Every Last Fear(46)

The lobby was a sweat lodge. He didn’t remember it being so hot yesterday. Behind the front desk was the same receptionist. She had an old metal fan on the desk, blowing around hot air. She gave Matt a sympathetic look and he worried he was in for a repeat of yesterday.

But this time she picked up the phone, murmured something, then put down the receiver. She showed Matt to a small room, this one even more sweltering than the reception area. Without saying a word, she motioned for Matt to take a seat, and then slipped out.

It was a long wait. The room had white walls smudged with fingerprints, and was furnished with only a marred table and three chairs. It was quiet, save for the hum of the lights above. Matt thought of Danny sitting in a room like this one. The setting—isolated and windowless, the air hot and thick—was intimidating. Add some overly aggressive cops, and it was no wonder why so many people falsely confessed. They just wanted to get out of the situation, out of the room. He almost felt bad for his brother.

The door opened, and in walked a stern-looking man wearing a black police uniform and combat boots that didn’t suit the climate.

“Se?or Gutierrez?” Matt said, rising and extending a hand.

Gutierrez didn’t shake Matt’s hand. Instead he pulled out the chair roughly and took a seat across from Matt.

Matt sat back down, the cop still glaring at him. One would think that losing your family might warrant some sympathy, or at least civility. But Gutierrez seemed put out by Matt’s presence.

“I was told you needed me to sign some papers to release my family so they can come home,” Matt said.

“Who told you this?” Gutierrez said in accented English. His tone was clipped, accusatory.

Matt looked at him for a moment, taken aback. “FBI Special Agent Sarah Keller. She said the consulate would be—”

“Pfft.” Gutierrez glowered at Matt. “We released the bodies yesterday.”

Matt felt his jaw pulse. “So you already—”

“The investigation is closed.”

Matt digested that. This entire trip had been for nothing. And the investigation was closed? It had been only a few days. Given the guy’s demeanor, Matt doubted they’d done any meaningful investigation. Matt looked at Gutierrez and said, “And…”

“And what?”

“And what did your investigation find?”

Gutierrez’s eyes turned dark. “Ask your friends at the FBI and consulate.”

“Look, this may not be important to you, and you may not be equipped for this type of investigation, but my family’s dead. So I’d appreciate it if—”

“You want to sass me, boy?” The man pulled out a nightstick from a ring on his belt and smacked it on the table.

Matt swallowed hard. “I’m not sassing. I’m— Never mind.” Fuck this. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with this guy. Matt stood to leave.

“I didn’t say you could go. Sit down.” When Matt didn’t oblige, Gutierrez stood, gripped the nightstick with his right hand.

“Sit!”

Matt held up his hands, palms in retreat, and slowly lowered to his chair.

“I meant no offense,” Matt said. That wasn’t true. If Matt had learned one thing from his father, however, it was to never underestimate the power of an angry cop. When his dad gave talks about Danny’s case, he always warned parents to teach their children to treat police officers like a big dog they didn’t know. Most dogs were friendly, but you still wouldn’t just rush up to pet the creature; you’d use caution, make sure it didn’t bite. And you’d certainly never poke it with a stick. The same was true with cops. Most were hardworking, decent people. But the profession also attracted a certain breed. Like a rabid dog, you might not know the good from the bad until it was too late.

“So tell your children no matter how angry they are, no matter how unjust the situation,” Dad would say, “that they should be overly respectful, overly cautious, and not make any sudden moves—it could save their lives.”

Matt followed the advice. “It’s been a hard time,” Matt said. “I meant no disrespect. I’ve been up all night.”

“I know. Fraternizing with prostitutes.”

“What are you—”

Just then a woman burst into the room, the receptionist trailing after her. The woman wore a business suit, her face twisted in anger. In Spanish she started castigating Gutierrez.

Gutierrez said something in an equally harsh tone. Matt’s eyes went from one of them to the other, a tennis match of insults he couldn’t understand.

The woman finally pointed a stern finger at Gutierrez. She said something as if it were a dire warning.

To Matt’s surprise, Gutierrez, so amped up just moments ago, retreated.

The woman looked at Matt now. “Let’s go, Mr. Pine.”

Gutierrez didn’t try to stop them.

Outside, the woman handed Matt a business card. “I’m Carlita Escobar—no relation—from the consulate.”

“I thought Mr. Foster was assigned to—”

“He’s been reassigned. I’m taking care of your case.”

Matt didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t much care. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there. “The officer said my parents were released last night.”