Last Look

15

Andrew snapped on the light in his motel room as he came through the door. Outside it was still sunny late afternoon. Inside, with the drapes covering the windows, it was midnight.

He’d really wanted to push for some time with Franklin Randall, but John suggested he back off for tonight after Andrew filled him in on the interviews with the Randall sisters and Jeff Feeney. John also reminded Andrew that with the press beginning to sniff around, he needed to make sure Dorsey kept a very low profile.

“Especially now,” John had said.

“Why especially now?” Andrew had asked, but the question had not been answered.

“Just tell her to keep her head down for a little while longer.”

Andrew knew better than to push. If John wanted to say more, he would.

“What do you want me to do about the reporters?”

“Talk to them. Sooner, rather than later. Keep everyone under control. Say as little as possible at this point, but make sure everything you say is true. Don’t say anything you’ll need to apologize for later. God knows we’re going to be doing enough backpedaling on this case as it is.”

“You think maybe you should send someone down to handle this? Maybe someone from PR?”

“No, you’ll be fine,” John assured him. “Besides, there’s no one who knows what’s going on better than you. I don’t want anyone thinking we’re spinning this. It is what it is.”

“I’ll type up my reports later tonight and e-mail them in the morning.” Andrew pushed aside one edge of the drapes and peered out through the window. The news vans that had followed him were parked in the lot where their drivers would have clear view of his door. Shit.

This was the last thing he needed.

“Listen, John, about Eric Beale’s family…”

“It’s covered, Andrew.”

“Something was going on between this Jeff Feeney character and both the brothers. We’re going to need to talk to someone in the family, and soon. Preferably Tim Beale, though if we could track down the mother-”

“Not yet.”

Andrew frowned. It wasn’t like John to be evasive when it came to a case one of his agents was working on.

“When, then?”

“I’ll let you know. For now, just let me handle them from this end.”

“All right,” Andrew said slowly. He was feeling sandbagged and he didn’t like it. No point in mentioning it, though. John obviously had an agenda he wasn’t in the mood to discuss.

“How’s Agent Collins doing?” John changed the subject.

“Fine. Good.”

“Think she’d fit in with the rest of the unit?”

“You thinking about bringing her on?” Andrew watched as one of the cameramen got out of his van and began to chat with a reporter from another station.

“She’s expressed an interest, and everything I’m hearing about her is good.”

“Yeah. She’s good, John. Real good. She’d fit in just fine.”

“Then I’ll have a talk with her when this is all over, see what we can work out. For the time being, just keep her out of the public eye. Any idea how much longer before you’ll be able to wrap this up?”

“A few more days, at least. We have a picture emerging but it isn’t clear yet.” Andrew filled John in on the theories he and Dorsey had tossed around. “It’s like a big puzzle, and we’re still missing a lot of the pieces.”

“Sometimes too many possibilities can be worse than too few,” John said, “and I’m referring to the old case as well as the new. That many possible motives, you can make yourself crazy trying to figure it out. Of course, there’s an upside to that, too.”

“What’s that?”

“When you get that many people involved, sooner or later someone is bound to step out from the crowd on their own. It doesn’t sound as if any of these people are professional criminals,” John told him. “Sooner or later, someone’s guilt is going to get the best of him. Or her.”

“I can only hope.” Andrew let the curtain fall back. “So you’ll get back to me on the Beales?”

“Soon as I have something to tell you,” John assured him. “Good luck with the press. Gotta run.”

Andrew disconnected the call and dropped the phone on the bed wishing he’d pushed John a little more about the Beale family. But he knew better. When John had something to say, he said it. If he was keeping something to himself, he had a reason and he wouldn’t be sharing that until he was ready.

He hung his jacket over the back of the chair and debated whether to order a pizza or take a shower. If he called for pizza, chances were there’d be a reporter in his face when he opened the door. For a moment he wished they were still staying at the inn. At least they had room service and the rooms were nicer. This motel room was anonymous, too much like every other motel room he’d ever been in. It made him feel displaced, and he’d had plenty of that over the past year. Now he realized he’d traveled so much just to keep himself moving, to keep from thinking too deeply about too many things. For a while, it had worked.

Maybe shower first, he thought, then slip out when it was dark. Maybe Dorsey could meet him somewhere. He’d really been enjoying her company these past few days. She was smart. Had a good sense of humor. Took the job seriously. Not to mention the fact that the woman had some depth, and that put her head and shoulders above a lot of the women he’d known. She seemed to have it all. Including, he suspected, scars on her wrists and who knew where else.

His cell phone rang and he thought-hoped-it might be her.

“Agent Shields, this is Chief Bowden.”

“Hey, Chief, how are-”

“I’m over here at the Randall place, and they got a truckload of reporters out there.” Bowden had no time for pleasantries. “Miz Randall, she’s awfully upset about the whole thing, didn’t know what she should do, so she called me. I personally don’t mind going on out there and talking to those folks, but frankly, I don’t have a damned thing to say to them. I don’t know where y’all are going with this thing. Now, Miz Randall did call the daughters, but they don’t want to speak with the press either right now, so I’m asking you to come on over here and do the talking. I just don’t know what to say.”

“You’re right not to say anything, except maybe that the FBI is handling the investigation, Chief. Thanks for the heads-up,” Andrew said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“’Preciate it if you’d hurry.”

“Ten minutes, tops,” Andrew promised. “Oh, Chief? You can tell Mrs. Randall that I’ll be wanting to speak with her husband after the press conference. I’d appreciate you setting that up for me.”

“Do what I can,” the chief replied. “He’s not in a good way right now, from what I understand.”

So much for a shower and time to type up some reports for John, Andrew thought as he grabbed his jacket from the chair. He knew he looked a little shopworn, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He wasn’t as adept at speaking to the media as some others in the unit were, and he’d assumed that John would send in someone from the Bureau who was proven at handling the PR aspects of the job since this was such a big case. But John had declined that as quickly as he’d declined to discuss the Beales. Andrew would have only the ten-minute drive from the motel to the Randalls’ to figure out what he wanted to say and the best way to say it. He just hoped the network hadn’t picked up the story.

The last thing he wanted was to face any of the reporters who’d covered the story about Brendan. They’d be compelled to ask about that situation, and Andrew wasn’t ready to talk about it in public. Hell, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d spoken about it in private. Once or twice with his sister, Mia, and once with Dorsey, and that had barely skimmed the surface. He still wasn’t able to face his cousins Connor and Aidan. The tragedy had left a hole inside him big enough for a small child to walk through.

He knew he should call Dorsey, but decided to do that from the car. He grabbed his phone and headed outside, where he was promptly approached by several reporters.

“I’m on my way to the Randalls’ home.” He held up both hands as if warding off their questions. “If you’d like to meet me there, you’ll hear everything I have to say on the matter.”

Ignoring their protests, Andrew got into his car and locked the doors. He dialed Dorsey’s number, knowing she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say.

“Hey,” he said when she answered, her voice sounding somewhat groggy. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah. But it’s okay.” She yawned quietly. “Sorry. You thinking about trying to sneak out past the gathering crowd for a bite?”

“Too late for that,” he told her. “Listen, I got a call from Chief Bowden. He’s asked me to come to the Randalls’ to deal with the press.”

“You’re going now?” Suddenly she was wide awake. “You’re on your way?”

“Yes. Look, I’m sorry, but you know we have to keep any involvement on your part from becoming public knowledge.”

“It’s your case,” she said somewhat stiffly.

“That’s not what this is about. No one wants a camera picking up your face so that everyone in the Bureau knows you’re here. I wouldn’t leave you out if I didn’t have to.” He paused. “I hope you know that.”

“Will you give me a call when you get back?”

“Of course. But you know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to, right?” He wanted to hear her say it. For some reason, it was important to him to know that she didn’t think he was deliberately cutting her out.

“I do.” She sighed. “Yeah, I understand. You did the right thing. And it’s not your fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault, Dorsey. It’s just what is right now. But as soon as I get back, I’ll fill you in on whatever I can drag out of Franklin.”

“You’re going to talk to Franklin?”

“I’m thinking a little quid pro quo here. I’ll handle the press for them, but only if Franklin agrees to talk to me after.”

“Why not make it before? What if he weasels out?”

“I’m not going to let him do that. They’re going to understand up front that he talks to me, or I don’t talk to the press for them. Which means either they talk-which you and I both know, no one in that family wants to do-or they’ll have reporters camped on their front lawn until they do.”

“So I guess I should tune in the eleven o’clock news to get the official version.”

“I’m hoping to be back before then,” he told her. “I promise to fill you in on everything.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Well, you could sneak out and pick up pizza and some beer after the news vans leave.”

“I’d be glad to, but by the time you get back here, the beer will be warm and the pizza will be cold.”

“Hey, anyone who can’t deal with cold pizza has no place in law enforcement.”

“I trust the same cannot be said for warm beer.”

“Good point. Beer’s always better at the proper temperature.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m here.” His eyes scanned both sides of the street for a parking spot on Sylvan. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.”

“Good luck. With the press and with Franklin,” Dorsey said as she hung up.

Andrew found a spot at the end of the block and parked the rental car. He walked toward the house, thinking about what he’d say once the microphones were turned on and the cameras began to roll. And he thought about what he wanted to ask Franklin about his relationship with Shannon. Dealing with reporters was going to be far easier than accusing a man of molesting his own daughter.

He was halfway up the Randalls’ driveway before anyone noticed him. He quietly made his way to the front porch, where the door opened before he had time to knock.

“Agent Shields, we are so grateful that you agreed to come over here and deal with those people for us,” Judith Randall said immediately. “I apologize for having cut you off so rudely the other day.”

“Perfectly understandable, Mrs. Randall,” Andrew told her as she closed the door behind him. “You’ve been under enormous strain.”

“I appreciate your kindness.” She led him into the living room where Chief Bowden sat talking quietly with Franklin.

“Agent Shields, I’m real happy to see you.” The chief stood but seemed not to know what to do next. “You saw the crowd outside…”

“I did, and I’ll be out to talk to them in a moment. Would you mind going out and letting them know I’ll have a statement for them? I just need a moment with the Randalls.”

“Be glad to.” The chief excused himself.

Once the door had closed behind Bowden, Andrew turned to Franklin. “I’m willing to give you a hand with this, but first, I want your agreement to meet with me as soon as I finish up outside.”

“Agent Shields, my husband is not well,” Judith protested. “The doctor said he should not be agitated. Perhaps tomorrow-”

“Tonight,” Andrew told her, though he continued to look at her husband. “Or I leave now, and you can face whatever questions the media wants to ask by yourselves.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Franklin spoke for the first time since Andrew had entered the house. “Go tell them whatever it takes to make them go away, and I’ll give you as much time as you need. Just make them go away.”

“I have your word?” Andrew asked.

“Of course you have my word. I just said so, didn’t I?” Franklin shot back.

Andrew opened the door and joined Bowden on the porch. The chief stood with his hands on his hips, looking over the crowd that had grown since he’d arrived several hours earlier. Where there had been only reporters, now neighbors of the Randalls’ stood on the sidewalk and the curb, speaking softly among themselves. Their collective murmur created a low-pitched hum.

“I got you some microphones set up here.” Bowden pointed to the end of the porch where several mics stood waiting for him.

“Thanks.” Andrew walked to the stand of mics as the cameras were turned on. Some of the reporters weren’t quite sure who he was, but he looked as if he was about to speak, and after several hours of waiting, that by itself made him worthy of their attention.

“I’m Special Agent Andrew Shields, FBI. I’ll answer whatever questions I can, but in return, once we’re finished here, you’ll leave, and let the Randall family have some peace. Anyone who has a problem with that can leave now or face being arrested by Chief Bowden once we’re done.”

He paused and looked at the crowd, which had grown silent.

“Okay, then. I know there are a lot of rumors going around right now, so let me set the record straight.” Andrew cleared his throat as lights flashed on from different parts of the front yard. “Twenty-four years ago, Shannon Randall disappeared and was presumed dead. Though a body was never found, a young man from Hatton, Eric Beale, was arrested and convicted of first-degree murder on circumstantial evidence.” He paused for effect, then added, “Strong circumstantial evidence, but circumstantial all the same. Eight years after his conviction, Eric Beale was executed.”

He glanced around the crowd. It was easy to spot the neighbors amid the reporters. The neighbors stood stock still, as if waiting for a bomb to drop. The reporters were taking down every word.

“Today, in June 2007, we’ve learned that everything we thought back then was wrong. Shannon Randall did not die in 1983.” There was a soft gasp from one of the neighbors at the back of the crowd. “Eric Beale was telling the truth when he said he was innocent. The Hatton Police Department and the FBI both deeply regret the errors that were made that resulted in Eric Beale’s execution. Any time an innocent person pays the ultimate price for a crime he did not commit, we all are diminished by justice not having been served.” Andrew paused for a moment before continuing.

“Several days ago in Georgia, the body of a young woman was positively identified as that of Shannon Randall.” This time there was more than one gasp. Andrew waited until the first wave of buzzing started to subside. “She was killed by a person or persons unknown. Our information is very sketchy at this time, so I’m asking that you be patient with us while we unravel this mystery. We’ll tell you what we know when we know something definitive. Right now, all we know for certain is that the body is that of Shannon Randall. I’ll take a few questions…” He pointed to the reporter nearest the porch.

“What happened to Shannon Randall in 1983? Did she run away? Was she abducted?”

“We believe she was a runaway, but we have no other information at this time.” Andrew cut her off and turned to the left side of the yard. “Next question.”

“Where has she been all these years?”

“We have reason to believe she lived in several different cities throughout the south. Next.”

“Any idea who killed her?”

“No. That’s what ‘person or persons unknown’ means. Next question.”

“How was she killed?”

“She was shot.” No need to add and stabbed, Andrew decided, since it was the gunshot that killed her.

“About the family of the executed man-”

“They’re meeting with someone from the Bureau.” Andrew hoped that was true. “I’m not involved in that aspect of the case, so I can’t answer any questions pertaining to Eric Beale’s family. Next?”

“Was Shannon Randall involved in prostitution? Can you comment on that, Agent Shields?”

Andrew hesitated. John had told him not to utter any words he’d have to eat later. At the same time, he didn’t want to feed the fires of lurid speculation, either.

“Whatever Shannon did or did not do in the time she’s been away from her family is not at issue here. Right now, we have a family who is dealing with the death of their child, grandchild, sister-for the second time. They’re also dealing with a lot of unanswered questions, and I’m going to ask you to respect their privacy. This is a very difficult time for this family. Please allow them to grieve in peace, to bury her in peace. Try to put yourself in their place and respect what they’re going through right now.”

“The FBI was part of the investigation in 1983,” someone toward the back called out. “Is that why you’re here now? To do damage control for the Bureau?”

“I’m here to help find out what happened back then that caused a lot of people to believe that an innocent man was guilty. And I’m here to make sure that whoever is responsible for Shannon ’s death is apprehended and punished.”

“This is a big case,” the reporter added. “How many other agents are involved in this investigation?”

Andrew hesitated briefly before answering as truthfully as he could. “For the time being, I’m the only agent assigned.”

“What about Agent Collins?” Chief Bowden asked from the side of the porch.

Andrew turned to him hoping that his response would not be picked up by the microphones. “Agent Collins isn’t officially assigned.”

Chief Bowden looked at him blankly.

“How does Senator Randall-Scott feel about her sister being a hooker?”

“I’m not going to comment on that.” Even as he spoke, he knew this same crew would be camped out in front of Natalie Randall-Scott’s home within the hour.

“Thanks for your time, everyone. As soon as we know anything else, we’ll be sure to let you all know.” Andrew cut the conference short. The pertinent information had been given. He wasn’t going to feed into speculation.

Ignoring the protests and the rush of questions that followed his announcement, Andrew stepped back inside the house, then looked behind him. Chief Bowden was leaning over the porch rail, talking to a reporter. Andrew walked over in time to hear the chief say, “Dorsey Collins, I’m pretty sure her name is…yes, she’s definitely with the FBI. Maybe she got called out to work another case, maybe that’s what he meant. Maybe he’s waiting for someone to replace her-”

“Chief,” he said pointedly from the doorway.

“I’ll be right there.”

Andrew took a deep breath and closed the door behind him. Hopefully the reporter Bowden was talking to wouldn’t make anything of his remarks. He had briefly thought of asking Bowden not to mention Dorsey’s name, but decided that would make her presence there seem more mysterious than he wanted it to be. Besides, what were the odds someone would have asked?

Apparently better than he’d suspected.

“Thank you, Agent Shields, for handling everything so delicately.” Judith met him in the hallway, tissues clenched in each hand. “For your sensitivity. We still don’t know what to think, what to believe, about Shannon. And the speculation is just going to be more than I can bear…”

Andrew patted her gently on the shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can to find the truth, Mrs. Randall, and to make certain you and your family hear it before anyone else does.”

“We appreciate that.” She dabbed at her eyes.

“Now, where might I find your husband?” Andrew asked.

“He’s back in his office, waiting for you,” she said. “The first door on the right.”

“Thank you.” Andrew started down the hall just as the police chief came back through the door.

“Agent Shields, about Agent Collins-” Bowden called to him.

“She’s not officially on the case,” Andrew told him truthfully.

“Could have fooled me.”

“She’s here as a special observer only. But that information doesn’t need to be shared.”

Andrew debated whether to offer more of an explanation, then decided against it. Maybe later. Right now, he wanted to get on with his questioning of Franklin while the man was still willing.

“Are the reporters leaving?” Andrew asked.

“Some have, some are taking their time,” Bowden told him. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“What if they come back and start asking more questions?” Judith said. “Agent Shields said you’d arrest anyone who didn’t leave…”

“And I will, Miz Randall. But let’s give ’em a few more minutes to pack up their cameras and get themselves moving. Nobody’s answering any more questions until Agent Shields is ready to call another conference, so just don’t you worry about that.”

Andrew started off for his meeting with Randall, wishing Bowden had thought of that before he’d started answering the inquiry about Dorsey. He was hoping that cat wasn’t too far out of the bag.

At the first door on the right, he stopped and knocked lightly on the half-closed door.

“Come in, Agent Shields. And close it behind you.” Franklin Randall sat behind his desk in his wheelchair. He pointed to a dark green leather club chair and said, “Sit there.”

Andrew did as Randall requested.

“Thank you for what you said out there. They all gone yet?”

“Chief Bowden is keeping an eye on the stragglers. He’s making sure the last of them leave.”

“What is it you wanted to know that you didn’t already learn from my wife, my mother, or my daughters?” Franklin said, cutting to the chase.

“I want to know what Shannon was running away from twenty-four years ago, Mr. Randall.” Andrew could be just as blunt. “You have any thoughts on that?”

“No one’s convinced me yet that my daughter ran away. Could have been she was forced.”

“The evidence doesn’t support that.”

“But twenty-four years ago the evidence supported that she’d been murdered by that Beale kid.” Franklin snorted derisively. “Enough evidence then to support a guilty verdict and a death penalty.”

“Right now, I can’t explain how that conclusion was reached, though I do have some theories. But if you look at the facts-”

“Well, which facts are the FBI looking at this time?”

“The facts Shannon gave her roommate, Mr. Randall.”

“ Shannon told this girl she ran away to become a whore?”

“She told her roommate she ran away, yes.”

“And this girl, she’s a whore, too?”

“She’s been working as a prostitute, yes, but-”

Franklin waved his hand at Andrew as if dismissing him.

“Can’t believe anything she says, then.”

“Mr. Randall, stop playing this game with me,” Andrew said calmly. “We both know Shannon ran away and I think we both know why she left and why she never came back.”

“What are you talking about?” Franklin snapped.

“I’m talking about the fact that someone had been sexually abusing your daughter. She ran away to escape further abuse.”

Franklin ’s jaw all but dropped onto his chest.

“What? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” His face went from pale to scarlet in a heartbeat. “Who would have done such a disgusting thing?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Andrew replied levelly.

Franklin stared at Andrew for a very long moment before his eyes widened.

“You are not suggesting…you couldn’t possibly think that I…”

“Most abusers are members of the family, or someone well known to the family.” Andrew spoke firmly, calmly.

“No. No. The very thought of it”- Franklin shook his head-“No. No one would have…no.” He covered his mouth with a badly shaking hand. “Oh, God, no…not my little girl…no.”

“Mr. Randall, we’re fairly certain someone was abusing Shannon,” Andrew repeated. “If it wasn’t you, odds are it was someone close. Was there a family friend who maybe spent a lot of time with your family back then, who would have had access to your daughter?”

“No, no.” Franklin ’s arrogance was gone. In its place was a pain that Andrew could almost feel reaching out to him from across the desk. “There was no one. We did everything as a family back then; I don’t think any of us were hardly ever alone. And being so busy at the church-I spent every day there. We were an active church, you understand. There was something going on there every day.” Franklin ’s voice grew quiet as he seemed to look back in time. “There was hardly a day when I wasn’t there from morning through evening, working side by side with my father. That was his church, he started it in a small place over on Sunset. Built the new church back in 1980, mostly with donations from his congregation.”

“You served as assistant pastor?”

“I did. I assisted my father in every way I could. He was starting to slow down back then, you see. It was his dream-and mine-that I gradually take over for him. The plan was that someday, we’d reverse roles, and I’d be taking the lead and he’d be assisting me.” He appeared totally defeated now. “That wasn’t to be for long, as you can see.”

“Surely you could have continued to preach…?”

“I was in therapy for a very long time after my accident, Agent Shields. The church needed someone who could fully minister to the congregation. Thank God my Paula Rose was ready and able to step in and serve.”

“Did your father spend a lot of time in the company of your daughter, Mr. Randall?” Andrew asked pointedly.

“Of course he did. Shannon helped out in the office.”

“Alone?”

“Well, certainly, she sometimes-” He stopped in midsentence as Andrew’s meaning became clear. His eyes narrowed and he gripped the arms of his chair with knuckles that had gone white. “My father was a man of God, Agent Shields. I won’t have you maligning his name. He no more would have done such a thing than I would have.”

“Are you willing to take a lie detector test, Mr. Randall?” Andrew asked coolly.

“Get out of my house,” Franklin said darkly. “Get. Out. Of. My. House.”

“I’ll be asking formally for the test.” Andrew stood. “In the meantime, if you think of anyone else I should talk to, you have my card.”

Andrew turned and left the room, and the magazine Franklin flung after him hit the doorjamb and flopped to the floor.