Every Last Fear(85)
The sound intensified, and the church filled with a low rumble of voices. Matt turned and looked at his friends. Ganesh was making a what the fuck expression at the others. They all looked dumbfounded at the noise. Except Kala, who was from Oklahoma.
Matt heard her whisper, “Tornado warning.”
“All right, folks, I hate to do this,” the governor was saying into the microphone. Next to him, the minister was giving him instructions. “We need everyone to get down to the basement.”
The din of the crowd grew louder. “We’ve all been through this a million times and it’s probably nothing, but better safe than sorry, so let’s stay calm and make our way to the stairs.”
Quickly, mourners moved one pew at a time and marched up the aisle. The minister was at the top now, directing traffic.
Matt caught Ganesh’s eye. His friend gave him a sly smile and winked at him. It was an odd gesture, but somehow perfect.
It was an orderly exit. Aunt Cindy tried to usher Matt along with her, but he held back, said he wanted to make sure his friends got squared away. In truth, he wanted a moment alone to finish his goodbyes. Matt wasn’t scared of the tornado. In his fourteen years in Adair there had been countless warnings, a twister or two touching down in cornfields, but he’d never even seen a funnel cloud. His aunt reluctantly agreed, mostly because she needed to tend to Matt’s grandpa, who was riled up by the commotion.
With the church cleared out, Matt stood alone with the caskets. The wind was whistling outside, and there was a crack of lightning.
He touched a hand to his mother’s coffin, then his father’s.
There were no words, he decided.
Matt turned, and instead of heading to the basement, he loosened his tie and walked out into the storm.
CHAPTER 55
SARAH KELLER
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.