Last Look Read Free Page B

didn’t invest a lot of time looking for her—hookers come and hookers go. The roommate apparently had gone in to talk to the cops several times, but not much was done. No APBs, no mention in the news, nothing.”
    “And…?” Dorsey felt impatience rise within her chest.
    “And…I’ll cut to the chase. The victim has been positively identified as Shannon Randall.”
    “Not possible.” Dorsey felt herself relax. This had nothing to do with her after all. “Shannon Randall died in 1983. The state of South Carolina executed her killer, remember? This has to be a mistake, Decker.”
    “Shannon Randall’s family was notified, Dorsey. Her sister went to the morgue and identified her. It’s Shannon.”
    “Someone’s playing a nasty hoax on them. Not funny.”
    “The dental records match. Fingerprints from the body matched fingerprints on items from Shannon’s room that her mother had kept all these years. They’re running DNA from the hairbrush the mother sent down. The results won’t be back from the lab for at least a week, you know how that goes. But the sister was positive once she saw the birthmarks. The body is definitely that of Shannon Randall.”
    “It has to be a mistake,” she insisted, a buzzing starting inside her head.
    “If a mistake was made, it was made in 1983,” he said softly.
    “If this is true…” She shook her head, swallowed hard. “If this is true…if this is really Shannon Randall…
the
Shannon Randall…”
    She took a deep breath, blew it out again, still trying to gather her thoughts.
    “If this is true, who’s going to tell my father?”
    “Well, we were hoping you could give us a hand with that….”
             
    The ringing phone sounded so far away, farther still if one pulled a pillow over one’s head.
    Which is what Special Agent Andrew Shields had done in an effort to muffle the incessant noise. Finally, recognizing the futility of his efforts, he rolled out from under the pillow and felt along the bedside table for his cell phone.
    He blinked several times to clear his vision. He picked up his watch and blinked again. It was barely five in the morning. There was only one person who’d be calling him this early. And odds were, it wasn’t going to be a social call.
    “Shields.”
    A cheery voice greeted him. “Good morning, Andrew.”
    He knew it. John Mancini. His boss. Andrew sat up and ran a hand over his face.
    “Morning, John.”
    “How’s it going?”
    “Not bad, for the middle of the night.”
    “Oh, did I wake you?”
    “Very funny.” Andrew covered a yawn.
    “So I was looking over the assignments last night, and I noticed you’re working on the Gilchrist case.”
    “Right.”
    “I need you somewhere else.”
    Andrew waited. He’d been half-expecting this. The Gilchrist case wasn’t exactly low profile, and he knew several of the other agents working the case were less than happy when he’d been assigned to join them. Less than happy? Who was he kidding? A couple of them looked downright pissed to see him show up on the job that first day.
    Andrew wasn’t sure he could blame them.
    “Andy?”
    “Yeah—I’m listening.”
    “I need you to pack for maybe a week.”
    “Where am I going?”
    “Shelter Island, Georgia, to start…”
    “What’s there?” Andy asked.
    “A public-relations nightmare, if what I’m hearing is true.” John sighed.
    “What’s this all about?”
    “It’s about a twenty-four-year-old case that just came back to life.”
    “Want to fill me in?”
    “In 1983, the Bureau got a call to lend a hand with an investigation in Hatton, South Carolina. One of the daughters of the local preacher had gone missing two days earlier, and all indications were that she’d been murdered by a young guy she knew from town. The Bureau sent a team with one of its up-and-comers—Matt Ranieri—to lead the investigation.”
    “Ranieri. He’s the guy on TV every time there’s a big case ongoing. He’s like Mr.