“Why not make it before? What if he weasels out?”

“I’m not going to let him do that. They’re going to understand up front that he talks to me, or I don’t talk to the press for them. Which means either they talk-which you and I both know, no one in that family wants to do-or they’ll have reporters camped on their front lawn until they do.”

“So I guess I should tune in the eleven o’clock news to get the official version.”

“I’m hoping to be back before then,” he told her. “I promise to fill you in on everything.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Well, you could sneak out and pick up pizza and some beer after the news vans leave.”

“I’d be glad to, but by the time you get back here, the beer will be warm and the pizza will be cold.”

“Hey, anyone who can’t deal with cold pizza has no place in law enforcement.”

“I trust the same cannot be said for warm beer.”

“Good point. Beer’s always better at the proper temperature.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m here.” His eyes scanned both sides of the street for a parking spot on Sylvan. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.”

“Good luck. With the press and with Franklin,” Dorsey said as she hung up.

Andrew found a spot at the end of the block and parked the rental car. He walked toward the house, thinking about what he’d say once the microphones were turned on and the cameras began to roll. And he thought about what he wanted to ask Franklin about his relationship with Shannon. Dealing with reporters was going to be far easier than accusing a man of molesting his own daughter.

He was halfway up the Randalls’ driveway before anyone noticed him. He quietly made his way to the front porch, where the door opened before he had time to knock.

“Agent Shields, we are so grateful that you agreed to come over here and deal with those people for us,” Judith Randall said immediately. “I apologize for having cut you off so rudely the other day.”

“Perfectly understandable, Mrs. Randall,” Andrew told her as she closed the door behind him. “You’ve been under enormous strain.”

“I appreciate your kindness.” She led him into the living room where Chief Bowden sat talking quietly with Franklin.

“Agent Shields, I’m real happy to see you.” The chief stood but seemed not to know what to do next. “You saw the crowd outside…”

“I did, and I’ll be out to talk to them in a moment. Would you mind going out and letting them know I’ll have a statement for them? I just need a moment with the Randalls.”

“Be glad to.” The chief excused himself.

Once the door had closed behind Bowden, Andrew turned to Franklin. “I’m willing to give you a hand with this, but first, I want your agreement to meet with me as soon as I finish up outside.”

“Agent Shields, my husband is not well,” Judith protested. “The doctor said he should not be agitated. Perhaps tomorrow-”

“Tonight,” Andrew told her, though he continued to look at her husband. “Or I leave now, and you can face whatever questions the media wants to ask by yourselves.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Franklin spoke for the first time since Andrew had entered the house. “Go tell them whatever it takes to make them go away, and I’ll give you as much time as you need. Just make them go away.”

“I have your word?” Andrew asked.

“Of course you have my word. I just said so, didn’t I?” Franklin shot back.

Andrew opened the door and joined Bowden on the porch. The chief stood with his hands on his hips, looking over the crowd that had grown since he’d arrived several hours earlier. Where there had been only reporters, now neighbors of the Randalls’ stood on the sidewalk and the curb, speaking softly among themselves. Their collective murmur created a low-pitched hum.

“I got you some microphones set up here.” Bowden pointed to the end of the porch where several mics stood waiting for him.

“Thanks.” Andrew walked to the stand of mics as the cameras were turned on. Some of the reporters weren’t quite sure who he was, but he looked as if he was about to speak, and after several hours of waiting, that by itself made him worthy of their attention.

“I’m Special Agent Andrew Shields, FBI. I’ll answer whatever questions I can, but in return, once we’re finished here, you’ll leave, and let the Randall family have some peace. Anyone who has a problem with that can leave now or face being arrested by Chief Bowden once we’re done.”

He paused and looked at the crowd, which had grown silent.

“Okay, then. I know there are a lot of rumors going around right now, so let me set the record straight.” Andrew cleared his throat as lights flashed on from different parts of the front yard. “Twenty-four years ago, Shannon Randall disappeared and was presumed dead. Though a body was never found, a young man from Hatton, Eric Beale, was arrested and convicted of first-degree murder on circumstantial evidence.” He paused for effect, then added, “Strong circumstantial evidence, but circumstantial all the same. Eight years after his conviction, Eric Beale was executed.”

He glanced around the crowd. It was easy to spot the neighbors amid the reporters. The neighbors stood stock still, as if waiting for a bomb to drop. The reporters were taking down every word.

“Today, in June 2007, we’ve learned that everything we thought back then was wrong. Shannon Randall did not die in 1983.” There was a soft gasp from one of the neighbors at the back of the crowd. “Eric Beale was telling the truth when he said he was innocent. The Hatton Police Department and the FBI both deeply regret the errors that were made that resulted in Eric Beale’s execution. Any time an innocent person pays the ultimate price for a crime he did not commit, we all are diminished by justice not having been served.” Andrew paused for a moment before continuing.

“Several days ago in Georgia, the body of a young woman was positively identified as that of Shannon Randall.” This time there was more than one gasp. Andrew waited until the first wave of buzzing started to subside. “She was killed by a person or persons unknown. Our information is very sketchy at this time, so I’m asking that you be patient with us while we unravel this mystery. We’ll tell you what we know when we know something definitive. Right now, all we know for certain is that the body is that of Shannon Randall. I’ll take a few questions…” He pointed to the reporter nearest the porch.

“What happened to Shannon Randall in 1983? Did she run away? Was she abducted?”

“We believe she was a runaway, but we have no other information at this time.” Andrew cut her off and turned to the left side of the yard. “Next question.”

“Where has she been all these years?”

“We have reason to believe she lived in several different cities throughout the south. Next.”

“Any idea who killed her?”

“No. That’s what ‘person or persons unknown’ means. Next question.”

“How was she killed?”

“She was shot.” No need to add and stabbed, Andrew decided, since it was the gunshot that killed her.

“About the family of the executed man-”

“They’re meeting with someone from the Bureau.” Andrew hoped that was true. “I’m not involved in that aspect of the case, so I can’t answer any questions pertaining to Eric Beale’s family. Next?”

“Was Shannon Randall involved in prostitution? Can you comment on that, Agent Shields?”

Andrew hesitated. John had told him not to utter any words he’d have to eat later. At the same time, he didn’t want to feed the fires of lurid speculation, either.

“Whatever Shannon did or did not do in the time she’s been away from her family is not at issue here. Right now, we have a family who is dealing with the death of their child, grandchild, sister-for the second time. They’re also dealing with a lot of unanswered questions, and I’m going to ask you to respect their privacy. This is a very difficult time for this family. Please allow them to grieve in peace, to bury her in peace. Try to put yourself in their place and respect what they’re going through right now.”