Cut & Run (9 page)

“That detective said they were almost done processing the truck. I’ll check on it tomorrow morning.” Chris followed Matt inside, where they sat at the kitchen table and dug into their sandwiches.

“I want to go in to the office with you tomorrow,” Matt mumbled, his mouth full of food.

Chris put down his half-eaten sandwich. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’m tired of hanging around the house and doing nothing. Besides, the FBI wants to come by and take a look at our operation. They seem to think that one of our clients pulled this stunt.”

“What do you think?” Chris asked.

“I dunno. I can’t think of anyone who would do this to us.”

“Me either. They’ve already been through all this with me. But maybe they’ll see something we haven’t thought of.”

Matt tried to gather his disorganized thoughts. “Chris, do you think I had something to do with this?”

Chris stared at him. “Hell, no! Why would you even ask that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been wondering what happened in these last two months that I can’t remember. Maybe the homeless guy plays a part in all this. Why would his image be the first I remember? Maybe something was going on with Erin that I didn’t know about. I’m going out of my mind trying to remember something. Anything!” Matt took his napkin and wiped his face before crumpling the paper into a ball with his fist.

“I know you’re frustrated, but you just need to calm down. Relax. Your memory will come back in time.”

“But we don’t have a lot of time,” Matt said. “Erin’s dead, I feel sure of it. I don’t even want to think about what may have happened to the kids.”

Chris patted his brother on the shoulder. “We’ll find them, buddy. One step at a time. We’ll go into the office tomorrow, cooperate with the feebs, and then see what we can find out about this homeless guy.”

“Do me a favor,” Matt said. “Don’t mention the homeless guy to Agent Krapek. She already has it out for me. I don’t know for sure what that memory means yet, and I’m not ready to share that information with her.”

“You got it, buddy.” Chris finished his sandwich in two bites. “Should we jet?”

“I’m going to stay here tonight. Maybe I’ll remember more being in my own house.”

“Is this about Melinda? I know staying at our place isn’t exactly relaxing. She’s been a little stressed over the whole situation.”

Matt looked around the kitchen for the trash can. “No. I appreciate all your help, but I need to start finding my way back. I need to find out what happened to me and my family. The sooner I get my memory back, the better. The only way to do that is to get back home and back into my routine. At least that is what Dr. Mendoza, the great neurologist, says.”

“I agree. I’ll swing by in the morning and pick you up. We’ll call the station and see if we can pick up your truck on the way in.”

Matt gave his brother a quick hug. “Thanks for everything, brother. I’ll see ya in the morning.”

After Chris left, Matt wandered around the house picking up knickknacks and photos. “Tell me something,” he said aloud. He looked at a photo of Mary Katherine in her soccer uniform, standing with her foot on the ball and smiling at the camera.

“I’m going to find you, Mary Kate. You and Patrick. I promise.”

He put the frame back on the fireplace mantel and walked outside to the back patio. The pool light was on, the water glistening and inviting. Matt chucked his flip-flops off and dipped his foot in the water. It was nice and cool. He stripped off his clothes, diving headfirst into the refreshing water. He started with slow,
even strokes, making his way back and forth across the pool. With each lap, his speed increased until he was tired and out of breath. He threw his arms onto the tiled edge of the pool and rested his aching head on the back of his hand, his heart beating furiously against his chest. After a few minutes, he looked at the back of the house. For a brief second, he thought he saw the curtains flutter on the second story. His bedroom. Matt rubbed his eyes, thinking he was seeing things. He quickly got out of the pool and ran through the back door, his wet feet skidding as soon as they hit the wood floors. He took the stairs two at a time and ran down the long hallway to the master bedroom. Bursting through the door, he flipped on the bedroom light, his eyes glancing around the empty room. The bed was made, with a half-empty glass of water sitting on the nightstand. Matt walked cautiously into the adjoining master bathroom, flipping on lights as he went through. The bathroom was immaculate and also empty. No one lurked in the linen closet or behind any doors. Matt made his way through all the rooms upstairs, checking under beds and in the closets. Satisfied that no one else was in the house, he returned to his bedroom and sat on the bed staring at the view of the pool.

He wondered if paranoia was a side effect of his current condition and guessed that it probably was. He thought back to his recovered memory of the homeless man named Moses. The dirty trench coat, mud-caked shoes, and torn jeans. There was something else that was peculiar about the man. Matt closed his eyes, struggling to remember. It was his teeth. Moses had perfect white teeth. Matt remembered watching Moses leave and then turning his attention to the upstairs window and seeing his wife watching through the blinds. Then the memories of the previous Wednesday night came flooding back in a rush that made his head hurt even more.

Getting ready for soccer practice. Giving the homeless man twenty dollars. Coaching the kids on the field. Stopping to get gas on the way home. Talking with Chris and telling him they needed
baking potatoes for the family dinner. Getting a flat tire on the way to Antoine’s to drop off Erin’s painting. Stopping at the empty parking lot near the Riverwalk to inspect the damaged tire. A voice coming from behind while he was crouching down to fix it. A tire iron coming down hard and fast toward his head.

Whose face was it that he saw that night? Who was holding the tire iron? Matt pressed his hands against his temples and struggled to remember. It was just out of his grasp. Somebody he knew hit him. It was like his mind was trying to protect him from a painful memory. Matt knew that it was someone close to him, he was sure of that. But who?

M
att was dressed and waiting for Chris to come pick him up by seven thirty the next morning. He’d filled a travel cup with the rest of the coffee, poured in a generous amount of French-vanilla creamer, and unplugged the Keurig machine. He’d called the police department, spoken briefly to Detective Jones, and confirmed that he could pick up his Durango. Just as he was putting some paperwork in his briefcase, he heard Chris honking from the street. He grabbed his things, set the house alarm, and headed out the front door.

“Morning. You ready?” Chris greeted him as Matt slid into the front seat.

“Yup. I just talked to Detective Jones. I can pick up my truck from the impound lot anytime today.”

Chris nodded as they headed down St. Charles Avenue, passing by an empty streetcar. “How was last night?”

“Rough. I can’t get that image of Erin’s…severed arm…out of my head. Her wedding ring on her…pale hand.”

“Sorry, brother. I know this has got to be hard on you.”

Matt choked up, struggling with his words. “I have to find Mary Kate and Patrick…I can’t imagine what they must be going
through…if they are…” He couldn’t bear to think that his kids were gone.

Chris put one hand on his brother’s arm. “We’ll find them, brother. You got the best team on your side helping look for them. Keep the faith.”

“I’m trying.” Matt briefly considered telling his brother about the memory he recovered the night before. Something stopped him.

“Maybe going into work will help distract you. We had some new cases come in last night. I thought we would go to the office for your meeting with the feebs, and then we can pick up the files and head to the station. We’ll get your truck on the way back.”

“New bonds?” Matt asked.

“It’s been a busy week. Corrine has been working overtime since you’ve been out. It’ll be nice to have you back at the office for a bit.”

“As long as we’re back by nine. I don’t want to keep Agent Krapek waiting.”

The office of O’Malley Bail Bonds was located at the corner of Tulane and South Broad Streets, just a short walking distance to the jail and police station. The office was housed in an ancient two-story redbrick building that the O’Malleys had owned since the early 1940s. The bail bond office took up the entire first floor. The second floor was leased to a group of family-law attorneys. It made good business sense, and referrals were often exchanged between the two businesses.

Matt walked into the office and was immediately enveloped in a hug by Corrine, the office manager. Corrine was in her late seventies, with a bouffant of white hair that reminded Matt of a soft, pillowy cloud. She had been hired by his grandfather as he neared retirement; Corrine knew the business inside and out. Matt and his brother had tried several times to get her to retire, to no avail. Corrine not only was the office manager but also had taken a maternal role when Matt and Chris’s own mother passed
away when they were kids. She was like a grandmother to Mary Kate and Patrick, always baking them sugary treats and buying them loads of presents on their birthdays and at Christmas.

“How are you,
cher?
” Corrine asked Matt.

“Good.” Matt gave her a quick kiss on her papery cheek.

“You’re looking better. Any memories coming back?”

Matt vaguely remembered her coming to the hospital in Baton Rouge to see him. He trusted her, but he wasn’t ready to let anyone know he had started to recover bits and pieces of his memory. There were still too many questions, and he needed answers first.

“No, nothing,” he said, giving her one more hug before heading to his office. He needed a minute alone to make some calls.

“Let me know when you are ready to head over to the station,” he said to Chris.

“We’ll leave after your meeting,” Chris answered.

In the solitude of his office, Matt sighed. Fooling his brother was going to be the hardest part. Since childhood, they’d always been tight and never kept secrets from each other. At least, he never kept secrets from Chris. He wasn’t sure now if Chris had always told him the truth about everything. Like the trouble he’d seen between Chris and Melinda yesterday at their house, for example. Chris always acted like his marriage was great, but Matt had seen for himself that that definitely wasn’t the case. As he thought back over the events of the night he was injured and his family was kidnapped, he realized that he wasn’t sure if he could trust anyone right now.

One person he could probably rely on was Rachel Scott. Tonight, he would call her so they could discuss the partial memory he had recovered about the night his family went missing. Together maybe they’d be able to come up with something to help find his kids.

A knock on his door brought his attention back to the present. “There is an Agent Cyndy Krapek here to see you,” said Corrine, peeking her head into his office.

“Bring her back,” Matt instructed.

Within a couple of minutes, Krapek and Phipps were sitting in front of his desk. Matt was prepared for their meeting and handed Krapek a spreadsheet of the last three months’ cases the office had handled.

“Chris is on his way to join us. He had a few phone calls to make. This is the list of recent clients we’ve helped. According to him, nothing out of the ordinary. Just routine stuff.”

Krapek casually glanced over the list and then put it aside. “Any more thoughts on the night your wife and kids disappeared?”

Matt met her gaze head on. “If you’re asking if I have remembered anything, the answer is no. And I don’t know who would’ve done this. Like my brother told you, we don’t have any enemies.”

With a friendly smile, Chris breezed into the office. He said hello and situated himself next to Matt, leaning his tall frame against the wall.

“Does the name DeShaun McAllister ring any bells?” Phipps asked.

Matt shook his head no and then looked to Chris, who replied, “Not to me either. Why?”

“His prints were found on the exterior of your vehicle,” Phipps answered.

“He has a record?” Chris asked, buzzing Corrine on the intercom before Phipps confirmed. “Check our files for a DeShaun McAllister.”

While they waited for Corrine to respond, Krapek continued her questioning. “Did you and your wife have any marital problems, Matt?”

Chris reached over and laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t answer that,” he instructed. “Is my brother a suspect?” he directed at Krapek.

“We are just asking routine questions. If your brother wants our help in finding his kids, then he should have no problems in
cooperating.” Krapek casually picked up the spreadsheet again and thumbed through it.

“I don’t feel comfortable where this is going. If you need me to answer any more questions, you’ll have to do it in the presence of my attorney,” Matt told her.

Corrine knocked once and then reached over and handed Chris a file. “Thanks, Corrine,” he smiled, politely dismissing her. He peeked inside the folder and then handed it to Matt. After Matt looked it over, he cleared his throat and closed the file. “Looks like DeShaun was a former client. This file dates back over ten years ago, but we bonded him out on a misdemeanor charge. I have no recollection of it.”

Krapek smiled. “That attorney of yours? You better call them.”

“I
still can’t believe you are going to that mumbo jumbo ceremony,” Red said for the third time.

“And as I’ve been telling you, I think it’s a good way to get a feeling for what Erin was going through.” Rachel grabbed her makeup case off the bed. “Anyway, you’re not obligated to go. I told you, Michelle is coming with me.”

Rachel started rooting around in her suitcase, looking for something to wear. Earlier that morning, Madame Verdene had called to invite Rachel to a cleansing ritual that she held once a month in her shop. Rachel accepted the invitation, feeling lucky that her friend Michelle was in town for a medical convention and could come with her. They’d decided to meet up for drinks before heading over to the voodoo shop. They were calling it a girls’ night out. Red was calling it a waste of time.