“This is amazing. You don’t know what a relief—I can’t thank you enough for letting me know.”
“Yes, you can.”
Liv gave him a look.
“I’m meeting Kyle and his partner at Vincenzo’s tomorrow night for dinner. Join us,” he said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve got Tommy with me, and I haven’t spent any time with Cindy, and we leave on Sunday and—”
“Bring them,” he said.
“I’ll need to talk to Cindy.”
“Tell you what, Livie,” Noah said, walking to his desk. He picked up a pen and wrote something on a piece of paper. “Here’s my cell number. Talk to Cindy and if you can make it, just let me know. I’d love to catch up.”
“I have your number,” Liv said.
“I had to change it after the documentary came out,” he said.
“Your adoring fans,” Liv replied.
“They’re not all fans,” he said.
Liv examined the paper. It was his official stationery: thick stock with Noah’s name and the state seal at the top. It hadn’t changed in seven years. Not since that morning he’d left her the note on the hotel room pillow, saying that he had to get home early to deal with the fallout from his son’s house party—the one that eventually sent her son to prison.
CHAPTER 29
MATT PINE
Matt awoke to a tap on his shoulder. He sat up quickly, squinting at the bright sun, confused for a second, but then remembering he’d slept on the beach. Before him was a young Mexican man wearing a white polo shirt and tan shorts. Other similarly dressed men were setting up umbrellas, unfolding chairs, and raking the sand. Matt looked toward the ocean. It was early and only a few people were on the beach. A couple with two young kids walked the shore, searching for shells, running from the waves.
“I’m sorry, sir, but this area is for guests only,” the man said.
“I am a guest.” Matt stood, brushed himself off, and walked toward the footpath that led to the hotel, hoping the guy wouldn’t call his bluff. He continued through the back door of the lobby, his damp sneakers squeaking as he made his way to the entrance of the facility. Out front, a bellhop hailed him a cab to the police station.
It took fifteen minutes to reach the station house. Matt took a deep breath before walking through the front door, which was propped open with a brick.
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…”