“I was surprised about Marconi,” Keller said. “I mean, we haven’t done any prep and it could mess up a lot of work. If they think we’re onto them, they’ll start destroying documents. And it could all be for nothing. We don’t have one shred of evidence that the Pine deaths are related to Marconi or the cartel.”

Stan looked at Keller and in that droll way of his said, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint the president’s daughter, would you?”

CHAPTER 18

MATT PINE

Matt approached the front desk of the small station house. The place had all the charm of Danny’s prison in upstate New York—a dilapidated single-story structure with low ceilings and mangy carpeting.

“Hello,” Matt said to the woman at the counter.

She flicked him a glance. She was middle-aged and wore glasses pinched to her nose.

“I’m here to see Señor Gutierrez,” Matt said, looking at the paper Agent Keller had given him with the investigator’s name.

The woman responded rapidly in Spanish. Matt didn’t catch a word of it, but she seemed to be scolding him.

“I’m Matt Pine,” he said loudly and slowly, as if that would help. He showed the receptionist his passport, but she just gave him a bewildered expression.

From his duffel, he pulled out the newspaper Keller had given him. He laid it flat on the counter. He pointed to the photo. “My family,” he said.

The woman looked at the newspaper and lifted her eyes, peering over her glasses. She started back with the fast-talking Spanish. If it all wasn’t so morbid, it would be almost comical. A scene from Lost in Translation.

Matt said the only phrase he remembered from high school Spanish. “No hablo español.”

The woman stopped. Let out an exasperated breath. She pondered Matt at length, and finally pointed to the detective’s name on the sheet of paper. Then she gestured out the door.

“Ah. Señor Gutierrez is out.” Matt paused. “When will he—” Matt stopped again. He pointed to a clock on the wall behind the woman. It was one of those old-fashioned clocks you’d see in elementary schools, round with a white face and black numbers.

“What time will Señor Gutierrez return?” Matt pointed to the officer’s name then the clock again.

The woman seemed to get it. She stood and pointed to the 9 on the clock. He’d be there at nine tonight. No, the woman made a gesture like she was sleeping, then made a circular motion around the clock past the nine and around once until she stopped at the nine again. Tomorrow morning: 9:00 A.M. So much for getting out of there tonight. He considered asking to speak to another officer, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else at the station house.