Cut & Run (8 page)

Matt held out his hand. “I want to see it.”

Melinda got up and walked out of the room. Rachel heard the back door open and then quietly close. She imagined that Melinda didn’t want to hear the bad news that was likely to be revealed. Or, she thought, remembering the comments Melinda had made about Erin’s perfect life, maybe Melinda just wanted to freshen up her lipstick. There was something so superficial about the woman. Rachel wanted to warm to her, but couldn’t.

“I should clarify that the sheriff’s office in Houma found a body part only,” said Krapek. “Not a whole body. This is the left arm. A wedding ring was still attached.”

Matt studied the picture, and tears welled up in his eyes. “This is Erin’s wedding band. I may not remember the last couple of months, but I remember slipping this on her finger.” He made a kind of choking noise, and Rachel could tell he was trying to keep from all-out crying.

Chris glanced at the photo. “Are you sure, buddy?”

Matt nodded. “There’s one way to know for sure. It has our initials engraved on the inside of the band with our wedding date.”

“Right,” said Krapek, with a grave expression. “The initials E and M were found on the inside, along with an April date.” Agent Phipps handed Matt another photo. “Here’s the other picture we took of the ring.”

Rachel watched as Chris put his arm around Matt. The color was draining from Matt’s face.

“Not to sound harsh, but even if it’s Erin’s ring, how do you know that’s actually her?” Chris asked.

“The ME is running DNA and tox reports. We’re not one hundred percent, but with the ring…” Krapek shrugged.

Matt handed the photo back to Phipps with shaky hands. “It’s her. She had a mole on her hand. It always bothered her and she wanted to have it removed.”

“Well, this doesn’t prove Erin is dead,” said Chris. “You just found an arm, right?”

“Right,” Krapek answered. “But you have to admit it doesn’t look good.”

“What about the kids?” Matt asked.

“Nothing yet,” Krapek answered. “With a solid ID on Erin, we can have our crime scene unit assist the sheriff’s office and scour the area. Unfortunately, the weather elements combined with topography will make it difficult to find evidence.” Krapek looked to Detective Jones to see if she wanted to add anything about their investigation.

“We’re still waiting on our crime lab for the results of processing your vehicle and the scene,” said Jones. “So far, we know the only prints we’ve found on the tire iron are yours, Matt.” The woman shifted her heavy frame from one foot to the other.

Rachel watched Matt closely as he acknowledged Jones’s statement with a nod. He seemed genuinely surprised and upset by seeing the grisly photographs that seemed to prove his wife’s death. But Rachel still had her doubts about whether or not he was truly suffering from amnesia or just hiding the truth of what had happened. She just had to trust that the truth would come out in the end. And pray that the kids were still safe.

“Do you mind if we talk alone now?” Krapek asked Matt.

“Sure,” he answered.

“You can use my office,” Chris offered.

M
att could tell from Krapek’s posture that she wasn’t in the mood to waste any time. She gestured for Matt to take a seat, watched as Agent Phipps and Detective Jones did the same, and then started asking questions from behind the room’s wooden desk. “Have you remembered anything?”

Matt glanced around his brother’s office and spotted the mini-fridge that held some of his brother’s favorite local brews. He opened the door, grabbed a NOLA Blonde Ale, and popped the top. He stared into the bottle as if he’d find an answer there—an answer that would convince Krapek that he was innocent in the disappearance of his family.

“Nope. I’ve looked through countless family photo albums and videos. Nothing has worked.”

“Look, Matt. We’re running out of time here, so don’t pull any shit with us. Your kids’ lives could be in jeopardy. We need something to go on.” Krapek gripped the edge of the desk and leaned over so she was within inches of Matt’s face. A few blond tendrils came loose from her ponytail, and she tucked them behind her ear. “Give me something.”

Matt set his beer down on the desk. “I’m doing everything I can. What do you want from me?”

“We want you to tell us the truth. What really happened that night?” Krapek asked.

“I don’t know. I’m trying my best to remember. But I really don’t know.” Matt ran his hands through his dark hair. He didn’t know what it was going to take to get Krapek to believe him. “Look, I want to find my kids just as bad as you do. They’re
my
kids, for Christ’s sake. What do you want me to say?”

Krapek stared at him like her eyes might be able to crack him open. Matt’s eyes met hers and he didn’t look away.

“Matt, we’d like to come by your office tomorrow and sit down with you. Go through any cases you’ve worked on that may have had any disgruntled clients,” Phipps requested.

“Fine,” he said, with a hint of frustration. “What time?” Matt tilted back the beer bottle, took another swig, and set it down with a loud clank. He could sense that Krapek didn’t approve of his daytime drinking or his attitude, but he didn’t care.

“We’ll meet you there at nine.” Krapek sighed and slid off the side of the desk. “Sorry again for being the bearer of bad news. We’ll see ourselves out.”

Matt stayed in the room and watched the agents and detective leave. He heard them call out their good-byes. He reached in the fridge and grabbed another beer, this time choosing an IPA. He took a long pull from the bottle before setting it down. He knew time was running out. Agent Krapek was out for blood, his blood, and he could possibly be arrested any time now.

The Holy Bible was sitting on the edge of Chris’s desk. Matt picked it up and flipped through the pages. His eyes settled on Psalm 90:1. As he read the passage, an image of a homeless man popped in his head. A homeless man with perfect white teeth.

C
hris O’Malley looked out the living room’s front window and watched as the visitors backed down the driveway. Rachel and Red had made their exit as soon as Matt and his FBI visitors went to talk in private. Now they were gone as well. Closing his eyes in frustration for an instant, Chris went in search of his wife and found her in the kitchen, her back to him as she poured a martini.

“Melinda! What the hell was that all about?”

Melinda startled at his voice, clearly not expecting him. She dropped her martini glass on the kitchen’s marble tile floor. An olive rolled under the refrigerator, and the smell of vermouth assaulted Chris’s nose.

“You scared me!” Melinda grabbed the broom and started sweeping up the bits of broken glass. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? Why were you running your big mouth about the Meaux family? You know that company business is confidential. I told you to refrain from speaking about it to any investigators. You leave that to me!”

Chris watched as his wife used a wet paper towel to pick up the tiny fragments of the shattered martini glass the broom didn’t catch.

“I was just trying to help. Your poor brother is brain damaged, his wife and kids may be dead, and you don’t want me to say anything that may be helpful in finding them?” She threw the paper towel in the trash and then put her hands on her hips. Her normally well-coiffed blond hair was messy, and her lipstick had faded.

“You know what I mean, Melinda. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. Leave the business end of it to me. I don’t want you to talk about our clients. Period.” Chris threw his hands up. “Just keep drinking your martinis and keep your mouth shut about everything else.”

“That’s the problem, Chris. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for too long. I’m tired of living in this damn house out in the middle of nowhere. You promised me we would only be here for a few years. Where are our mansion and our fancy cars? That’s one thing I could never understand. Matt has given you plenty of opportunities to invest in stocks and real estate with him, and you never take him up on his offer. He’s made millions on his investments. Millions. And we have nothing because you’re too afraid to take a risk.” Melinda stomped her foot like a spoiled child, her four-inch heels making a clacking sound on the marble tiled floor. “Not only are you afraid, but you let Matt walk all over you. You let him have the mansion when your father died. You let him take control of the business. You are nothing but a puppet on a string. It’s pathetic. I obviously married the wrong brother!”

“Why do you have to make this all about you? My brother has lost everything and you want to talk about why you don’t have all the fancy things you think you’re entitled to? The faster I make money, the faster you spend it. It wouldn’t have mattered whether or not I made those investments, we’d still have nothing to show for it! Because of your reckless spending, we’re hundreds of thousands in debt!” Chris moved closer to Melinda and grabbed her chin with his right hand. “If you married me to get back at Matt,
then that was your choice. And if you don’t like things the way they are, then there’s the door.”

Melinda stared at him so coldly that Chris felt himself shudder. He felt close to hating her. When had it all gone wrong? Lately, she had seemed so detached. The more distant they became, the more Melinda spent. Or had she always been like this and he’d just never noticed? Her body was incredible enough to distract him from just about anything, that was for sure. Even now, he found himself staring at her curves beneath the tight pencil skirt, the swell of her breasts stretching the fabric of her shirt, and he reached out to caress her.

“I’m not going anywhere, Chris. If you think that, you’ve got another thing coming.” Melinda pushed Chris’s hand away just as he heard a thump. He turned quickly and was startled to see Matt right behind them. He was leaning on the breakfast bar, his hand resting on the Bible he’d found in Chris’s office, a hint of worry on his face.

“I think I remember something.”

C
hris heard Melinda let out a deep sigh. He knew she was a couple of drinks away from passing out. Melinda rarely drank, but lately she seemed stressed and had been drinking more than usual, and this had Chris concerned.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and rest?” Chris said, his tone softer. “I’m going to take Matt out for dinner.”

Chris watched as Melinda kissed Matt on the cheek before leaving the room.

“Sorry you had to witness that,” Chris said to his brother. “So. What do you remember?”

Matt shrugged. “It could be nothing, but I was flipping through the Bible and read this passage: ‘A prayer of Moses, the man of God. Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.’ I think it triggered a memory.”

Chris gripped his hand around his beer. “Tell me.”

“Well, after reading that, I suddenly remembered a homeless man asking me for money. I gave him twenty bucks.”

Chris laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Matt asked, confused.

“You think that’s a recovered memory? From when? Brother, you are always giving money to the poor and unfortunate. That memory could be from three months ago or three years ago. You are a magnet for poor, troubled souls. Just a couple of weeks ago we were rushing to the courthouse, and a single mom with two kids approached us at a crosswalk. I couldn’t believe you stopped to listen to her sob story. She said she was hungry and her husband kicked her and the kids out of the house. You marched that woman and her kids to the closest restaurant and bought them all ham and egg biscuits, and didn’t even care that you made us late for our appointment. You probably gave her money, too.”

“I don’t remember that.” Matt drained the last of his beer.

Chris picked up the Bible and flipped through the pages. “Trust me. You’re a regular bleeding heart.”

“This homeless guy told me his name was Moses,” Matt said, ignoring Chris’s comment. “He was black and his clothes were grubby.”

“Are you sure this is a memory and not something you’ve dreamed up?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Matt said.

Chris checked his watch. “I’m starving. We’ve got a couple hours before Mother’s closes. Let’s go for a ride.” Mother’s Restaurant was their favorite go-to place to grab the best shrimp po’boys in the area.

Matt chucked his empty beer bottle into the recycling bin. “Sure. Let’s grab something to go and then swing by my house. I’d like to pick up a few things, if you don’t mind.”

“Give me a minute to check on Melinda. Then we’ll go get your po’boy and you can tell me more about this homeless guy you remember.”

M
att stared out the window as his brother pulled onto St. Charles Avenue, which ran through the heart of the Garden District. The smell of the shrimp po’boys and dirty rice tucked snugly in a white paper sack in the back seat was intoxicating and made his mouth water. It was the first time since being out of the hospital that he really felt hungry.

The scenery was picturesque as they traversed St. Charles, famous for its streetcar line and leafy canopy of ancient live oaks. The grand mansions that lined the street were like an architectural student’s wet dream. Tourists traveled from far away just to admire the largest collection of architectural styles in the country, including Greek Revival, Colonial Revival, Victorian, Italianate, and center hall cottages. A majority of the mansions had grand embellishments, such as ornate wrought iron fences lushly overgrown with Southern flora. As his brother turned off St. Charles Avenue onto Valmont Street and Matt saw his house, he couldn’t help thinking that it kept up appearances. Nobody driving by would guess that anything with his family was amiss. His large Victorian mansion looked as stunning and grand as the other houses on his street. Chris
pulled around the side driveway, unlocked the gate, and then parked next to Erin’s car.

“Did the police say when I could pick up my truck?” Matt grabbed their bag of takeout food from the backseat and hopped out.