Mariah Stewart - Last Look

“So, you were saying?” Andrew tried to steer the conversation back to the night in question.

“Yes, yes. The night Shannon disappeared. My husband and I arrived at the church right around 4:45.”

“You arrived with him?”

“Yes. He was supposed to meet with someone in his office at 5:00, and I had to pick up the proceeds from the church’s winter carnival to take to the bank the next day.”

“Doesn’t the church treasurer do that?” he asked.

“Back then, I was the church treasurer, Agent Shields. On Sunday night, I locked the money in a drawer in my husband’s office, but when I went to get it on Wednesday evening, it was gone. I looked everywhere for that envelope-I’d put it in a brown envelope for safekeeping-but it was nowhere to be found. I looked upstairs, I looked in the church. Why, I even drove home and looked all around the house, thinking maybe somehow I’d picked it up without thinking, but I could not find it.”

“The church didn’t have a safe?” he asked.

“No, not back then.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to take the money home with you?”

“Of course not. We never had a break-in at a church in all the years I’ve lived in Hatton, but homes had been robbed, now and then. It never crossed my mind that someone would steal from a church.”

“Why wasn’t the money deposited in the bank?” Andrew wondered.

“Because Thursday was my banking day. I went once each week, on Thursday morning. My sister, Gloria-she worked in the bank back then, rest her soul-and I met at noon every Thursday. I did my banking business, she took care of the deposits and such for me, and then we would have lunch together. We used to go to a little teahouse down on Montgomery. They had the loveliest little sandwiches and fruit tarts.”

“On that Wednesday, while you were looking for the missing money, your husband was in a meeting?” Andrew steered the interview back to the night in question.

“I believe he was.” She nodded.

“Who was the meeting with?”

Her hands fluttered again. “Truthfully, after all these years, I cannot recall. Goodness knows there are days when I can barely remember my own name, but I believe it was someone from the congregation, someone who was having problems of one sort or another. In any event, I searched for an hour or better at the church, then I went home thinking maybe I’d stuck it into the purse I had with me on Sunday. I was so tired by the time the carnival was finally over, you know, that when I didn’t find the envelope in the drawer, I thought perhaps I’d only imagined I’d put it in there. So I went home and looked in that purse, but of course it wasn’t there. So I searched the house, then went back to the church and searched some more. Missed choir practice that night, I was so busy searching for that envelope.”

“And you never found it?”

Her head moved slowly side to side. “Never did. I finally had to accept the fact that someone had gotten into the church and stole it.”

“So you’re pretty sure you had locked it in Reverend Randall’s desk,” Dorsey asked.

“I am. Which means that sometime between Sunday night and Wednesday afternoon, my husband must have unlocked the desk and either he forgot the money was there, or I’d forgotten to tell him-it was all so long ago, and you know, as much as I hate to admit it, the truth is, my memory isn’t what it used to be. Had I just said that?” She sighed with resignation.

“In any event, someone must have gone into his office and taken the envelope, because it was never found.”

“You reported it to the police?” Andrew resumed his questioning.

“I did. But not until we got home that night. Maybe, oh, 10:30 or so. I spoke with Chief Taylor himself.”

“Did he send someone out to investigate?”

“Oh, yes,” she told him. “First thing in the morning, the chief showed up himself, along with one of his officers. I believe it was that nice young Brinkley boy-what was his first name? Margaret and Ted’s middle boy, I believe he was. He married one of the Connelly girls? Kathleen, maybe?

“Anyway, they met me over at the church around 8:30, and we were downstairs in the office-they took fingerprints all around my husband’s office and around the doorways as well-when I heard a commotion over near the church hall. Well, we went on upstairs, and there was Judith, ranting something fierce at Franklin about Shannon not being in her bed this morning and where was she?”

“Your son was there early that morning for a breakfast meeting,” Andrew read from his notes.

“That’s correct. The senior citizens’ weekly breakfast. Franklin was there in the community room over in the church hall with my husband and a few others. So Chief Taylor and Officer Brinkley picked up the investigation from there and took over. Talked to Judith for a while, talked to Franklin, then the chief called up another officer-Bob Donohue, that was-to take the two of them on home in case Shannon showed up, or called. Of course, they were of no earthly use at that point.”

“I’m sure they were very upset,” Dorsey said.

“You just cannot imagine. Why, we were all just beside ourselves. Nothing like that had ever happened in Hatton before, it was just too hard to believe.”

“What had you believed at the time, Mrs. Randall?” Dorsey asked. “What did you think had happened to Shannon?”

“Well, I thought what everybody thought. I thought that boy had taken her and killed her.”

“You mean Eric Beale?” Andrew resumed his questioning.

“Why, yes, of course.” Mrs. Randall nodded.

“Who first brought up his name, do you remember?”

“I think it must have been Chief Taylor. I vaguely recall one of Shannon’s friends saying something about how the Beale boy was always offering Shannon rides in his car. And then someone said they’d seen Shannon in his car that afternoon.”

“Do you remember who that was?”

“I’m sure I do not, but maybe someone down at the police department might know. Chief Taylor’s been gone now for about seven years-the cancer, you know-but maybe Jeremy Brinkley might remember. He’s retired now, but he lives somewhere nearby. Simpson’s Creek, I think, about six miles outside Hatton on the way to Charleston.”

“We’ll check with him, thank you.”

“And maybe you can talk to that FBI agent who came down here and arrested the boy. He was so sure that boy was guilty. I know he convinced me and my husband that the boy had killed her. That’s who you want to talk to, that FBI man.” She shook her head. “He was so sure, he made us all so sure. Now, looking back, looks like he didn’t know squat. Maybe he was just wanting to finish up his job quickly. If he’d worked a little harder, maybe we’d have found her. Way things were, with him telling us Shannon was dead and that boy had killed her, we never bothered to look for her.”

She shook her head again. “You ask me, he’s the cause of all this. Our girl missing all these years, and that boy convicted and executed. All his family went through…such as his family was. It was still a terrible thing. So I think you should look within your own house, Agent Shields. I’m thinking that’s where the answers lie, if you’re asking why we all believed Shannon was dead.”

“We will be speaking with former agent Ranieri about that,” Andrew assured her.

“I would certainly hope so.”

“Mrs. Randall, do you remember what Shannon ’s state of mind was when you saw her at the church that night?” Dorsey asked.

“What on earth do you mean?” Alert blue eyes narrowed and focused on Dorsey like lasers.

“I mean, did she seem as if something was bothering her? Did she appear upset about anything?”