And coming back from the dead at a most inconvenient time, Dorsey was tempted to add. Instead she said, “I’m sure this has been incredibly distressing for all of you.”

“You have no idea, Agent Collins,” Aubrey addressed Dorsey directly for the first time.

“Do either of you remember if Shannon had been upset or depressed in the days before she disappeared?” Andrew signaled Dorsey that the time for his interrogation had come.

“Not that I noticed, no.” Aubrey continued to dab at her eyes with the tissue she’d pulled from a pocket in her skirt. “If she was, she hid it well. And she was sort of private about things, you know? She wouldn’t have said anything. She was big on writing in her diary, but she wasn’t much for talking about things.”

“Any idea where that diary is now?” he asked.

“No. I don’t remember ever seeing it after…well, after Shannon was no longer with us,” Aubrey told them.

“Natalie, had Shannon confided in you about any problems she might have had?” Andrew turned his attention to the senator.

“I was away at college that year and didn’t get home much. I’m afraid I wasn’t there for her, if she needed me,” Natalie said solemnly. She turned to Andrew and asked, “There’s obviously something going on here that we’re not being told. You’ve been here what, three days, and yet you’re still here asking questions. Why?”

Before Andrew could answer, Aubrey asked, “What do you think happened back then, Agent Shields?”

“Our investigation has concluded that Shannon had not been kidnapped but ran away on her own accord.”

“What?” Aubrey gasped.

“That’s preposterous.” Natalie’s face went stony, much as her mother’s and grandmother’s had. “Why, even your own FBI man back then believed Eric had killed her.”

“For the past six years or so, Shannon was living with a roommate in Deptford,” Andrew told them. “She told the roommate she’d been traveling around the South on her own for years. There’s no question she hadn’t been kidnapped, she’d told her roommate she was a runaway. The question is, what was she running from?”

“Were either of you aware that your sister was a cutter?” Dorsey asked.

“A what?” Aubrey frowned.

Dorsey explained.

“No, of course not.” Aubrey shook her head. “That’s the sickest thing I ever heard. Shannon was not crazy. She never would have done something like that.”

“Girls who cut aren’t crazy,” Dorsey said. “They’re in pain, and they’re trying to find a way to make the pain go away.”

“So they inflict more pain on themselves?” Aubrey snorted. “That makes a lot of sense.”

“It does to those who cut,” Dorsey said softly.

“The point,” Andrew said, breaking in, “is that girls who exhibit this behavior are suffering, most likely from some sort of abuse or trauma.”

“You’re suggesting that Shannon was being abused.” Aubrey’s emotion was gone in a snap, replaced with a cool composure. “That she ran away because she was being abused.”

“I’m suggesting that something happened to her that made her run away. That same something may have been the reason she turned to self-mutilation,” Andrew told her.

“How do you know that my sister engaged in this…cutting herself thing.” There was no trace of Aubrey’s earlier warmth.

“We saw the scars on her arms. And her shoulders, and her legs,” he told her. “They couldn’t have been caused by anything else. We’ve established the behavior. We’re trying to find out what trauma caused it.”

“The trauma of being kidnapped and forced into prostitution would have done it,” Aubrey snapped.

“Aubrey, I think Agent Shields has established that was not the case,” Natalie said calmly. “ Shannon ran away-and stayed away-for a reason.”

The sisters exchanged a look that was difficult to read.

“Aubrey, Natalie, I have to ask,” Andrew addressed both sisters, causing them to look at him instead of each other. “What are the chances your father was abusing Shannon?”

“Ridiculous,” Aubrey snapped. “How dare you!”

“Most often the abuser is someone close to the victim,” Andrew explained. “Usually a family member, or a trusted family friend.”

“Daddy never would have laid a hand on any of us that way,” Natalie told them.

“Can you think of anyone close to the family who could have?”

“No,” Aubrey said curtly. “No.”

“I guess we’ll have to ask your father if he has any thoughts on that,” Andrew added.

“Please, don’t.” Natalie touched his arm. “He’s been through so much these past few years. I’m sure my mother told you that he’s never forgiven himself for what happened with Shannon, that he wasn’t able to find her, to save her. If you accuse him of something like this”-Natalie’s eyes filled-“if he thought for one minute that anyone would suspect him of doing such a thing, it would just about kill him.”

“But surely if he understands that someone was hurting her, he’ll want to help us to figure out who it was, don’t you think?” Andrew glanced from one sister to the other. He could not gauge what either of them was thinking.

“Of course he would,” Natalie said crisply. “We all would.”

“By the way, we believe that at some point over the years, Shannon might have tried to get in touch with someone in the family. Did either of you notice a lot of hang-ups coming to your parents’ home, for example? More than what might be considered normal.”

“Everyone gets hang-up calls,” Natalie replied. “I don’t think we had more than our share.”

“No,” Aubrey agreed. “No more than most people have, I suppose.”

“About the funeral services for your sister,” Dorsey said as if it had just occurred to her. “When will they be held?”

The sisters looked as if they each expected the other to answer.

Finally, Natalie said, “I believe Paula Rose is in charge of the funeral arrangements.”

Andrew gave them each a business card. “Call me if you remember anything you think might be important. We’ll be around for a few more days.”

“Ladies, thanks for your time.” Dorsey made brief eye contact with the women, then she and Andrew walked back across the drive to the car, leaving the two sisters standing still as statues next to the pasture fence.

“They know,” Dorsey said when they got back into the car. “They know who abused Shannon back then.”

“You still think it’s Dad?”

“I think he’s the most logical suspect. But neither hesitated for a second to deny it.”

“Let’s stop off at the Randalls’ on our way back to the motel. Let’s see how he reacts when we start giving him our version of what happened that night back in 1983.”

“I think this time, you should call. I don’t think Mrs. Randall is going to be happy to see us show up twice uninvited.”

“Good point.” Andrew slipped the phone from his pocket. “Do you have the number?”

She took the phone from his hand and reached into her purse for the small notebook she’d been keeping phone numbers in. “You drive, I’ll dial.”

She entered the number on the keypad and hit send, listened for the phone to ring, then passed it over to Andrew. His conversation with Mrs. Randall was short and not so sweet.

“Reverend Randall is resting under doctor’s orders right now and is not to be disturbed,” Andrew said once he hung up. “Mrs. Randall will be sure to let him know I called as soon as he awakens.”

“I say we go over anyway.”

“I say you’re right.”

“Know what I thought was odd?” Dorsey said after a moment. “That neither Natalie nor Aubrey expressed any concern that Eric Beale was executed.”

“What’s that tell you?”

“Maybe they’re more worried about something else right now.”

Andrew drove slowly down the long winding allee.

“Shit,” he said when they reached the first bend.

Dorsey craned her neck to look ahead. At the end of the drive, a state police car blocked access to the house. News vans and cars lined both sides of the road beyond the barricade. A trooper walked up the drive toward them, and Andrew stopped and rolled down his window.