Every Last Fear(78)

“Trust me, I’ve been pushing the computer guys to track the sender. It just takes some time.”

Bob was right, though. The source of the video was important. Whoever sent it did so for a reason.

“Okay, what else you got?” Bob asked.

“When they were in Mexico, Maggie sent her brother a photo. It was of their father. But I had it enhanced and Matt noticed something new today. In the background, a woman who’d tried to set Matt up.”

“Noooo,” Bob said. “She was in the photo the daughter took before?”

“I know, right?”

“Well, you gotta get on that.”

“I am. I have my contact in Mexico trying to find the woman. But there’s something bigger. The photo also has a partial view of a man who seems to fit the description of a guy who tried to mug Matt in New York, shoved him into the street.”

“You’re kidding me? The sister took a photo of two people, one who tries to set the kid up in Mexico, the other who pushes him into traffic? I mean…”

“Right?” Keller said.

“Why, though? What was the point?” Bob asked.

“The phone,” Keller said. “I think they were trying to get Matt’s phone because Maggie had sent him a photo of them. The rest of the family’s phones and computers were wiped clean.”

“So it’s, what, a professional? Like a hired killer?” Bob was excited. He loved the FBI shows on TV, and for once Keller’s work bore some resemblance.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“You love a good paper trail,” Bob said, “so what records aren’t you thinking about? Where haven’t you looked?”

Keller did a mental tally. She had a team going through the Marconi records scooped up in Chicago. She had the computer forensics lab tracking who’d sent the party video to Maggie, the facial analysis unit analyzing the photo Maggie had sent to Matt, and an AV expert enhancing the video and photograph.

“Airline records,” Keller said. “I still need to get flight reports. If the guy was in Mexico with the family, then was in New York, I might be able to identify him by cross-checking flights. But without a name, it’s a needle in a haystack. Do you know how many people fly to Cancún every day?”

“No, but I also don’t know how many bank wire transfers there are every day. I suspect that’s way more than flights, yet somehow you catch the bad guys.”

More with the unbridled confidence in her. And Bob was right. If the man with the cleft lip was in Mexico with the Pines, then flew to New York to go after Matt, then followed Matt back to Tulum, that could narrow the search. Maybe, just maybe, she’d get a hit.

Bob exhaled loudly into the phone.

“What?”

“Maggie Pine, I mean, she was seventeen. She gets admitted to MIT. She gets investigation tips, tracks bad guys to Mexico, gets their photo. She was the shit, you know? I watched the show. Even when she was in middle school, she was unstoppable. It’s just a damn shame.”

“I know.”

“That’s why she’s lucky you’re on the case.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“No, no, no. None of that. You’re the shit too. I mean, how else would you have this slice of beef waiting for you at home?”

“I’ve got to get to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow after the funeral, you lunatic.”

“Aight. You got this, Federale. I’m out.”





CHAPTER 49


MATT PINE

Matt drove his grandfather’s old station wagon into the Adair Motel parking lot. Tonight the lot was more crowded than before, jammed with news vans and cars with out-of-state plates. More troops to cover the funeral tomorrow, Matt supposed. He saw Kala standing in front of the door to her room. She wore jeans and a shirt knotted so you could see her midriff. The piercing on her flat tummy.

She walked around the long vehicle, eyeing the wood-paneled sides with an amused squint in her eyes.

“Nice wheels,” Kala said, pulling the seat belt over her shoulder.

“My grandfather’s. I think he’s had it since my mom was a kid.”

“How is he?” Kala asked.

“Not great. They say he has moments of lucidity. But I haven’t seen any.”

“I’m sorry.” Kala put a hand on his shoulder, rubbed it.

“It’s all right.” Matt thought back to Cindy’s remark. The only family he had left was a brother in prison, a curmudgeon aunt, and a grandfather who didn’t recognize him.

“I’m starving,” Kala said.

“I told you to go to Lincoln with everybody,” Matt said.

Ganesh and company were getting cabin fever. He’d texted Matt that they needed to go to a real restaurant and a real bar, preferably one without tumbleweeds outside and inbred hicks trying to kill him. It was sweet of Kala to hang back. To make sure Matt wasn’t alone. She was from rural Oklahoma, so he supposed she had a higher tolerance for small towns. Though even Kala was starting to get that cooped-up look about her. Once you lived in Greenwich Village, it was hard to go back. That was why every New Yorker comes across insufferably superior.

Kala said, “I needed a break from everyone. And I wanted to see you—you’ve been gone all day.”