Mariah Stewart - Last Look

“Right. The oldest is Natalie, now Natalie Randall-Scott, the state senator. She was twenty-one, away at college in 1983. They barely talked to her at all back then. The next sister is Aubrey-she’s not married. She’s the one who has the television show, sort of a Southern Martha Stewart, if I understand correctly. She’s rumored to be in line for a national show. She was seventeen, a high school senior, when Shannon disappeared. Shannon was the third child, and the last was Paula Rose, who was three years younger than Shannon. She’s a minister in the church previously served by her father and grandfather.”

“Mom and Dad are both still alive, I know. But what about the grandparents?”

“Martha and Paul Randall. Grandma’s still with us, Reverend Paul passed on a few years ago.”

“One of the sisters might know what it was Shannon was running away from,” she murmured, “if in fact she ran and wasn’t abducted.”

They drove a mile in silence.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For?”

“For not shutting me out of this. I know you’re letting me closer than John wanted me to be.”

He chose his words carefully.

“John didn’t exactly tell me what to do here-he rarely does. I don’t know that he’s afraid anyone would recognize you-why would they?-or figure out you’re Matt’s daughter. Your last name is Collins, not Ranieri. No one connected with the case, outside a very few individuals within the Bureau, would know, which is why he doesn’t want your name on any reports. You just don’t know who might read them inside the Bureau.”

“He doesn’t think anyone would…” Dorsey looked confused.

“Your dad had a great career with the Bureau, and left to have an even better one as a crime analyst, or whatever they’re calling him on TV these days. There might be some who are jealous of his success.”

“Jealous enough to call the media and tell them that Matt’s daughter is secretly investigating the case?”

Andrew shrugged. “Hey, people can be unpredictable, you know that. The bottom line is, we just have to play this whole thing very smart. Like I said, Mancini doesn’t want it out there that you’re Matt Ranieri’s daughter and he’s right about you not signing reports. You’re not assigned to the case. He certainly doesn’t want the Bureau to be embarrassed.

“On the other hand, Edith Chiong obviously responded to you better than she did to me. It was in the best interest of the investigation for you to do the talking, and for me to observe.” He took note of the highway sign directing them toward their exit.

“The notes will be in your handwriting and will go into the file,” she murmured. “No need to even mention that I was there.”

“For the record, I think Mancini knew going in that you weren’t going to play silent partner.” Andrew changed lanes. “And let’s face it, there are going to be times when the interests of the investigation will best be served by you doing the talking.”

“Because I’m a woman.”

“Simple fact.” He shrugged. “Some people relate better to women, some to men. We’ll go with whatever best suits the circumstances.”

“Fair enough.”

Dorsey used the controls to bring her seat back up. “Why do you suppose he agreed so quickly to let me in on this?”

“I’m sure he had his reasons. Maybe he thought you’d try to investigate on your own, and that wouldn’t have been good for anyone.”

“So at least this way he thinks he can keep an eye on me?”

“I’m not reporting back to him on what you are or are not doing, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” For some reason, the idea that he was spying for John annoyed the hell out of him.

“Sorry,” she said after a few silent minutes had passed. “But you have to admit, the devil you know, and all that…”

“I don’t really know all of his motives, but I do know he’d declined to bring another agent into the case, so as long as you’re not flaunting your pedigree and no one in the Bureau figures out you’re here, I think he’s just going to leave things the way they are. As long as it works.”

“Do you think it’s working?” she asked.

“You did a good job with Edith Chiong. The Randalls might be a little tougher. We’ll play that by ear, see what kind of a read we get on them. They’ve gone through a lot in the past few days.”

“About that.” Dorsey turned in her seat to face him. “Have you seen any news reports about this?”

“No, but I haven’t been watching television. The newspapers I read at breakfast this morning didn’t have the story, either.”

“I totally expected this to be everywhere. I even told my dad not to answer his phone unless he knew for certain who was on the other end.”

“Guess it just hasn’t been put out there yet.”

“But wouldn’t you expect it to have been? This is a story. How is it that even the local papers haven’t picked up on it? I mean, if this had been your daughter, or your sister, wouldn’t you be screaming about the incompetence of the FBI or the police or something?”

“Maybe not if I was one of the Randall sisters, and my screaming announced to the world that my sister was a hooker.”

“Still, it seems odd to me. My first thought was that this was going to be a bomb of a story, a PR nightmare for the Bureau. But then…silence.”

“Has anyone from the press tried to get in touch with your father? Has anyone contacted him?”

“He had a call from Owen Berger the other day, but I told him not to return it.”

“Are you sure that’s why Berger was calling? Your dad does guest spots on his show a lot, doesn’t he?”

Dorsey nodded.

“Well, maybe he was calling about a different case. There was that model that disappeared out in Oregon last weekend. Berger could have been calling about that.”

“It’s possible,” Dorsey agreed. “You’re probably right. It doesn’t make sense that Berger could know about Shannon and no one else in the media would know. And he certainly wouldn’t miss an opportunity to break the story. As soon as I talk to my dad, I’ll ask.”

“Then let’s assume the story isn’t out because the family doesn’t want it out there.” He slowed for the exit and eased into the far right lane. “Does that tell you anything?”

She thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “It tells me that no one’s told Eric Beale’s family that Shannon ’s been alive all these years. They’re the ones who would be doing all the screaming. They still don’t know… God, what a horrible shock this will be to them.”

“John assured me that he’s handling that. Let’s just hope he finds them before the story hits the wires.”

The main street in Hatton, South Carolina, was decidedly Southern. The houses lining either side were brick or clapboard, and most dated from the 1880s or earlier, the town fathers having surrendered to their Northern occupiers rather than see their homes burned to the ground. In some families, this was still whispered about, as it implied a level of cooperation much of the South had disdained. But in retrospect, it had been a damned good idea, Dorsey thought, since most of the town had survived the invasion of their Northern aggressors and now qualified as a historic site.

Live oaks lined the wide boulevard on either side and their moss-covered branches met in the middle to form a canopy over the street. Large, gracious homes with porticos and porte cocheres sat well back on generous, lush green lawns, their drives long and winding. Andrew slowed the car to a near crawl. Somehow he felt speeding on this street would have been tantamount to running through a church yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Quite the place,” Andrew remarked, watching for the Randalls’ street.