by Alex Finlay
That was when the hair on the back of Danny’s neck rose. And his cell darkened with the shadow of a man charging inside.
CHAPTER 42
MATT PINE
Matt walked into the diner, the familiar ring of the bell on the door bringing him back to when he was a kid and they’d go to Anne’s for breakfast on Sunday mornings. He had a vision of Danny sitting in front of a giant stack of pancakes, his mother stealing a bite with her fork. It was strange, the things you remembered.
Like the bar last night, the place seemed to go quiet at his presence. A beat of silence followed by murmurs. Today the looks weren’t so subtle, heads following him as he passed, necks craning. He threaded through the tables to a booth in the back. Special Agent Keller sat with a cup of coffee in front of her, steam wafting from the mug.
Matt slid into the booth across from her. The diner’s patrons were still giving him looks.
“Good morning,” Keller said.
“Morning.”
She regarded him. “You look … tired,” she said.
She was right about that. After meeting Jessica, he’d gotten two hours of sleep at most. He suppressed a yawn.
The waitress came over, topped off Keller’s coffee, asked if she needed anything. Matt could swear it was the same woman from when he was a kid. The same beehive hairstyle. She treated Matt like he was invisible.
Keller flicked Matt a glance, frowned. He wasn’t imagining it. The waitress was purposefully ignoring him.
“I’ll have a cup of coffee, please,” Matt said. He wasn’t a huge fan of coffee, but he wasn’t sure he’d get through the day without it.
The waitress made a noise in her throat. She hesitated as if she were going to refuse, but filled the mug without saying a word.
“Sure you wanna be seen with me?” Matt said to Keller after the waitress had left. “They are making your food, you know?”
Keller gave a close-lipped smile.
“I suppose they think no Pine should ever set foot in here—the diner where Charlotte worked,” Matt said.
“I’m not sure that’s it,” Keller said.
Matt gave her a look.
Keller laid a newspaper on the table. On the front page of the Lincoln Journal Star was a photo of Matt next to one of Danny. Matt looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, hair tousled. Maybe even worse than he looked today. It was the photo from his college ID. He remembered taking it after a night of partying that first week of school freshman year when everyone went crazy from the lack of parental supervision. How did the newspaper get it? Next to Matt was Danny’s mug shot. Together the photos made them look like criminals. Half true, but still.
Worse, the headline: “A VIOLENT NATURE” BROTHERS SUSPECTS IN MURDER OF FAMILY.
“What the—” Matt looked around the room, appreciating the hostility now. “They think I had something to do with—” Matt felt his throat constrict. His mouth was bone-dry. “I was in New York. Danny’s in prison, for fuck’s sake. How could they say—I’m going to fucking sue them.”
Keller waited patiently, letting him get it all out. Finally Matt just sat staring at his coffee mug, trying to process it all.
“I’m really sorry,” Keller said.
Matt’s emotions were raging. He tried to read the story, but he couldn’t focus on the words. The world was tilting.
“I’m sorry,” the agent said again.
“Why would they say this?”
“I don’t know. Someone leaked that the crime scene may have been staged, the work of a professional, and that your father had an unusually large insurance policy. That’s probably all it took.”
Matt swallowed again, his mouth a desert.
“It’s not right,” Matt said, his voice laced with emotion.
“I know, Matthew,” Keller said.
“Is it true, that the scene was staged?”
Keller hesitated. “We’re still investigating,” she said. “But maybe.”
“The funeral is tomorrow. And everybody’s gonna think—” Matt repressed a sob. He needed to get it together.
“Here, have some water.” Keller slid Matt her glass and he downed it.
“There’s more, Matt. When the Mexican authorities returned your family, they included their effects. All of the phones and laptops had been wiped clean. And it wasn’t some mistake by the local cops taking the devices into inventory. They’d been scrubbed in a way that there was zero chance of retrieving any data; not even the most skilled computer forensics agents at the Bureau could recover anything. Whoever wiped them down knew what they were doing.”
“But who—why?” Matt’s voice was still quavering.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think it’s related to Danny’s case?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
Matt wanted to scream, Then what the fuck do you know? But it wasn’t the agent’s fault.
As if reading his thoughts, Keller said, “Here’s what I do know: After your sister posted the video of the party on social media, she and your dad planned the Mexico trip to chase a lead.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A friend of Maggie’s from school is a computer whiz. Right before your family left for Mexico, she asked him to track down the location of a phone that called your dad’s phone. The kid traced it to Tulum, Mexico. And your father also made several Google searches about Tulum.”
“That’s why they went to Mexico? Tracking down some clue about my brother’s case?” It explained the spur-of-the-moment trip. And it smacked of Dad and Maggie.
“Also, Maggie asked her friend if it was possible to make a video call but digitally make it look like someone else was calling. The kid made her a video putting someone else’s face on your sister’s. I watched it and it looked real.”
“And let me guess,” Matt said. “It was Charlotte’s face.”
“How’d you know?” Keller asked.
“Apparently there are rumors that she’s still alive. That it wasn’t Charlotte’s body at the creek.”
Keller frowned.
Matt continued, “So if someone wanted to lure my sister—or, more likely, my father—somewhere, they might do it by pretending Charlotte was still alive.”
“It’s possible,” Keller said.
“But why get them to go all the way to Mexico? And who? Why?”
“I don’t know. I’m waiting on test results for some evidence found at the scene.”
“What evidence? What—”
“I’ll tell you more when I get the results; it could be nothing. But I’ve also got Carlita Escobar, the consular officer you met in Tulum, checking some things out.”
Matt would never forget Escobar, the tough woman who’d caused the Mexican cop to nearly piss himself. He felt an ache in his chest. It was so Maggie to be on the hunt for evidence.
Keller slid a computer tablet across the table.
Matt looked at the screen. It was the photo Maggie had sent him from Mexico.
“We enhanced the photo,” Keller said.
Matt stared at his father standing on a road in Tulum, the shadow of a bicycle, a sweat ring at his neck, like he’d been out for a ride. Keller put her index finger and thumb together on the screen and opened them, zooming in on the photo. Behind his father, a couple was standing in front of a building. And for the first time, Matt saw it.
“Oh my god,” Matt said, his pulse quickening. A shot of adrenaline galloped through him.
Maggie hadn’t really been taking a photo of her father, but using him as the pretext to shoot the couple. The woman was pretty, wore a bikini and shorts. And Matt suspected she had an Oklahoma accent. Right before she died, Maggie had sent Matt a photo of Hank.
But that wasn’t the thing that caused Matt’s heart to pound. No, it was the tall man next to Hank. He had a hand on his face, like he was going to wipe his brow. Or perhaps was trying to hide his face, only part of which was visible.
Enough to show a scar from a cleft
lip.
CHAPTER 43
SARAH KELLER
After breakfast, Keller stood outside the diner with Matt. Her mind was racing. The woman in the photo Maggie Pine had sent to Matt was the same woman who’d lured him to the woods, taken his phone. And the man with the cleft lip fit the description of the guy who’d shoved Matt into the street, tried to steal his belongings. Who were they? What did they want? And why had Maggie Pine sent her brother the photograph on her last day alive?
Keller turned to Matt. “You need a ride to the nursing home?” She gestured her chin at her maroon Nissan rental, parked at the curb near the diner.
“Nah, my aunt is picking me up.” Matt glanced down the street. “Shit,” he said.
Keller was going to ask what was wrong when she saw Judy and Ira Adler, the directors of “A Violent Nature,” walking toward them.
Judy Adler nodded hello to Keller, then turned to Matt. Her husband hung back, as if conflicted.
“Matthew,” Judy said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Matt offered a dismissive nod.
“I know this is a terrible time—and I know you wanted nothing to do with us on the last film—but we’re doing a follow-up to the documentary, and we’d love to talk to you. We think it could really help your brother, and—”
“Not interested,” Matt said. He gazed down the road as if looking for his aunt’s car.
“Matthew, you’re a filmmaker. You have to understand we’re just doing our jobs. And you may not have cared for it, but ‘A Violent Nature’ got your brother’s case on the map. No one cared until we—”
“Until you what?” Matt said. “Until you got everyone’s hopes up? Made my father look crazy? Pulled my little sister into this mess? Made my family the most hated people in this town? And for what?”
“Matthew, I’m—”
“I said, not interested.”
Keller was surprised at the emotion—the hurt—in Matt’s voice.
“My brother’s still in jail,” Matt continued. “And my family went to Mexico on some hunt for clues. If it weren’t for this fucking quest—your film—they’d at least be alive. My sister would be leaving for college. My little brother would be finishing first grade.”
Keller saw the glint in Judy Adler’s eyes. Matt had unintentionally given them some new information: the reason his family had gone to Mexico.
Matt seemed to realize it too. He turned to Keller, his eyes apologizing.
Keller gave a look back that said, It’s okay.
“I’m just asking you to hear us out,” Judy said. “We’ve uncovered new evidence. It could really help. I think your dad would want you to just hear what we have to say.”
Keller was about to intercede when Matt’s aunt pulled up. She idled the car in front of the diner.
Matt turned to Keller. “Thanks for the coffee. Keep me posted on things,” he said.
His aunt Cindy gave the Adlers the stink eye out the car window. When they looked over at her, she held out her middle finger.
Keller and the Adlers watched the car disappear, along with the filmmakers’ hopes of interviewing Matt Pine for their sequel to “A Violent Nature.”
“New evidence, eh?” Keller said pointedly to the couple.
Judy said, “Newer than that CODIS and DNA analysis you promised us…”
“I’m calling in every favor I have to get us moved to the front of the line,” Keller said.
Judy frowned.
“I’m supposed to hear tonight. The moment I get the results, I promise, I’ll call. Until then, what’s this new evidence?”
Judy looked at her husband, who gave a tiny shrug as if to say, Why not?
Keller gestured for the diner’s door. Somewhere they could sit and talk.
“No, not in there,” Judy said. “You think they don’t like the Pines? Well, they really don’t like us. We’ve set up base at a farmhouse about ten minutes from here.”
“I’ll follow you there.”
* * *
The farmhouse had seen better days. The paint peeling, porch sagging. Several dogs scattered as the Adlers parked the van on a patch of dirt that passed for a driveway. Keller pulled the Nissan beside them.
Judy got out of the van, a dented Ford. Ira trailed behind his wife, something Keller suspected he’d been doing for as long as the Adlers had been married. Judy waved to Keller to follow them inside.
Keller climbed out of her car and looked around. A barn was about thirty yards away, the door falling off its hinges. Beyond that, just fields, not another soul for miles. She stepped around the mud and muck and mounted the porch steps. The wood was soft from rot. She stopped at the door and looked inside the place. Two men in their twenties sat in front of laptops at a long kitchen table. Stacks of papers and empty soda cans cluttered the work space. Dishes were piled in the sink.
A woman, heavyset and wearing sneakers and sweats, was also at the far end of the kitchen table, talking on her cell phone.
Judy called to Keller from inside. “Come on in. We don’t bite.”
The interior was just as run-down. Cracked linoleum floors, faded wallpaper with bare patches as if someone had started trying to remove it and given up. An avocado-green refrigerator matched the green laminate countertops.
Ira cleared away some of the trash and clutter from the table, making a space for their guest. “Please, have a seat.”
Judy introduced Keller to the others—the production team, who all seemed more attentive when they learned that Keller was with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
“Sorry about the mess,” Ira said, sitting next to his wife, across from Keller. “We’ve had a lot of late nights around here. Get you some coffee or something to drink?”
“I’m fine. Already hit my caffeine quota. But thank you.” Keller looked at the monitors and equipment. “How’s the sequel coming?”
“Slow. How’s your investigation into the death of the Pines going?”
“Same,” Keller said.
Judy Adler gave a slight chuckle, as if amused at Keller’s evasive response. She said, “We’ve been looking into Charlotte and what we’ve found is, um, surprising.” Judy looked at a member of the production team. He had a man bun and wore flip-flops with jeans. “Show her.”
Keller caught the faint whiff of weed as the guy set a laptop in front of her. He tapped on a few keys, then went back to his seat.
The screen showed a woman, mid-twenties, her hair a dull shade of purple.
“Charlotte wasn’t just my cousin, she was my best friend,” the woman said.
“You were a close family?” Judy Adler asked from off camera.
The woman made a noise that said fat chance. “My mom and Charlotte’s dad had major issues. They haven’t talked in years.”
“Why’s that?”
“Uncle John abused my mom when they was kids. Sexually, I mean.”
A chill crawled up Keller’s back. The woman said it so matter-of-fact. And from what Keller knew about sexual abusers, they didn’t tend to stop as they got older. The victims just changed. She continued to watch the video.
“But you and Charlotte were close?”
“Oh yeah. My mom was worried, you know. She told Charlotte she could come to Kansas, stay with us, anytime.”
“Did you think Charlotte was being abused by your uncle?”
The woman nodded.
“Did she tell you that?”
“Not in so many words.”
“But you thought so?”
She nodded again. “Long as I can remember, she was always talking about getting out of Adair, moving to a big city, changing her name, starting over.”
“Did you ever talk to her about it—what was happening at home, I mean?”
“We didn’t need to. It was just understood.”
“Did you know her boyfriend?”
“Who, Danny? I talked to him a few times when me and Charlotte were Skyping.”
“Were you sur
prised when you heard he’d been arrested?”
“Oh yeah. I mean, we was in shock. It was funny, ’cause that show made a big thing about Danny and Charlotte, like they were high school sweethearts on their way to the altar or somethin’. But he saw other people, and so did she.”
“You’re saying they weren’t serious?”
“Not from what Charlotte told me. She always said Danny Pine was a sweet dumb jock. They had a good time, but it wasn’t like they was getting married.”
“She saw other boys?”
“I think. Though she thought all the kids at school were immature.”
“Did she mention anyone in particular?”
“She said there was someone, an older boy, but wouldn’t tell me who.”
“Why not?”
The woman shrugged.
“Did you know she was pregnant?”
“I don’t think she was.”
“But they ran tests and—”
“If that was her.” She said this with a roll of her neck, almost like a challenge.
“I don’t understand.”
“About a week before it happened, she said she couldn’t take it anymore. She was gonna take off.”
“Couldn’t take what anymore?”
The woman looked off camera like it was a stupid question. “She didn’t say. But it was obvious. Her dad…”
“So you’re saying— Then who was at the creek? And why didn’t the police—”
“I don’t know. But Charlotte said she had friends, important people who could help her get away.”
“Who were these friends?”
Judy Adler reached over and stopped the video. “We talked to some of Charlotte’s friends. Charlotte had a bit of a secret life. Older boys, drugs. She’d told one friend she’d been assaulted, and she was afraid.”
Keller gave Judy a skeptical glance. “There was a trial, blood work. Her body was positively identified.”
Ira Adler snapped his fingers and pointed at Keller. “Exactly. And guess who contacted us saying he had something that would blow up what everybody thought about the case. Involving the blood work.”
Keller shook her head.
“Ron Sampson.”
“The cop who interrogated Danny Pine?”