“Anyway, yeah, Mr. Beale was not exactly father of the year. Both girls dropped out of school as soon as they were legal. Funny thing was, Eric was the only one in the family who looked like he’d amount to anything. He got himself a job at the gas station in town and I heard he was saving up to go to college. Ironic, isn’t it? He might have actually made something of himself, if he hadn’t been arrested for murdering Shannon.”

“Do you have any idea where Mrs. Beale is living now?”

“No, she moved from Hatton years ago. I have no idea where she went,” Bowden said, “but I can ask around. Seems to me people were happy enough to see her go. Her being here while Eric was on death row, and after-well, it just made some people uncomfortable, you know? Like the whole town just sort of breathed a big sigh of relief after she left.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand. “She had a sister who lived out on Camp Hill Road down around Pebble Run. She’d know, if she’s still there.”

“How about the brother? The sisters?”

“Timmy, I think I heard was living in one of those trailers out by Naylor’s Marsh, fifteen, sixteen miles from here. The sisters, I don’t know. They both got knocked up before they were sixteen-apologies, Agent Collins, but that’s the truth. Maybe some in town might know where they are. I can ask and let you know.”

“We’d appreciate it,” Andrew said. “By the way, were you able to find Sheriff Taylor’s file?”

“I was not. I was just going to tell you that. I’m sorry, but it’s not in either of the file rooms.” Bowden did his best to look apologetic. “You have to understand, the police department here in Hatton has been in about three different places since 1983. Files were dragged around from here to there and back again. I did search, but I’m afraid I don’t have a clue to where it could be. Could have been it was in the boxes that were stored in Chief Taylor’s garage when it caught on fire ’bout ten years ago.”

“Any chance you overlooked someplace?” Andrew asked.

“I don’t think so, but if anything comes to mind, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Can’t ask for more than that.” Andrew glanced at his watch, stood, and offered his hand to Bowden. “We appreciate your time. If you think of anything, anything at all, even if it’s just rumors you recall…”

“I’ll be sure to call you, Agent Shields.” Bowden stood to shake Andrew’s hand, then Dorsey’s, before walking them out to the front door. “Where you off to now?”

“We have an appointment with Jeremy Brinkley.”

“He’d have a better recollection of what was going on, I’m sure. I was just a kid back then.” Bowden shrugged again, as if his shoulders were loose and he had to hitch them up every once in a while. “But Jeremy was with Chief Taylor on that case. He’s likely to have some insights I don’t have. No tellin’ what he might know.”

“Thanks again,” Andrew called over his shoulder to the chief who now stood on the top step, watching them walk away.

“Well, that wasn’t much help,” Dorsey said when they got into the car.

“At least now we know where to find one member of the Beale family.” Andrew started the car and shifted into reverse. “I’d sure like to hear some of this tale from the Beales’ standpoint.”

“I’m wondering what part we’re missing. You know the old, if two people witness an accident, there will be three versions of the same story, what each witness saw, and what really happened.”

“I’ll ask John if he’s been able to get through to anyone in the family. He said he’d be handling the Beales, and I don’t want to step in if he hasn’t been able to locate them yet.”

Andrew made a U-turn and headed out of town while he searched a pocket for his phone. He dialed, then left voice mail.

“I guess we’re still standing down as far as Tim Beale is concerned, but I’m sure John will get back to me on that.” He looked around for landmarks, then said, “Brinkley’s home isn’t too far down from here. He said we’d come to a fork in the road about eight miles outside of town, and to take the left toward Simpson’s Creek. There should be a sign and then it’ll be another mile or so before we come to his house.”

“He tell you what to look for?”

“He said the house is made of logs and sits back a bit on the right. There’s a mailbox with some kind of viney thing growing around it.”

“We should be able to find that.” Dorsey watched out the window as they passed the remnants of the old rice fields on either side of the road. “Interesting, don’t you think, that even Bowden, who was just in high school at the time, knew by the next evening that Beale had been the only person pulled in for questioning?”

“Only one he knew of, anyway.”

“You see anyone else’s name in the Bureau’s file?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Well, think about it. According to Bowden, approximately thirty-six hours after Shannon was discovered to be missing, Chief Taylor declared her dead and named Eric Beale the sole suspect in her murder. No body? No problem. You have to wonder why he jumped on that so fast.” She pointed straight ahead. “There’s the fork in the road. And the sign for Simpson’s Creek.”

Andrew made the left.

“And for reasons I don’t understand, my father was brought into it, just like that,” she murmured.

“Maybe he didn’t accept it all that quickly. We don’t really know how much investigating he and the other agents actually did here. That’s something we need to talk to him about.”

“I would, if I could find him. I’ve been trying to get him to return my calls since I arrived here.”

“You haven’t spoken with him in three days?”

“No.”

“Any idea where he could be?”

“No. He always has his phone with him. If he’s not calling me, it’s because he’s avoiding me.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Very.”

“What do you think’s behind that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe”-she paused for a moment-“maybe he’s off somewhere with Diane, this woman he’s dating. Maybe he just doesn’t want to discuss his love life with me.”

“You think that’s it?”

“No, but it sounded like a good rationalization.”

“Look, if you’re worried, you can take off a few days and go-”

“Nope. Pop’s a big boy. Yes, I’m worried, but I’m not in constant communication with him under normal circumstances, and frankly, I don’t know that he doesn’t just take off sometimes, alone or with a friend. Maybe he’s done just that. Maybe this whole thing has played on his mind so much, he’s just gone off somewhere to work things out in his own head. I don’t know what he’s thinking. And I guess that’s what’s bothering me.”

“We could ask John to send someone to-”

“Uh-uh. The last thing he needs right now is to think the Bureau is looking for him. For whatever reason. I think I just have to let it be. For now.”

She turned her head to look out the window. “There’s the log house.”

Andrew pulled to the right and parked alongside the rustic post-and-rail fence. The small house was set back from the road, sheltered beneath a stand of live oaks.

“You think he has the file?” Dorsey got out of the car and waited for Andrew.

“It’s certainly possible. Big case-probably the biggest case of his career, file shifted around from place to place, it’s easy enough to explain how it could get misplaced.” Andrew stopped to roll up his shirtsleeves. “Make one hell of a souvenir. Bloody shirt and all.”

“Let’s go see if he has it.”

“If he admits to having it. I’m betting he won’t.”

“That’s one bet I won’t make.”

They walked up the dirt driveway and followed a path made of cut slices of tree trunk. They knocked on the front door, but no one answered. Back behind the house, a dog began to bark.

“Maybe around back.” Andrew motioned to the right. They followed the path to its end near an open porch, where a man slept on a hammock.

Andrew cleared his throat, and the old dog on the porch rose reluctantly and made a show of barking some more.