Every Last Fear(68)
His aunt was trying to get him approved to go to the funeral. Good luck with that. The warden wasn’t the most compassionate guy around. He’d once told Danny he’d started watching the documentary but had to shut it off. “I know bullshit when I see it,” he’d said.
As Danny clambered up the metal stairs, he wondered if he’d ever see the man again, the one who’d held his last hope of getting out. Of looking at the moon. Of sleeping in. Of getting a juicy fast-food burger.
The man had arrived at the prison unannounced, lied and said he was one of Danny’s lawyers. It was the same day the Supreme Court had denied review of Danny’s case. Danny suspected the timing wasn’t a coincidence.
His name was Neal Flanagan, a greasy man in an expensive suit.
Flanagan said he worked for the governor, and for a cool mil Danny could be a free man. He didn’t actually say any of it, of course, probably scared that the prison recorded visits. No, he produced a sheet of paper with the offer written up. After Danny read it, Flanagan placed the paper in a folder and locked it in his briefcase.
“So do you think you can afford my rates?” Flanagan asked, pretending to be a potential new lawyer for Danny, a ruse for recording devices that probably didn’t exist.
“Where in the hell would I get that kind of money?”
“You’re famous.”
“I didn’t get any money from the TV show.”
“What about all those celebrities and do-gooders? They’ve got money.”
Danny rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t escape the feeling that something about the man, something about the whole thing, seemed legit. Well, not legit, but authentic. It didn’t seem like a setup.
“Look, when I get out, I’ll get plenty of offers. I can pay then and—”
“No work on credit, Mr. Pine. Talk to your father. Talk to your benefactors. And do it soon. This offer has an expiration date.”
“I make fifty-two cents an hour. And, even if I could borrow the money, how do I know you’re for real? What if I give you the ‘retainer’ and you just disappear?”
“We’d provide assurances.”
“What kind?”
“Get the money and you’ll find out.”
“Why? Why would he pardon me now, after everything…”
“Retirement planning.”
A week later Danny read that the governor was under investigation, and his attorney fixer—Neal Flanagan—had been indicted. And now the governor had resigned.
Retirement planning.
Danny had racked his brain about how to get that money. But he’d never told his father about the man, the offer, any of it.
He reached his cell and went inside. That was odd: his fat cellmate—who got off his ass only for food and to slug the three feet to the toilet—wasn’t on the bottom bunk.
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.