by Alex Finlay
Keller looked at herself in the motel room mirror. She wore her usual navy pantsuit and white blouse. It wasn’t perfect funeral attire, but it would have to do. She considered skipping the ceremony, wondered about the optics—an FBI agent at the church—but she decided to risk it. Though she’d never met them, she felt like she knew the Pines. She’d been through their belongings, studied their internet searches, talked with their friends, spent time with their surviving son. Surviving sons, plural, she reminded herself. She wanted to pay her respects.
Her cell phone rang. She was already running behind, and was going to ignore it. She wanted to slip into the church with the flock rather than rush in late with a spotlight on her. But the call was from Fishkill Correctional.
“Agent Keller,” she answered.
“Hi, this is Marge Boyle at Fishkill returning your call.” The prison liaison sounded bored, lethargic.
“Thanks for getting back to me. I’m just closing my file, crossing my t’s and dotting my i’s, and I wondered if you could send me the visitor log for Daniel Pine for the last six months?”
There had been leaks about the investigation coming from different fronts and Keller wanted the liaison to think the request was routine.
“No problem. We keep electronic copies. If you give me a second, I can email the log to you right now. I have it somewhere, I’m sure, but can you give me your email address?”
Keller did, and waited, gathering her keys and handbag so she could race out the door to make the funeral. She heard keyboard clicking as the liaison worked, excruciatingly slow. The woman was on prison time.
“I’m actually running late to the funeral, so I need to—”
“It’s really terrible about Dan,” the liaison said, not taking the hint.
“Yes, it’s disappointing the warden wouldn’t let him attend the funeral, but I understand it’s a drain on resources and—”
“Wait,” the liaison said. “You don’t know? No one notified you?”
“Notified me of what?” Keller said, not raising the obvious question of who the hell would notify her of something, other than the liaison she was on the line with.
“Oh, sweet Jesus.” The woman paused. “Dan Pine was attacked yesterday. They’re not sure he’s gonna make it.”
* * *
It was another half hour before Keller arrived at the church. She’d been delayed because she needed to tell Stan the news about Danny Pine before the media picked up the story.
The church was not picturesque. No old-time steeple with pristine grounds. Just a modern-looking structure that could’ve passed for a bank were it not for the stained-glass windows and sign out front. Lining the road were satellite trucks and makeshift tents made of tarps to protect equipment from the imminent rain. Reporters milled around, holding paper cups of coffee and primping in hand mirrors, waiting for the ceremony to end.
Keller pulled in next to several other vehicles parked illegally in the grass at the far end of the overflowing lot. She walked quickly, and the reporters paid her no mind. The air was strangely still, the sky an unusual shade of green. She felt an electric current in the atmosphere.
Inside, the front entryway of the church was quiet. She could hear voices coming from behind the two large doors that led into the nave of the church. She debated waiting it out, not wanting to interrupt the ceremony, but a man in a dark suit came out of one of the doors, and headed toward a sign for the men’s restroom. Reaching to catch the door before it closed, Keller was startled by a piercing sound—a wailing siren—coming from outside.
What the hell?
Keller realized that it was a tornado siren. The Pine family just couldn’t catch a break.
The doors opened and mourners started filing out. They headed to a stairwell near the restrooms. Keller found herself in the queue, pushed quietly along to the basement stairs. The old man in front of her grumbled as he made his way down one painful step after the other.
“Overreacting as always,” the old man said. “It’ll be gone by the time we get down there.”
Keller imagined that this was how it was everywhere. If you lived in Manhattan, you were immune to terror warnings. If you lived in San Francisco, you didn’t get jarred when the ground shook. If you lived in Florida, you took hurricane watches in stride. And if you lived here, you calmly shuffled to lower ground when funnels threatened to fall from the sky and destroy everything in their path.
She must’ve looked rattled, or maybe it was plain she was an out-of-towner, because once they reached the church’s basement an elderly woman put a hand on Keller’s arm. “Don’t worry, dear. We get these all the time.”
After a few minutes, mourners filled the entire basement. Keller stood near a bulletin board pinned with announcements—community bake sales, an AA meeting schedule, a poster for the Cub Scouts—and tried not to knock over the folded metal chairs leaning against the wall. Looking for Matt, she scanned the crowd.
In the far corner, a small group huddled around Matt’s aunt. A black woman stood next to Cindy, and Keller could make out someone’s head—the grandfather, probably—who was sitting down. She didn’t see Matt.
In the other corner, she spotted a group of college-aged kids, an interesting ensemble. A drop-dead gorgeous blonde, a mischievous-looking Indian kid, a Korean guy who was so tall that he had to crouch to avoid his head hitting the ceiling, a black kid with kind eyes, and a tiny woman with mascara that had run down her face. Matt’s friends from NYU, she assumed. Matt wasn’t with them, either.
She needed to talk to him. It was the absolute worst time to tell him about his brother, but she didn’t want him learning about the attack from the feed on his phone. She was becoming an expert at delivering bad news to Matt Pine.
She looked over to another small crowd. The governor was standing in the center, holding court. The only surprise was that there was no camera on him. No footage for the sequel to “A Violent Nature,” though Keller imagined the aunt had banned the Adlers from the ceremony. The minister was making his way through the mourners to speak to the governor.
“All right, folks,” the governor said in a loud voice, slicing through the noise. The minister was standing next to him. “The warning has been lifted. If I can ask everyone to head back upstairs.” He directed an arm to the stairwell. “Single file, please.”
The crowd parted to let Matt’s grandfather and aunt head up first. Led by a caregiver, the grandfather looked disoriented, confused.
Keller watched everyone else go as she looked for Matt, hoping she could pull him aside. No, she decided, she’d ask him to meet her after the services. Wait until then to tell him about his brother. She checked her phone to see if Danny’s attack had made the news. Nothing yet.
Two emails, back-to-back, grabbed Keller’s attention. First, the liaison had sent the prison visitor log for Danny Pine. She could review that later. Second, the computer team had found who had sent the video of the party to the Free Danny Pine site—a local Adair woman whose name Keller didn’t recognize.
Keller glanced toward the stairwell. The line up the stairs had stalled. Killing time, she dispatched a text to the field office to get background on the woman who’d sent the anonymous tip. Next, she clicked on Danny’s visitor log. It was not extensive. Visits from his parents. Lawyers. But one name jumped out at her: Neal Flanagan. The name was so familiar, but Keller couldn’t place it. Where had she heard it? She decided to use every cunning FBI agent’s secret crime-fighting tool, and typed the name into Google.
Newspaper stories lit up her phone.
Flanagan was embroiled in the former governor’s sex scandal. A fixer who’d arranged parties for the governor and his wealthy benefactors. Underage girls. Drugs. A grand jury had indicted Flanagan, and everyone expected him to turn on the former governor and others in his circle.
Why would this creep visit Danny Pine? Just two weeks before his parents were killed by a professional. She thought of her meeting with the fi
lmmakers. They said Charlotte had a secret life, older men. Several of the newspapers quoted the lead prosecutor, an AUSA out of the Lincoln US Attorney’s Office. Keller tapped out an email to Stan. She needed to talk to Flanagan pronto.
CHAPTER 56
MATT PINE
Matt walked along the road, the sky dark and green, a single raindrop splashing his face, the preamble of more to come. The sirens had stopped, at least, no funnel clouds forming, so the only thing Matt risked now was getting drenched. He should return to the church. He didn’t want to look back and regret skipping the ceremony. But would he, really?
He sauntered along with no destination. Papillion Road was a slice of asphalt that led to nowhere. He’d cut across the church’s playground for the Sunday school kids and through a side fence that bordered the grounds to avoid the reporters camped out front.
The shoulder was rocky. It reminded him of his death march in Tulum. Was that really only three days ago? Was that possible? His feet hurt in the tight dress shoes. He owned only one suit and one pair of nice shoes. Before leaving New York, Ganesh had plodded over to Matt’s dorm and packed them for the funeral. It was a thoughtful gesture, and Matt would never take his friends for granted again. He’d taken too much for granted in his life, so no more.
From behind him, a car tapped two fast beeps of the horn. Matt turned and looked at the vehicle, which was trailing him. The windshield was speckled with rain, and he couldn’t see who was driving. He was in no mood to talk to a reporter. The vehicle crawled up beside him, the window humming down.
“Um, you know there’s a tornado warning, right?” Jessica Wheeler looked at him from inside the car, a tiny smile on her lips. She was dressed in black, her hair pulled up, a strand of pearls around her neck. She must’ve seen Matt slip out of the church and followed after him. “Where’re you headed?”
“Nowhere.”
“You and me both,” she said. The car kept the slow pace of his walk.
Matt stopped and the car came to a halt as well. He looked inside.
Jessica pointed her chin at the passenger seat.
Matt really wanted to be alone—at least, he thought he did.
Jessica just sat quietly, waiting for him to decide.
His feet did hurt, he supposed. He climbed inside, and was met with the smell of Jessica’s perfume, a pleasing, spicy fragrance.
She shoved the stick shift into gear and they drove.
The rain was still coming down in tiny drops, not yet a downpour. The windshield wipers wisped back and forth, an arc of brown from dirt and drizzle.
“Wanna talk about it?” Jessica finally asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Okay. Wanna drink about it?”
“That sounds more enticing.”
She nodded, looked in her rearview, then made a sharp U-turn right in the middle of the road.
It wasn’t long before Jessica was unlocking the front door to Pipe Layers. The place didn’t open for a few hours and it was dark, quiet. Jessica slapped on the lights, threw her keys on the bar, and went to the jukebox.
Matt took a seat on one of the stools and watched her in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. With her conservative black dress she looked out of place bent over, peering into the jukebox. Music filled the room.
Jessica walked over and ducked behind the bar.
“Bon Jovi?” Matt said.
Jessica stood in front of Matt now. “My uncle handpicked the jukebox selection thirty years ago, and I haven’t had the heart to change it. And who doesn’t love some Jon Bon Jovi?” She gestured to the liquor bottles lining the wall. “What’ll you have?”
“A beer would be great.”
“Ah, come on,” she said, disappointed in him. “Wait, I know.” She pulled out a glass, plopped an oversize single ice cube into it, and started mixing some concoction. She slid the glass to him.
He held the drink at eye level, the clear cube bathed in brown liquid with a citrus rind. “What is it?”
“An old-fashioned.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is this just some Don Draper fantasy of yours or—”
“Shut up. Try it!”
He took a sip. It was actually quite good. Smoky, with a hint of sweet. “I didn’t peg myself as an old-fashioned guy, but it’s good.”
She nodded, then poured herself a beer—smiling as she did so, silently acknowledging that she’d just given him shit for wanting something as pedestrian as a beer. She took a sip, foam covering her top lip.
They didn’t speak for some time. He’d finish a drink, she’d make him another. She’d finish hers and pour another, as if it were a competition.
It wasn’t long until both were feeling the booze.
Matt’s phone shivered repeatedly in his pocket, but he never checked it.
“The funeral was nice,” Jessica said.
“You mean until the blaring sirens and the surviving son took off?”
She made a face. “Your grandpa looked well. I haven’t seen him around town in forever.”
Matt held the old-fashioned in his hand, contemplating it. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this, but really, there’s no need for small talk.” He drained his glass.
“No?” she said. “All right.” She leaned over the bar, grabbed Matt by the lapels of his suit, and pulled him into a kiss. He wasn’t expecting it, which gave the adrenaline slamming through him even more of a kick. Not moving her mouth from his, Jessica scaled the bar, knocking over glasses and bar tools, until she was on the other side. When she finally pulled away, both were breathing heavily, Jessica’s hair falling from the pins that held it in place.
“There’s a room upstairs,” she said.
He nodded, following her to a door in the back. She fumbled for her keys, kissing him again as she unlocked the door to a narrow stairwell. She took his hand.
His head was swimming. From the booze, from the hunger for her, from the surrealness of the day. Jessica walked unsteadily up the stairs.
Matt started to have second thoughts. He beat them back, but they kept leaping into his head. He’d thought of this girl for seven years, and was this how he wanted it to go? Sloppy, in a room above a bar—on the day of his family’s funeral, no less? But he did want her, and he needed something to make him feel good right now. Finish the unfinished business, as Kala had said. But the thought of Kala only intensified his feeling that this was a mistake.
At the top of the stairs was a small room with a twin bed, a nightstand, and a television. Jessica tugged off Matt’s suit jacket, pulled the loosened tie over his head, and unbuttoned his shirt, then his pants. Then she stopped and said, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” She skipped to the bathroom connected to the room.
Matt sat on the bed, battling with himself. His phone started buzzing again. His aunt looking for him, probably. His friends. He pulled it from his pocket to put it on silent mode.
A text on the home screen caught his eye. The display showed only a few words of the text, but one of them was urgent.
He shouldn’t check. Don’t check. But his thumb didn’t oblige, and up popped the full text message from Agent Keller.
Urgent. Please call me.
Simple and to the point, like Keller. She wasn’t the kind of person to throw around the word urgent. He clicked on her number.
Right as Keller picked up, Jessica came out of the restroom wearing nothing but the string of pearls. Staring at her milky-white skin, he was speechless for a moment.
She looked stunning.
He was about to hang up when Keller’s voice said, “Matt, thanks for getting back to me. I’ve got some terrible news.” She waited a moment, then said, “It’s about your brother.”
CHAPTER 57
OLIVIA PINE
BEFORE
They spent another full day at the beach. Liv liked the beach as much as the next person, but it was hard going with a six-year-old. There was no relaxing. It was either worrying about drow
ning, incessant trips to the bathroom, or being forced into sandcastle-making hell. She shouldn’t complain; they were only little once. But Liv was glad they were back at the rental.
She also had her eye on Holmes and Watson. Evan and Maggie were doing their best to pretend they weren’t working on the case, but Liv knew better. You’d think she’d be annoyed, but it brought Maggie and her father together. Liv couldn’t think of any father-daughters as close as Evan and Mags. The entire trip was somehow related to Danny’s case, she knew. But right now she just didn’t care.
Liv studied her husband. He was sitting at the kitchen counter tapping something on his laptop, Maggie looking over his shoulder. Her daughter seemed more melancholy than usual. For the entire trip, Liv had sensed that something was bothering Maggie, that she was always on the verge of telling Liv something, but stopped short. It was probably to confess they were working leads in Danny’s case, but Liv decided they needed some mother-daughter time. After they all showered, she asked Maggie to go for a walk. “Dad got his dinner with you, so it’s my turn.”
A path to the woods lay just outside the property. Evan told them not to go too far. To bring their phones. Who knew what was in that jungle? He was nothing if not a worrier.
“Do I want to know what you and Dad have been up to?” Liv asked, walking along the footpath, surrounded on both sides by dense trees.
Maggie looked at her. She gave the blushing smile she displayed whenever she was caught in a fib. “I’ll let him tell you. He said he was going to tonight.”
Liv nodded. “I can’t wait.…”
“He doesn’t mean to let it consume him,” Maggie said. “It’s just that he can’t accept what happened to Danny, and feels like if he gives up, everyone else will too, and—”
“You don’t have to defend your father to me. It may not seem like it sometimes, but I love him for it. I’ve been too hard on him, worried about the rest of you—Matt—but I know Dad is just doing what he thinks is right. He’d do the same for any of you.” Liv thought of the line, the one from the book Evan loved. You have my whole heart. You always did.
