Mariah Stewart - Last Look

They both nodded.

“So I gave him her things-her Bible, her hairbrush-things she’d mostly touched, and he put them in plastic bags and took them down to Georgia himself. Came back the next day and told us the fingerprints matched. Well, you just can’t imagine…” Nervous fingers scratched the back of her neck.

“But we wanted to make sure there wasn’t somehow some mistake, so Doctor Ellis, he’s been our dentist forever, he sent her dental records down.” She sighed heavily. “They matched, too. They said they’d try to get DNA from the hairbrush, but it would be weeks before those results would be back. Doesn’t matter, though. We know it was her, Natalie saw her. Natalie saw the birthmark on her shoulder. She knew it was Shannon.”

She patted her lap, and the dog jumped onto her from his spot on the floor. She petted him with shaking hands.

“When we first heard, we were thinking, well, mistakes are made every day, but there was that birthmark on the back of her left shoulder the police officer down there described, so one of us had to go to Georgia to look. My husband…well, that was out of the question, and I just couldn’t…even if it wasn’t her, it was somebody’s baby girl, do you see? So Natalie said, don’t worry, Momma, I’ll go. And she did, bless her heart.”

“Were Natalie and Shannon particularly close?” Dorsey asked.

“Not so much as Shannon and Aubrey, due to the age difference. Natalie was in college, and Shannon was just a high school freshman when all this happened.”

“And your youngest?”

“She was just everyone’s baby, you know how that is with the baby sister. She was too young to be too close to any of the others, I’m afraid.” She wiped tears from her face. “I’m sorry, it’s just so hard to understand. So hard to accept…”

“I’m sure it is. We respect what you’re going through, Mrs. Randall,” Dorsey said sympathetically, “and we’re sorry we’re going to have to ask you to relive that all over again. I’m sure looking back is going to be very painful.”

“It isn’t that”-Judith Randall shook her head-“as much as realizing that all these years we’ve spent grieving for her, we should have been searching for her instead…”

“Judith, who you talking to out there?” a man’s voice called from the back of the house.

“Some FBI folks, come to talk about Shannon,” Mrs. Randall replied.

The sound of rapidly approaching wheels on the wooden floor preceded Franklin Randall’s appearance in the doorway, where he sat for a very long moment, his dark angry eyes boring holes through the agents he found sitting in his living room.

“Well, of course the FBI would show up,” he said without emotion. “Gotta cover your tracks from last time, right? I’m surprised they didn’t send that fool who told us all back then Shannon was dead. Lost no time arresting that Beale boy. Gettin’ him convicted. Gettin’ him the death sentence.”

His stony glare focused on Dorsey, and she held her breath, as if expecting him to know.

“Sir, I respect what you’ve gone through, and I’m really sorry for everything,” Andrew told him.

“Sorry isn’t going to make up for all those years-twenty-four goddamn years-when we thought our daughter was dead. And instead of being here, with her family, where she belonged, she’s out doing the devil’s work for someone.” He shook his head. “You sorry about that, too?”

“Yes, sir, we are. We don’t know what happened back then. We’re trying to find out what went wrong with the investigation, and get to the truth,” Andrew said solemnly, adding, “and yes, we are sorry, but we do have to ask some questions of you and your family.”

“You got questions, why don’t you just ask Agent Hot Shot Ranieri? Or is he too busy with his TV appearances to talk to the FBI these days?” Randall spit the words out, and Dorsey felt a deep flush creep up from under her collar and spread clear up to her scalp. “He had all the answers back then, didn’t he? Bet he doesn’t have a lot to say now. Bet we won’t see him on TV admitting he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, left my baby to be forced into a life of sin all these years, sent that Beale boy to his grave. Much as he did come from the wrong side, he still didn’t need to die back then.”

Randall looked as if he was about to jump from the chair and attack them both.

“I understand how terrible this must be-” Andrew began.

“You don’t understand jack-shit, boy.” Franklin Randall turned in his chair and wheeled from the room as quickly as he’d entered it, leaving his wife and the two agents locked in an embarrassed silence in his wake.

“He’s terribly overwrought,” Judith finally said. “He’s feeling the guilt of not having found her before this happened to her. The past few years, since the accident, his focus has been on himself, on his…condition. Having to step down as minister at his daddy’s church was just one more blow. He just didn’t have the stamina anymore. It’s more than he can stand.”

Andrew nodded. “We’re not here to add to your pain, Mrs. Randall, but if we’re going to find out what really happened to Shannon, we’re going to have to speak with everyone in the family. Including your husband.”

“Of course. Maybe leave him till last, if you could? Maybe by the time you get to him, you’ll have learned something to share with him that might help.” She was fiddling with her rings again. “Maybe you should start with me.”

“We appreciate that, Mrs. Randall,” Andrew told her. “Maybe we can start with you telling us a little about Shannon.”

“I don’t know what more I can tell you. A top student. Top athlete. Popular,” Mrs. Randall began, her bottom lip quivering.

“Could we have the names of her friends, the ones she spent the most time with?” Andrew asked.

“Heather Whalen, Carrie Harrison, Kimmie White. The four of them were always together.”

“Do you have any idea where those girls might be now?”

“They’re all still around,” Mrs. Randall replied. “I can get their addresses and phone numbers for you before you leave.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said. “What about boyfriends?”

“No, no, Shannon didn’t have a boyfriend.” The girl’s mother shook her head vehemently. “She was only fourteen years old, for heaven’s sake. Much too young for boys.”

“Mrs. Randall, very often, girls have friends who are boys, not boyfriend, girlfriend. Just…friends.” Dorsey told her. “Were there any boys she was just friends with?”

“Not that I know of. Shannon mostly hung around with her girlfriends. She just didn’t pay any attention to boys at all.” She fell silent, as if recalling how her daughter had been making a living for these past years-how many, they still didn’t know for sure. “She just had no interest at all in boys, Agent…I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Collins.”

“Agent Collins, right.” Judith Randall wet her lips. “ Shannon loved school, she loved teaching Bible at her granddaddy’s church. She loved playing softball. She liked to read. That was all, pretty much. She was just a very good girl. I don’t know what else I can tell you about her that you don’t already know.”

“Let’s go back to that last morning, if we could,” Andrew suggested gently. “How did the day start? Was there anything bothering her? Did she seem to be preoccupied with anything?”

“No, no more than usual.” Judith Randall tried to smile but failed. “You know how teenagers are, Agent Shields. Upbeat and happy one minute, moody and sulking the next.”

“Was Shannon moody that morning?” he continued.