He’d refused to participate in the documentary, but he couldn’t escape the family photos and old news footage sprinkled over ten dramatic episodes set against a haunting score heavy on cello and violin. After it aired, people would often give him the Do I know you from somewhere? look. The true believers, the Danny Pine faithful, made the connection, and Matt would have to turn down selfies or apologize that he wasn’t really a hugger. He’d unwillingly become part of a national mystery, a game of Clue where journalists—and internet detectives—came up with elaborate theories and spent an unbelievable amount of time trying to prove whodunit.
The show had struck a chord. A beautiful young girl disfigured in the most gruesome way. The all-American boy wrongfully accused. A small town painted in the worst kind of light—and, of course, the suspects overlooked.
The documentary pointed to one in particular, Bobby Ray Hayes. He was in prison for killing several young women. He’d sexually assaulted and murdered the girls, then smashed in their skulls with large rocks. The media uncreatively called him “the Smasher.” Depending on where you were from, you’d call the Hayes clan white trash or hillbillies or rednecks. After the documentary, they were called that and then some. And the youngest in the brood—a shark-eyed menace named Bobby Ray—was straight out of central casting as a creepy killer of women.
Matt spotted a man in an expensive-looking suit pretending not to look at him. The guy fit the profile. Danny Pine’s “fans” were a decidedly well-heeled crowd, people who couldn’t wrap their heads around a wrongful conviction, oblivious to how often it happened to the poor. Spend a few minutes with Matt’s father, and he’d give you an earful about the 2,852 individuals on the National Registry of Exonerations who’d collectively spent 23,540 years in prison for crimes they did not commit.
“Matthew,” a voice said from behind him. It was the FBI agent. Keller.
“Hey,” he said.
“I heard you had some excitement this morning,” Agent Keller said.
Matt didn’t understand. He hadn’t reported the guy who’d shoved him into the street. It was just a few hours ago.
She held up her phone, displaying a story from some web news rag. The headline read: SURVIVOR OF “A VIOLENT NATURE” FAMILY ATTACKED.
Matt groaned.
“There’s also a feature story about your family in this morning’s edition of the Times.” She said it like a warning. “Are you okay? What happened? Were you really attacked?”
Matt told her about the man with the cleft lip scar.
“Why didn’t you call me? Or report what happened to the NYPD? What if—”
“I’m fine, just some bruises. I didn’t get a good look at the guy and he didn’t get anything, so there wasn’t anything to report.”
Keller didn’t seem thrilled by his response, but she couldn’t do much about it. She retrieved a sheet of paper from her handbag. “This has the name of the consular officer who will meet you at the airport. He’ll know where to go, but just in case, I also included the address of the police station and the name of the local officer in charge of the investigation.”
Matt glanced at the paper, then folded it up and tucked it into his front pocket with his passport.
“Hopefully it will be pro forma,” Keller said. “You’ll sign some papers and they’ll release the bod—release your family. The consulate will help with the paperwork for their flight home.”
Matt nodded.
Keller handed him a folded copy of the Times. He glanced at the front page. The photo was a punch in the gut. It was a selfie of his family in front of a sign for the Cancún airport. They were hamming it up for the camera. Where the hell had the Times gotten the shot? He realized that his mom had probably posted it on Facebook, the place where she pretended that their family was doing just fine, thank you very much. Under the photo, a caption:
EVAN PINE （51）， OLIVIA PINE （51）， MARGARET PINE （17）， THOMAS PINE （6）。
Under the selfie were separate shots of Matt and Danny. The one of Matt was another Facebook grab of him last summer. Danny’s was his mug shot.
“I don’t want to read this.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Keller said. “But these local cops have been being difficult. If they need additional confirmation that it’s your family, the photo may help. It also may remind them that the world is watching how they handle the case.”
A distorted voice blared from the overhead speakers. It was hard to understand, but travelers started lining up to board.