you were saying?” Andrew tried to steer the conversation back to the night in question.

“Yes, yes. The night Shannon disappeared. My husband and I arrived at the church right around 4:45.”

“You arrived with him?”

“Yes. He was supposed to meet with someone in his office at 5:00, and I had to pick up the proceeds from the church’s winter carnival to take to the bank the next day.”

“Doesn’t the church treasurer do that?” he asked.

“Back then, I was the church treasurer, Agent Shields. On Sunday night, I locked the money in a drawer in my husband’s office, but when I went to get it on Wednesday evening, it was gone. I looked everywhere for that envelope-I’d put it in a brown envelope for safekeeping-but it was nowhere to be found. I looked upstairs, I looked in the church. Why, I even drove home and looked all around the house, thinking maybe somehow I’d picked it up without thinking, but I could not find it.”

“The church didn’t have a safe?” he asked.

“No, not back then.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to take the money home with you?”

“Of course not. We never had a break-in at a church in all the years I’ve lived in Hatton, but homes had been robbed, now and then. It never crossed my mind that someone would steal from a church.”

“Why wasn’t the money deposited in the bank?” Andrew wondered.

“Because Thursday was my banking day. I went once each week, on Thursday morning. My sister, Gloria-she worked in the bank back then, rest her soul-and I met at noon every Thursday. I did my banking business, she took care of the deposits and such for me, and then we would have lunch together. We used to go to a little teahouse down on Montgomery. They had the loveliest little sandwiches and fruit tarts.”

“On that Wednesday, while you were looking for the missing money, your husband was in a meeting?” Andrew steered the interview back to the night in question.

“I believe he was.” She nodded.

“Who was the meeting with?”

Her hands fluttered again. “Truthfully, after all these years, I cannot recall. Goodness knows there are days when I can barely remember my own name, but I believe it was someone from the congregation, someone who was having problems of one sort or another. In any event, I searched for an hour or better at the church, then I went home thinking maybe I’d stuck it into the purse I had with me on Sunday. I was so tired by the time the carnival was finally over, you know, that when I didn’t find the envelope in the drawer, I thought perhaps I’d only imagined I’d put it in there. So I went home and looked in that purse, but of course it wasn’t there. So I searched the house, then went back to the church and searched some more. Missed choir practice that night, I was so busy searching for that envelope.”

“And you never found it?”

Her head moved slowly side to side. “Never did. I finally had to accept the fact that someone had gotten into the church and stole it.”

“So you’re pretty sure you had locked it in Reverend Randall’s desk,” Dorsey asked.

“I am. Which means that sometime between Sunday night and Wednesday afternoon, my husband must have unlocked the desk and either he forgot the money was there, or I’d forgotten to tell him-it was all so long ago, and you know, as much as I hate to admit it, the truth is, my memory isn’t what it used to be. Had I just said that?” She sighed with resignation.

“In any event, someone must have gone into his office and taken the envelope, because it was never found.”

“You reported it to the police?” Andrew resumed his questioning.

“I did. But not until we got home that night. Maybe, oh, 10:30 or so. I spoke with Chief Taylor himself.”

“Did he send someone out to investigate?”

“Oh, yes,” she told him. “First thing in the morning, the chief showed up himself, along with one of his officers. I believe it was that nice young Brinkley boy-what was his first name? Margaret and Ted’s middle boy, I believe he was. He married one of the Connelly girls? Kathleen, maybe?

“Anyway, they met me over at the church around 8:30, and we were downstairs in the office-they took fingerprints all around my husband’s office and around the doorways as well-when I heard a commotion over near the church hall. Well, we went on upstairs, and there was Judith, ranting something fierce at Franklin about Shannon not being in her bed this morning and where was she?”

“Your son was there early that morning for a breakfast meeting,” Andrew read from his notes.

“That’s correct. The senior citizens’ weekly breakfast. Franklin was there in the community room over in the church hall with my husband and a few others. So Chief Taylor and Officer Brinkley picked up the investigation from there and took over. Talked to Judith for a while, talked to Franklin, then the chief called up another officer-Bob Donohue, that was-to take the two of them on home in case Shannon showed up, or called. Of course, they were of no earthly use at that point.”

“I’m sure they were very upset,” Dorsey said.

“You just cannot imagine. Why, we were all just beside ourselves. Nothing like that had ever happened in Hatton before, it was just too hard to believe.”

“What had you believed at the time, Mrs. Randall?” Dorsey asked. “What did you think had happened to Shannon?”

“Well, I thought what everybody thought. I thought that boy had taken her and killed her.”

“You mean Eric Beale?” Andrew resumed his questioning.

“Why, yes, of course.” Mrs. Randall nodded.

“Who first brought up his name, do you remember?”

“I think it must have been Chief Taylor. I vaguely recall one of Shannon’s friends saying something about how the Beale boy was always offering Shannon rides in his car. And then someone said they’d seen Shannon in his car that afternoon.”

“Do you remember who that was?”

“I’m sure I do not, but maybe someone down at the police department might know. Chief Taylor’s been gone now for about seven years-the cancer, you know-but maybe Jeremy Brinkley might remember. He’s retired now, but he lives somewhere nearby. Simpson’s Creek, I think, about six miles outside Hatton on the way to Charleston.”

“We’ll check with him, thank you.”

“And maybe you can talk to that FBI agent who came down here and arrested the boy. He was so sure that boy was guilty. I know he convinced me and my husband that the boy had killed her. That’s who you want to talk to, that FBI man.” She shook her head. “He was so sure, he made us all so sure. Now, looking back, looks like he didn’t know squat. Maybe he was just wanting to finish up his job quickly. If he’d worked a little harder, maybe we’d have found her. Way things were, with him telling us Shannon was dead and that boy had killed her, we never bothered to look for her.”

She shook her head again. “You ask me, he’s the cause of all this. Our girl missing all these years, and that boy convicted and executed. All his family went through…such as his family was. It was still a terrible thing. So I think you should look within your own house, Agent Shields. I’m thinking that’s where the answers lie, if you’re asking why we all believed Shannon was dead.”

“We will be speaking with former agent Ranieri about that,” Andrew assured her.

“I would certainly hope so.”

“Mrs. Randall, do you remember what Shannon ’s state of mind was when you saw her at the church that night?” Dorsey asked.

“What on earth do you mean?” Alert blue eyes narrowed and focused on Dorsey like lasers.

“I mean, did she seem as if something was bothering her? Did she appear upset about anything?”

“Oh, goodness, no,” the woman said. “Why, she was just her usual happy-go-lucky self.”

“Were you and Shannon very close?”

“I am close to all of my granddaughters.”

“So if something or someone had been bothering her, she’d have confided in you,” Andrew said.

“I feel certain she would have, yes. But she did not.”

“By the way, how much money had the carnival taken in?” he asked.

“Almost three thousand dollars between Friday and Sunday night.” She smiled. “Most we ever made. It was a rousing success. We had raffles and carnival rides and concessions going practically nonstop for three days. Everyone was so pleased. We’d planned on using the money for a community center. We did eventually build it, but it was a few more years before we could afford to.”

“Did Shannon know the money was in the drawer?”

“I believe she may have been with me when I placed it in there.” Mrs. Randall stared at Andrew for a long moment. “Agent Shields, are you implying that my granddaughter was a thief?”

“I think we have to consider that she might have taken the money. In retrospect-”

“ Shannon was not a thief, Agent Shields. She would not have stolen from her church.” The old woman’s gaze could have turned him to stone on the spot.

“Mrs. Randall, I think in light of what’s happened over the past week, we need to consider-”

“I believe our little chat is over, Agent Shields.” Mrs. Randall raised her chin and called out, “Dorothea? You may show Agents Shields and Collins to the door, please.”

“Mrs. Randall…”

The old woman turned her face to the window.

“My apologies, Mrs. Randall,” Andrew said softly.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Randall,” Dorsey added.

Still looking out the window, Mrs. Randall waved a hand dismissively.

“Twenty-five minutes on the nose,” Dorsey calculated the time after Dorothea had closed the front door behind them. “Who’d have thought it would have taken so long?”

“And I’d been doing so well up to that point.”

“Well, never let it be said I’m a sore loser. Looks like dinner’s on me.”