Mariah Stewart - Last Look

He pushed back his chair and walked to the bar on the opposite side of the room to place their order. Someone dropped coins into an ancient jukebox, and Otis Redding started singing about watching the tide roll away.

“He was from Georgia, you know.” Andrew returned with two glasses of beer.

“Who?”

“Otis Redding.”

“Oh.” She smiled her thanks for the beer and took a sip. It was delightfully cold. “I didn’t know.”

Andrew tapped his fingers on the table, then said, “So, let’s cut to the chase. What is it you want?”

“You’re kidding, right?” She almost laughed in his face. “I thought I made myself clear on the phone.”

“On the phone you said you wanted to stop down to talk with me. You’re here. Now I’m asking what you want.”

She stared at him hard across the table. “Please don’t play games with me, Andrew. You know why I’m here.”

He returned the stare for a long moment.

“Look, I don’t know what John Mancini told you…” She stopped and said, “Maybe we should start there. What exactly did he tell you?”

“He told me that you’d be calling, which you did, and that you’d be interested in the Shannon Randall investigation. You mentioned that on the phone as well. He also said you’d probably want to play an active role but I was to keep your fingerprints off everything. He did say he explained to you exactly what that meant.”

“He did.”

“But what he didn’t say was whether or not his terms were acceptable to you.”

“I don’t recall him saying there was a choice.”

“There isn’t.”

“So what part don’t you understand?”

“I don’t know what your expectations are, Dorsey. I don’t know what you’re hoping to find.”

The bartender waved to Andrew that their order was ready, and he excused himself. Dorsey watched him walk to the bar and retrieve the tray holding two steaming crocks of spicy stew. He set one in front of Dorsey and the other at his place, then set the tray on the table behind him.

“They’ve been short on help all week,” he explained as he sat back down in his chair. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”

She tasted a bit of shrimp. “It’s spicy.”

“I probably should have warned you.”

“No, it’s fine. Delicious, really.”

They ate for a few minutes in silence.

“Look, I’m not trying to be a hard-ass.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “I just need to know that you understand exactly how sensitive this is.” There was something almost naively earnest in the way he was looking at her.

“Of course I understand.”

“If anyone suspected that Matt Ranieri’s daughter was anywhere near this investigation-”

“I said I understood.”

“Convince me.”

“I am not to sign any reports, I may not talk to anyone without you present, I may not speak with the media, and I may not initiate anything without your knowledge.”

“I’m sure John told you it was a take-it-or-leave-it situation.”

“Obviously, I took it.”

“But you still didn’t answer my original question. What is it you want?”

“You mean, ultimately?”

“Yes.”

“I want to know the truth. If this woman is definitely Shannon Randall, I want to know where the hell she’s been all these years. And how did she get there? And why?” She placed both hands flat on the table in front of her and stared down for a long time. “And I want to know what happened that night back in 1983. If she knew that Eric Beale had been arrested, tried, and convicted of murdering her. Was she aware he’d been executed?”

“The only thing I didn’t hear you say is that you want to exonerate your father of Eric Beale’s death. You know, of course, that if Beale didn’t kill Shannon, your father is going to be accused of rushing to judgment, of leading the team that prosecuted an innocent man. Of being responsible for his death.”

“If Beale didn’t kill Shannon, my father has a lot to answer for. I am aware of that. So is he.” She nodded slowly. “Believe me, no one is more aware than he is.”

“And you really think you could be impartial? We may find things that could make your father look really, really bad.”

“I am aware of that possibility, yes.” She sat stiffly now, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

“You don’t think you’re going to be tempted to influence me to bury facts or to-”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Her temper flared. “You can ask anyone I’ve ever worked with, they’ll tell you I don’t give a shit about anything but the bottom line.”

“Which is?”

“The truth, of course.”

“Even if the truth destroys your father.”

“Whatever the outcome, he’ll have to deal with it.” She said softly. “And so will I.”

“And he knows you’re doing this?”

“He encouraged it.” She tried to smile. “Since they wouldn’t let him back on the job to do it himself.”

“He didn’t really expect…” Andrew frowned.

“Of course not.” This time the smile was genuine, if weak. “But he wants to know. Something convinced him back then that Beale killed the girl, that there was no other explanation for her disappearance. If he missed something, he needs to know.”

“And Beale?”

“My father will have to find a way to make his peace with it. I can help find the truth, but I won’t be able to help him deal with the consequences. We both know that.”

“All right, then.” Andrew drained his beer. “Finish up, and we’ll go for a ride. I’ll drive.”

“The body was found here.” Andrew pointed to a slight depression in the sea grass that grew in thin clumps on the side of the dune.

“Who found her?”

“One of the guests at Sheldrake Hall was out jogging early in the morning, and tripped over the body.”

Dorsey stood on the gravel path and looked at the dump site. “Whoever left her here had to know she’d be found before too long.”

“Maybe they were hoping the gators would get to her first.”

“This is a salt marsh,” she said as she knelt to take a closer look. “Gators live in fresh water.”

“Right, but maybe whoever dumped her here didn’t know that.”

“Maybe whoever dumped her here just wanted to get rid of her.” She swatted at a mosquito that flew directly at her face. “Cheeky bugger,” she muttered.

“Or, as you said, wanted to make certain her body would be discovered quickly.” Andrew looked over his shoulder in the direction of the main house, which was hidden from view by a long row of gnarled live oaks that formed an allée from the main road to the front door. “It could have been brought in by car under cover of night. The guests and employees of the inn have all been interviewed, and no one saw or heard anything that night. But the bartender back at the Crab Shack says he saw a light-colored van coming down off the bridge when he was locking up that night. Said it was around ten after three.”

“No make or year on that van?”

“He said it was going fast. He just saw that it was a light van.”

“Maybe the body was brought by boat,” Dorsey suggested.

“A boat would have been seen or heard. Because of the way the currents run, the only safe place to moor is to the immediate left of the old house. Which is why the dock was placed there. A car would actually have been the best way on and off the island if someone was trying to avoid being seen.”

“How was the body left?” Dorsey stood and slapped at the back of her neck.

“Laid on her back, her hands crossed over her stomach. Legs straight out in front of her. I have photos in the car, I’ll show you later.”