Last Look

12

Hatton’s police department was housed in a two-story restored clapboard house smack in the middle of the town’s only commercial district. Smart shops sat on either side-gourmet goodies on the left and a women’s boutique on the right-an odd juxtaposition given the fact that the other shops in town were much more mundane. Strip malls out on the highway were home to national chains-home-supply stores, bookstores, supermarkets, clothing. But here in downtown Hatton, there was an ice cream shop spelled with the obligatory ppe at the end that still boasted the same chipped Formica counter and red leather seats topping stainless-steel stools that had been installed in the 1950s. The newsstand still sold men’s magazines from under the counter, the postal clerks knew the name, address, and history of everyone in town, and the old-fashioned grocery store at the very end of the block still delivered and sent a monthly bill.

Chief Ryan Bowden ushered Andrew and Dorsey into his office in the back of the building. Judging from the corner cupboards and the fireplace mantel adorned with carved wooden fruit, Dorsey guessed this room had served as the dining room for the family who’d once lived there.

“Nice office,” Andrew was saying as they were seated in uncomfortable-looking chairs with high wooden backs.

“Thanks.” Chief Bowden nodded amicably and lowered himself into his own cushy leather seat. “Coffee? Tea?”

“None for me,” Andrew declined.

“I’m fine,” Dorsey said.

“So you want to talk about the…” Bowden glanced at the doorway. From the next room came the sound of early-morning office conversation. The chief got up and closed the door. “You’re here to talk about the Randall girl.”

Without waiting for an answer, he shook his head side to side. “Who’d ever thought she’d be alive all these years? Doesn’t that just beat all?”

“That pretty much sums up everyone’s reaction,” Andrew said.

“Everyone who knows”-Bowden pointed to the door-“and I’m not sure just how many people that would be at this point. I’ve been keeping a lid on it, out of respect for the family, but that doesn’t mean someone doesn’t have loose lips.” He waved a pink While You Were Out message slip and said, “This here’s a call from one of the TV stations in Charleston. Want to bet they’re not calling to ask about Aubrey Randall’s driving record?”

“Does she have one?” Dorsey asked.

“Nah. Oh, she’s been stopped a time or two lately-mostly for driving a little too fast-but I figure I owe the girl some slack, you know, her sister turning up alive…well, dead…and being a hooker and all that.” He shook his head again. “If anyone’d ever told me years ago that Shannon Randall would end up hooking…”

“You knew her?” Andrew asked.

“Sure. I knew all the Randall girls back then. ’Cept Paula Rose, she was just a little kid.”

“So you grew up in Hatton.” Andrew leaned back against the seat and tried unsuccessfully to get comfortable.

“Oh, yeah. Lived here all my life.”

“How well did you know the Randalls?”

“About as good as I knew anyone else in town. I knew Aubrey the best. She and I were in the same homeroom. I asked her out once, but the reverend gave me such a third degree I never asked her out again, figured it wasn’t worth the interrogation.”

“Would you say Reverend Randall was strict with the girls?” Andrew continued.

“Pretty much, yeah. They were all about appearance, you know what I mean? Most of the girls’ social activities centered around the church, at least until they turned sixteen. After that, they were allowed to date, but only in a group. They could go to dances, but only at the school or at the church, and they had to be home right after the dance ended.”

“And before that?” Dorsey asked. “Before they turned sixteen?”

Chief Bowden grinned. “I don’t think life began in that family until you reached your sixteenth birthday. Up until then, it was all about the church. Everything centered around the church. Those girls had to leave home to have any kind of life at all.” He paused to reflect on what he’d just said. “I guess maybe that’s what Shannon did, right?”

“Did you ever get the feeling that their father was maybe too involved with their lives?”

“No more than most fathers were around here back then, I guess. Tragic what-all happened to him. Losing his daughter, losing the use of his legs and all.” He shook his head sympathetically.

“So I guess you remember when Shannon disappeared?” Andrew asked.

“Oh, yeah. That was the biggest thing ever to happen around here. No one could believe it, you know?” Bowden stared into space for a moment, remembering. “We’d gone on a class trip that day. The first thing we heard when we got off the bus was Shannon Randall was missing. I thought Aubrey was gonna fall over and die right then and there.”

“What were people saying, that first day? Do you remember?” Dorsey asked.

“No one was sure what happened, not that first day. By the next night, though, the story was going around that she’d been murdered and Eric Beale had killed her.”

“Right off the bat, they were talking about Beale?” Andrew slanted a look that said I’ll take it from here in Dorsey’s direction. “Were there any other names tossed around?”

“None that I recall. Pretty much it was all Eric Beale.”

“I guess you knew Eric, too?”

“Sure I knew Eric. He was a senior that year. We didn’t have any classes together, and I didn’t know him real well. I knew his sisters and his brother, though.”

“Was Eric on that class trip, too?”

“I don’t think so. We went to see a play we were studying in English, and he wasn’t in that class.” Bowden rubbed his chin. “You know how they always say, you make your own luck? The Beales made their own, all right, but their luck was all bad.”

“Give me a for instance.”

“The father was a mean drunk, drank himself to death even before Eric was executed. Some said it was because everything that happened with Eric, but tell you the truth, I’d seen that man on a bender. He didn’t need an excuse to drink, know what I mean? I don’t think Eric’s situation had anything to do with that.”

“By Eric’s situation, you mean him being arrested, tried-”

“Convicted, yeah, the whole thing.” The chief nodded. “Timmy, Eric’s older brother, he was in prison for assault, he’d been in some bar fight. Mrs. Beale, she had her hands full, what with a drunk for a husband and four kids to keep track of. She got into fights with her husband a couple times a week, or so they said. He beat up on her a lot, her and the kids.” He glanced from Andrew to Dorsey and said, “That was back in the days when no one ever interfered with the way a father raised his kids. Nowadays, you beat up on your wife or your kids like that, you end up in jail.

“Anyway, yeah, Mr. Beale was not exactly father of the year. Both girls dropped out of school as soon as they were legal. Funny thing was, Eric was the only one in the family who looked like he’d amount to anything. He got himself a job at the gas station in town and I heard he was saving up to go to college. Ironic, isn’t it? He might have actually made something of himself, if he hadn’t been arrested for murdering Shannon.”

“Do you have any idea where Mrs. Beale is living now?”

“No, she moved from Hatton years ago. I have no idea where she went,” Bowden said, “but I can ask around. Seems to me people were happy enough to see her go. Her being here while Eric was on death row, and after-well, it just made some people uncomfortable, you know? Like the whole town just sort of breathed a big sigh of relief after she left.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. “She had a sister who lived out on Camp Hill Road down around Pebble Run. She’d know, if she’s still there.”

“How about the brother? The sisters?”

“Timmy, I think I heard was living in one of those trailers out by Naylor’s Marsh, fifteen, sixteen miles from here. The sisters, I don’t know. They both got knocked up before they were sixteen-apologies, Agent Collins, but that’s the truth. Maybe some in town might know where they are. I can ask and let you know.”

“We’d appreciate it,” Andrew said. “By the way, were you able to find Sheriff Taylor’s file?”

“I was not. I was just going to tell you that. I’m sorry, but it’s not in either of the file rooms.” Bowden did his best to look apologetic. “You have to understand, the police department here in Hatton has been in about three different places since 1983. Files were dragged around from here to there and back again. I did search, but I’m afraid I don’t have a clue to where it could be. Could have been it was in the boxes that were stored in Chief Taylor’s garage when it caught on fire ’bout ten years ago.”

“Any chance you overlooked someplace?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t think so, but if anything comes to mind, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Can’t ask for more than that.” Andrew glanced at his watch, stood, and offered his hand to Bowden. “We appreciate your time. If you think of anything, anything at all, even if it’s just rumors you recall…”

“I’ll be sure to call you, Agent Shields.” Bowden stood to shake Andrew’s hand, then Dorsey’s, before walking them out to the front door. “Where you off to now?”

“We have an appointment with Jeremy Brinkley.”

“He’d have a better recollection of what was going on, I’m sure. I was just a kid back then.” Bowden shrugged again, as if his shoulders were loose and he had to hitch them up every once in a while. “But Jeremy was with Chief Taylor on that case. He’s likely to have some insights I don’t have. No tellin’ what he might know.”

“Thanks again,” Andrew called over his shoulder to the chief who now stood on the top step, watching them walk away.

“Well, that wasn’t much help,” Dorsey said when they got into the car.

“At least now we know where to find one member of the Beale family.” Andrew started the car and shifted into reverse. “I’d sure like to hear some of this tale from the Beales’ standpoint.”

“I’m wondering what part we’re missing. You know the old, if two people witness an accident, there will be three versions of the same story, what each witness saw, and what really happened.”

“I’ll ask John if he’s been able to get through to anyone in the family. He said he’d be handling the Beales, and I don’t want to step in if he hasn’t been able to locate them yet.”

Andrew made a U-turn and headed out of town while he searched a pocket for his phone. He dialed, then left voice mail.

“I guess we’re still standing down as far as Tim Beale is concerned, but I’m sure John will get back to me on that.” He looked around for landmarks, then said, “Brinkley’s home isn’t too far down from here. He said we’d come to a fork in the road about eight miles outside of town, and to take the left toward Simpson’s Creek. There should be a sign and then it’ll be another mile or so before we come to his house.”

“He tell you what to look for?”

“He said the house is made of logs and sits back a bit on the right. There’s a mailbox with some kind of viney thing growing around it.”

“We should be able to find that.” Dorsey watched out the window as they passed the remnants of the old rice fields on either side of the road. “Interesting, don’t you think, that even Bowden, who was just in high school at the time, knew by the next evening that Beale had been the only person pulled in for questioning?”

“Only one he knew of, anyway.”

“You see anyone else’s name in the Bureau’s file?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Well, think about it. According to Bowden, approximately thirty-six hours after Shannon was discovered to be missing, Chief Taylor declared her dead and named Eric Beale the sole suspect in her murder. No body? No problem. You have to wonder why he jumped on that so fast.” She pointed straight ahead. “There’s the fork in the road. And the sign for Simpson’s Creek.”

Andrew made the left.

“And for reasons I don’t understand, my father was brought into it, just like that,” she murmured.

“Maybe he didn’t accept it all that quickly. We don’t really know how much investigating he and the other agents actually did here. That’s something we need to talk to him about.”

“I would, if I could find him. I’ve been trying to get him to return my calls since I arrived here.”

“You haven’t spoken with him in three days?”

“No.”

“Any idea where he could be?”

“No. He always has his phone with him. If he’s not calling me, it’s because he’s avoiding me.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Very.”

“What do you think’s behind that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe”-she paused for a moment-“maybe he’s off somewhere with Diane, this woman he’s dating. Maybe he just doesn’t want to discuss his love life with me.”

“You think that’s it?”

“No, but it sounded like a good rationalization.”

“Look, if you’re worried, you can take off a few days and go-”

“Nope. Pop’s a big boy. Yes, I’m worried, but I’m not in constant communication with him under normal circumstances, and frankly, I don’t know that he doesn’t just take off sometimes, alone or with a friend. Maybe he’s done just that. Maybe this whole thing has played on his mind so much, he’s just gone off somewhere to work things out in his own head. I don’t know what he’s thinking. And I guess that’s what’s bothering me.”

“We could ask John to send someone to-”

“Uh-uh. The last thing he needs right now is to think the Bureau is looking for him. For whatever reason. I think I just have to let it be. For now.”

She turned her head to look out the window. “There’s the log house.”

Andrew pulled to the right and parked alongside the rustic post-and-rail fence. The small house was set back from the road, sheltered beneath a stand of live oaks.

“You think he has the file?” Dorsey got out of the car and waited for Andrew.

“It’s certainly possible. Big case-probably the biggest case of his career, file shifted around from place to place, it’s easy enough to explain how it could get misplaced.” Andrew stopped to roll up his shirtsleeves. “Make one hell of a souvenir. Bloody shirt and all.”

“Let’s go see if he has it.”

“If he admits to having it. I’m betting he won’t.”

“That’s one bet I won’t make.”

They walked up the dirt driveway and followed a path made of cut slices of tree trunk. They knocked on the front door, but no one answered. Back behind the house, a dog began to bark.

“Maybe around back.” Andrew motioned to the right. They followed the path to its end near an open porch, where a man slept on a hammock.

Andrew cleared his throat, and the old dog on the porch rose reluctantly and made a show of barking some more.

The man jerked in his sleep and opened his eyes.

“Jeremy Brinkley?” Andrew asked.

“Yeah.” The one-time police officer ran a hand over his face as if to wipe the sleep away. “Sorry. Must have dozed. Blood pressure medication. Makes me drowsy. You Shields, the guy who called?”

“Yes.”

“You got some ID?” Brinkley was fully awake and standing.

Andrew met him halfway to the hammock and handed over his badge, which Brinkley scrutinized. He handed it back, then looked at Dorsey and said, “Yours?”

She took it from her bag and handed it over. Brinkley gave it a quick glance, then returned it.

“Too hot out here. Come on inside.” He motioned to the two agents to follow him. “Not you, Barney. You stay,” he told the dog, who then lay down in a grassy patch near the back steps.

“Water?” he offered before turning on the spigot in the narrow, dark kitchen.

“No thanks,” Dorsey and Andrew both responded at once.

Brinkley filled a large glass for himself, then gestured toward a closed door. “We’ll talk in there.”

He led them into a small room that smelled of damp wood and cats and was cooled by an ancient air conditioner. There was one armchair and a loveseat in desperate need of a slipcover. He pointed to the loveseat, and the agents sat. Brinkley took the armchair and turned it to face them.

“You said on the phone this had something to do with the Shannon Randall case.” He directed the question to Andrew. “What’s up with that after all these years?”

“Officer Brinkley-” Andrew began.

“Not Officer Brinkley anymore,” he corrected. “I’ve been retired for several years now.”

“Once law, always law,” Andrew replied.

“Hey, you’re right on about that.” Brinkley nodded. “In my heart, I’m still wearing the badge. I watch those TV shows-shit, CSI?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Never seen a case worked the way they work theirs. Not in this little town, anyway. Christ, the biggest case we ever had was the Randall case, and we didn’t even have a body. No DNA testing back then, though we could test for blood type. We had to solve every case with good old-fashioned detective work.”

“That’s still the best way,” Andrew said.

“Oh, yeah.” Brinkley nodded his enthusiasm, a broad grin on his face. “Now, Agent Shields, tell me why you’re interested in Shannon Randall after all these years.”

“Officer Brinkley-”

“Hey, it’s Jeremy.” Brinkley leaned forward in his chair, his forearms resting on his thighs.

“Jeremy, the story hasn’t broken yet, so I’m going to have to ask for your confidence. We’re trying to learn as much as we can as quickly as we can, before the media grabs on to it.”

Brinkley looked from one agent to the other. “What’s the big mystery? The case was solved twenty-four years ago.”

“Not exactly,” Andrew told him.

“What are you talking about? I was part of it, I was there when we picked up Eric Beale for questioning, I was there when-”

“Whose idea was it to question Beale?” Andrew interrupted.

“Chief Taylor’s,” Brinkley replied without hesitation.

“What put him on to Eric, do you remember?”

“Yeah. He was the last person seen with Shannon that night. He left town with her at least an hour after he said he’d dropped her off. Kimmie White saw them. The chief called her and the other two girls Shannon hung around with as soon as school was over to see what they knew. The other two didn’t have much to say, but Kimmie gave a statement to the chief that afternoon.”

“Did anyone else claim to have seen them leaving town?” Dorsey asked.

“No. Just Kimmie. But that was enough. It placed him with her after he said he’d let Shannon out on Montgomery Street. Showed he lied. Shot his story to shit.”

“Kimmie was credible?” Dorsey asked.

“Hell, yes. She was one of Shannon ’s best friends. They’d grown up together. Her dad’s the doctor in town, one of the deacons at the reverend’s church.” He was looking more and more perplexed. “She wouldn’t have said she’d seen them if she hadn’t.”

Brinkley warily watched them both.

“You want to tell me what this is all about? Why’s the FBI sending two agents down here to talk over an old case?”

“There’s been a bit a development,” Andrew told him.

“What kind of development?” Brinkley frowned.

“This is going to come as a bit of a shock, Jeremy, but Shannon Randall’s body was found a few weeks ago on a small island off Georgia,” Andrew told him.

“No shit? After all these years?” Brinkley’s smile returned. “But hey, that’s good, right? Now the family can have some closure, right?”

“When she was found, she’d been dead less than eight hours.”

Brinkley’s smile faded slowly as Andrew’s words began to sink in.

Finally, he said, “That just ain’t possible.”

“It’s not only possible, it’s true. Blood type, fingerprints, dental records, all matched. She’s been positively identified by one of her sisters,” Andrew assured him.

“But how the hell…” Brinkley got up and began to pace the length of the small room. “I don’t understand this. How could she have just died now?”

“The obvious answer is that she wasn’t dead then,” Dorsey stated.

“But how?” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his cutoff khakis. “I just don’t understand…”

“Twenty-four years ago, Shannon left home, apparently voluntarily, though we’re still looking into that,” Andrew explained.

“But Eric, he had that shirt with all her blood on it. He had her stuff under the seat of his car…” Brinkley was still trying to come to terms with the fact that things were not as they had seemed.

“That’s right, he did.” Andrew nodded. “Do you recall how he explained that?”

“He said she was beaten up when he picked her up and he gave her the shirt to clean herself up with.”

“Looks like he was telling the truth.”

“I can’t believe this, man.” Brinkley ran a shaking hand through thinning hair. “Eric Beale…he was charged with her murder. He was fucking executed!”

“We’re trying to understand how that happened, Jeremy. Obviously, your recollections will be crucial to helping us figure it out,” Dorsey told him.

“Shit. Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever I can tell you.” Brinkley sat back down, still dazed, still visibly shaking.

“After Kimmie White said she’d seen Eric and Shannon driving out of town, Chief Taylor brought Eric in for questioning.” Andrew started the ball rolling.

“Yeah. Right after the chief talked to Kimmie, we went straight on down to the gas station where Eric worked, picked him up, brought him in. Chief questioned him himself.”

“You weren’t in the room with them?”

“No. After we brought him in, the chief took him into a small room off the lunchroom in the old station. Closed the door, they were in there most of the afternoon. When the chief came out, he said Eric had all but confessed.”

“Then why call in the FBI?” Dorsey asked. “If you already had a confession, or close to one, why call in the Bureau?”

Brinkley shrugged. “I asked Chief Taylor that very thing. He said since it was a murder case, and Shannon being so young and all, and us being such a small department and none of us having much experience with homicide, we’d best let the Feds take over, ’specially since there was no body. I never did understand it myself, no offense to either of you, but it just seemed unnecessary to bring the FBI in. But Chief Taylor, he was pretty firm on wanting the Feds in.”

“When did he tell you that, do you remember?” Andrew asked.

“Must have been pretty soon after he talked to Kimmie and brought Eric in, since it seems like the FBI agents were there the next day. Couple of ’em.”

“That soon, Taylor had decided it was a homicide and Eric Beale was the killer?”

“Best I recall, yeah.”

“Did that seem odd to you at the time?” Dorsey couldn’t help but ask.

“At the time, no, not really. I mean, since Kimmie saw them together and him having that bloody shirt in his car and all, it didn’t seem odd.” Brinkley crossed his legs, one foot pumping nervously.

“And now?” Andrew prodded him.

“Now…I don’t know, man.” He uncrossed his legs, then recrossed them.

“We were told that sometime before Shannon disappeared, there’d been some sort of bad blood between Eric and the chief’s nephew,” Andrew said.

“Oh, Jeff Feeney.” Brinkley nodded. “Yeah, they did get into it a few times. Last time might have been sometime before Shannon was kill…disappeared.”

He exhaled loudly.

“Where’s she been all this time?”

“She’s been around. Here and there,” Andrew told him. “She had a hard time of it.”

“She been on the streets all that time?” Brinkley searched Andrew’s face.

“It’s all going to come out soon enough.” Andrew nodded. “Yeah, she’s been on the streets since she left Hatton.”

“Son of a bitch.” Brinkley shook his head. “Son of a bitch.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. “How’d she die?”

“Shot through the heart at close range,” Andrew replied.

“Someone wanted to make damn sure she was dead.”

“It appears that way, yes.”

“Wow.” Brinkley got up and paced, his hands in his pockets. “Wow. All this time, she’s been…wherever she was. And Eric…Jesus, man, that poor son of a bitch.”

“You can understand why we want to get a handle on what went on back then.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Brinkley continued pacing.

“So if you can think of any reason why Chief Taylor might not have considered anyone else for Shannon ’s murder…”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Maybe that thing with Jeff…I don’t know.”

“You know what that was all about?” Dorsey asked.

“I don’t. All I know is that there was no love lost between the two of them, but what was at the bottom of that?” He shrugged.

“Could the chief have been influenced against Eric because of bad blood between Eric and the nephew?” Dorsey pressed.

“I want to say no”-Brinkley dropped back onto his chair-“but truthfully, I don’t know. I don’t know what it was about, but whatever it was, it had been going on for a while.”

“Is Jeff Feeney still around?” Dorsey asked.

“Yeah. I saw him a few weeks ago at the Little League field, coaching one of his boys.”

“You got an address for him?”

“No, but he’s usually down at the hardware store, Feeney’s, right on Main Street. He took over from his father. And the chief’s widow is still around. Jeff is her nephew, her brother Jed’s oldest boy. She’s still pretty active around town, still living in that big house she and the chief bought and fixed up after her old man died and left her all that money.”

Brinkley stared at the floor for a while as if lost in thought, trying to comprehend it all. Finally, he looked up and said, “That agent they sent down here back then to head up the investigation…”

“Agent Ranieri.” Andrew tensed.

“Yeah. I see him on TV sometimes. Seems like he made a big career for himself after this case was over.” Brinkley scratched the side of his face. “Anyone tell him about Shannon?”

“He’s been told.”

“What’s he got to say?”

“He was as surprised as you are,” Andrew said simply.

“I’ll just bet he was. Ranieri. Yeah, I remember him.” Brinkley nodded. “Seemed like a decent guy. Course, I didn’t have much contact with him, but he seemed like a nice guy. Guess we won’t be seeing him much anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Dorsey frowned.

“On the TV. After this, who’s going to want to have him come on and talk about how the cops should investigate a case?”

“Jeremy, do you know what happened to the police file?” Andrew changed the subject swiftly.

“Is it missing?”

“Chief Bowden can’t locate it.”

“Miz Taylor might know. I think for a time they kept some stuff in the garage, back when the department was being moved.” He shrugged and averted his eyes.

“To the best of your knowledge, was there ever another suspect?” Dorsey asked. “Anyone else who maybe should have been a suspect, anyone who might have had something to do with Shannon disappearing that night?”

“Not as far as I know, uh-uh.” Jeremy paused, as if reflecting. “You know, everyone thought Eric did it, just accepted it. Looking back, I’m thinking maybe because his family was such trouble, people expected him to be trouble too. Funny thing, though, Eric always seemed to be different from the rest of the Beales, you know what I mean? Smarter. But maybe people didn’t know that. Maybe that’s why no one really questioned that it was him. It was just, Eric did this. Eric killed her.”

“And the case was built from there,” Dorsey said.

“Pretty much, yeah. Everyone was talking about how Eric used to follow Shannon around, but she was just a freshman, you know? All her friends said how he had a thing for her but she was only interested in him as a friend. So it wasn’t a secret, you know, that he had the hots for her.” Jeremy got up and took a sip from the glass of water. “Then, when Kimmie swore she saw them heading out of town and no one ever saw her again, well, that pretty much sealed it.”

“There was a break-in at the church the night Shannon disappeared.” Andrew changed the subject.

“Right. The money from the carnival was stolen.” His head bobbed up and down. “When I got in to work on Thursday morning, the chief said he’d gotten a call from old Mrs. Randall-Mrs. Randall, senior, I mean-after he got home the night before. Said there’d been some money stolen, but we could wait until the morning to come out to make the report.”

“Is that usual?” Dorsey asked.

“Not unusual. Mrs. Randall said her husband had already locked up the church after choir practice and she didn’t want to disturb him to go back over and open the church back up again. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Do you remember what you did the next morning?” Andrew backed Dorsey off with a glance.

“Sure. We met Mrs. Randall at the church around eight thirty. She showed us around the reverend’s office, showed us the drawer.”

“You take any prints?”

“Yeah. As I recall, they were pretty blurred. Nothing distinct, there were just too many of them. Some were the reverend’s, some were Mrs. Randall’s, we knew that, but if there was someone else’s prints there, we couldn’t have told you back then who they belonged to.”

“What areas did you dust for prints, besides the office?”

“None, that I recall. We were just finishing up on the desk when we heard screeching and yelling from the community center where the senior citizen’s breakfast was taking place. We ran down and there was Mrs. Randall, Shannon’s mom, yelling at her husband that she couldn’t find Shannon anywhere.” Brinkley shook his head. “At first, there was so much screeching, I couldn’t understand what she was saying. Then she talked to the chief, and they started searching for her. They searched around the house, the church, all around the town. Mrs. Randall had called all Shannon ’s friends but no one had seen her since the night before.”

“Anyone question Franklin Randall at the time?”

“About what?”

“About the fact that his daughter had gone missing and no one seems to recall seeing him between the time he left the church and eleven thirty or so when his wife arrived home from an evening out with her sister.”

“I’m sure we did question him, we questioned everyone. Did we at any time think Reverend Randall had anything to do with Shannon ’s disappearance? No.” He paused and looked at Andrew long and hard. “Are you saying you think the Reverend had a hand in whatever happened to her?”

“I’m saying someone did and it looks like it wasn’t Eric Beale. I was just wondering if anyone talked to him.”

“Yes, we talked to him.”

“What was his demeanor?”

“His demeanor?” Jeremy repeated sarcastically. “His demeanor was that of a man who’d just found out his daughter was missing and probably had been since the night before and he hadn’t known it. What the hell do you think his demeanor was?”

He continued to glare at Andrew. “Look, we had an eyewitness who placed her in Eric Beale’s car-Eric’s speeding car-on the road out to the lake. We searched the lake, we searched the woods, we searched the park. The FBI had their team out there with us, even had a few divers. We had better’n half the town searching for that girl for two, three days. She was nowhere to be found. The only trace of her was in Eric’s car.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and softened just a little.

“Look, not trying to make excuses now, but back then, no one gave more’n a passing thought to the possibility that Shannon might have run away. She just wasn’t the type to do that, you know what I mean? Everyone in town knew her, everyone knew she was a happy kid, a good kid from a good family. She never got into any trouble, she was a good student, she played sports, she didn’t hang with a bad crowd. She was an all-around solid kid. So for a kid like that to be gone, someone had to have taken her. And for her not to be found, we just all figured she had to be dead. And with her blood in Eric’s car and him being seen with her, it just followed that he’d done something really bad to her. No one ever figured it had been any other way than what Chief Taylor said it was.”

“That Eric had killed her and hidden her body in a place where it couldn’t be found?” Andrew stood. There was nothing else to be learned here.

“Even the FBI believed it.” Brinkley stood as well. “That made it so, far as everyone around here was concerned. No one ever doubted that Eric was guilty. The chief said he was. Said he’d all but confessed to him. Why would he have told us that if it wasn’t true?”

“Good question,” Dorsey said.

“Yeah.” Brinkley rocked back and forth on his heels thoughtfully.

“Sure makes you wonder what was at the bottom of all that, don’t it?”