I Will Find You(77)

“This is some story, Special Agent Bernstein.”

“Call me Max. I don’t have it exactly. I’m missing parts. But we both know I’m close. Here’s the thing. We have to bring David in. You get that. And I don’t know why this evidence couldn’t just be given to his attorney or something. I assume there is a good reason for that.”

Mackenzie still gave him nothing.

“And Sarah? She is strictly by the book. If Burroughs was set up, if he didn’t do it, I’m not like that guy in The Fugitive—remember that movie?”

Mackenzie nodded. “I even remember the TV series.”

“Before my time. But there’s the great scene when Harrison Ford tells Tommy Lee Jones—Tommy plays the federal agent trying to capture him—‘I’m innocent,’ and do you remember what Tommy Lee Jones says?”

He nodded. “He says, ‘I don’t care.’”

“Right. That’s Sarah. She doesn’t care. We have a job to do. Bring Burroughs in. Period, the end. It’s why you and I are meeting alone in this bar. I’m vulnerable now. You could tell them what I said. But unlike Tommy Lee Jones, I do care. If Burroughs didn’t do it, I want to help him.”

The warden picked up his drink and held it up to the light. “Suppose,” he said, “I told you that you’re mostly right.”

Max felt his pulse quicken.

“But suppose,” Mackenzie continued, “I also told you that the real story is stranger than what you’ve concocted.”

“Stranger how?”

“Suppose I told you that the real reason David escaped was because a child may be in grave danger.”

Max looked confused. “You mean another child?”

“Not exactly.”

“You mind explaining?”

Philip Mackenzie smiled, but there was no joy in it. “Tell you what,” he said, draining his whiskey and sliding out of the booth. “You draw up papers giving my son full immunity, we can finish this chat.”

“What about immunity for you?”

“I don’t deserve immunity,” Mackenzie said. “At least, not yet.”

*



The same two goons escort me back to the plane. No handcuffs, no blindfold, no rough stuff. When we arrive at the tarmac, I speak for the first time.

“I need my phone back.”

The “Shut the Fuck Up” Guy reaches into his pocket and tosses it to me. “Charged it for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Heard you beat up a cop.”

“No.”

“In New York City. Said so on the news. He’s in the hospital.”

“I was just trying to escape.”

“Still, my man. Props to you.”

“Yeah,” the other goon says, speaking for the first time. “Props.”

“Thank you” doesn’t seem the appropriate response, so I say nothing. We board the same plane and take the same seats. I check the incoming texts, all from Rachel, of course, getting progressively more panicky.

I text back: I’m fine. Sorry. Waylaid.

The dots start dancing. Learn anything important?

To Rachel’s credit, she hadn’t wasted time asking for a full recap or even where I’d been. Still focused.

I text: Hilde Winslow won’t lead us to Matthew.

Dead end?

More or less, yeah.



I wait for the plane to take off and get high enough for the Wi-Fi to kick in. I look behind me. My escorts are both wearing headphones and watching their phones. I call Rachel.

“What’s all that noise?” Rachel asks. “I can barely hear you.”

“I’m on a plane.”

“Wait, what?”

There is no way to continue without giving her some details, so I give her the nonthreatening sketch recap of what happened since I left her in Revere.

“How about you?” I ask when I’m done. “Anything new on your end?”

Silence—and for a moment I think that the call has dropped.

“I may have a lead,” she says. “You remember my old friend Hayden Payne?”

It takes me a few moments to place the name. “The rich guy who had the big crush on you?” And then I see it: “Oh wait. His family is involved in those corporations, right?”

“Owns them. All part of the Payne group.”

I think about that. “Another can’t-be-a-coincidence.”

“What do you mean?”

But I don’t want to derail her. “What about Hayden?”

“They had a corporate event at Six Flags. That’s where that photo was taken. I asked him to get me all the photos taken that day.”

“Can we also get a list of attendees?”

“I guess I can ask, but he said it would be in the thousands.”

“It’s a place to start.”

“It might be, yeah. Also the company didn’t rent out the whole park. Matthew could have been with someone else.”

“Still worth a try.”

“I know.”

“What else?” I ask her.

“Are you flying back to Boston?”

Answering a question by asking a question. “No.”