Matt spent the next two hours bouncing around in the back, watching out the rear window as they cruised south on Highway 307. It could’ve been any nondescript road in the US, except maybe there was more litter. Or maybe that was just Matt's current mindset, focusing only on the gloom. These weren't exactly the ideal circumstances under which to visit Mexico for the first time.

It was nearly five o’clock. They’d arrive soon. He’d have just enough time to get to the police station, sign the papers, and make it back to the Cancún airport for his nine o’clock return flight to New York. Agent Keller said they could extend the stay if needed. But he had no interest in seeing the beaches, ruins, or other sites. In and out.

The seat back blocked Matt’s view of the cabin, but he could make out some of the travelers up front in the reflection of the van’s window. He spied three kids, under ten by the looks of them, draped all over their parents. Even in the distorted reflection, the mom and dad looked bone tired. He thought of his family in a van like this one: Tommy with his face pressed to the window; Dad lost in his thoughts, pondering some Danny conspiracy; Maggie making an agenda for the trip; Mom with her nose in a book.

Matt pulled up that last text Maggie had sent him, the one Keller had taken an interest in. It was a photo of Matt’s father. It was zoomed in on his face, with a road behind him and what looked like the entrance to a business—a nightclub, maybe. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Scratch that. It was slightly unusual that Maggie would send Matt a shot of their father, given tensions of late.

In a sociology class at NYU, Matt had read about a study finding that by the time kids are eighteen, they’ve had an average of 4,200 arguments with their parents. Matt and his father had probably shattered that mean. It hadn’t always been like that. Before Danny’s arrest, Dad had been the one to encourage Matt’s interest in filmmaking, buying him moviemaking software, researching old Super 8 cameras, setting up screening parties for Matt’s short films. It wasn’t football, but Dad—and Mom, too—seemed genuinely impressed with his work. By the time he’d won his first film contest senior year, it barely went noticed in the Pine home. Dad had Danny, Maggie had Dad, Mom had Tommy.

Matt stared at the photo of his father, stomach acid crawling up his throat at the thought of their last words:

“It would be great if you could appear with us on the show.”

“I’m not going on the Today show, Dad.”

“The lawyers say public attention on the case could make a difference at the Supreme Court. The justices don’t accept many cases, so anything we can do to—”

“What part of no don’t you get?”

“You’re being selfish.”

“Oh, that’s just rich, coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to— Never mind. Fine. Do nothing, go back to school, and enjoy your carefree college life while your brother sits in a filthy prison cell.”

Matt stomped to the front door, grabbed his coat, yanked it on. “I will. You know why, Dad?” Matt paused a beat. “Because that’s where Danny fucking belongs.”

He had charged outside into the cold night, snowflakes floating peacefully in the sky, the strange quiet of a recent snow. He recalled how alone he’d felt that night. How alone he’d felt carrying around the truth about his brother, watching his father and sister spin their wheels trying to prove Danny’s innocence. But it was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now.

The shuttle finally jerked to a stop in front of a blocky cement building. No one would know it was a police station save for the black-and-white Dodge Charger fitted with sirens parked out front. The van’s back door swung open and Matt pulled himself out, tipped the driver, and raised a hand to the kids waving at him until the van disappeared down the road. He took a deep breath. It was time to claim the remains of his family.

One bite at a time, Matty. One bite at a time.

CHAPTER 16

SARAH KELLER

After her trip to the airport, Keller sat in her small windowless office in the FBI’s New York field office, poring over a report. It was the initial data set analyzing the Pine family’s digital footprint. Without their laptop computers or smartphones, the report was lighter than usual—limited to internet searches, social media posts, GPS locations—but the file was still three inches thick. There was no known crime, the word so far was freak accident, but something was gnawing at her.

Many agents scoffed at the notion of cop intuition, arguing that it was the kind of magical thinking that led to tunnel vision and convicting innocents. But Keller always followed her gut. And here it told her two words: foul play. So under the pretext of her money-laundering investigation of Marconi LLP, she’d had the IT nerds work their relationships with the internet companies and get the data. Once Mexico delivered the phones and laptops, she’d have a more complete picture.

Keller flipped through the stack, brushing through the pages and pages of unintelligible code until she found the search engine report. It contained every search made through the family’s internet service in the past three months. Searches about takeout food (“menu for Thai Garden”), the weather (“is it going to rain today”), education (“best MIT dorms”), leisure (“what’s on TV tonight”), health (“why can’t I sleep”), arts and crafts (“how to make slime”), and the other infinite queries of an ordinary American family.

In the Financial Crimes Section, where agents had to analyze mountains of data, she’d learned to separate the wheat from the chaff. For search engine reports, Keller’s go-to trick was to jump to what users had purposefully deleted from their search history. Typically, it was what you’d expect: lots and lots of pornography.

But the Pine deleted searches included no porn-related inquiries. Someone, however, had erased some troubling searches from the history:

Does life insurance pay if you kill yourself

How to make sure insurance pays if suicide

How many Zoloft needed to overdose

Effects of parent suicide on kids

The sound of Keller’s office phone interrupted her. She plucked the receiver from its cradle. “Keller,” she said, in her official voice.

“Judy and Ira Adler are here to see you,” the receptionist said.

“Who?” Keller clicked on her calendar to see if she’d forgotten an appointment. “I don’t see anyone on my schedule.”

“They say they’re here about the Pine investigation.”

Keller thought about this. Officially, there was no investigation. And certainly not one anyone would associate with Keller. She was effectively a babysitter, assigned because of Bureau politics and the strained connection to the Marconi case. While the receptionist waited with an annoyed breath through the receiver, Keller tapped “Judy Adler” into her computer’s search engine. A Wikipedia page appeared: “Judy Adler is an Emmy Award–winning filmmaker and producer. She rose to prominence with her documentary series ‘A Violent Nature,’ which she codirected with her husband, Ira.”

Keller released her own annoyed breath. “I’ll be right out.” She made her way down the hallway. Through the glass security doors she got a look at her visitors.

Judy Adler was probably in her late fifties. She wore black, and had dark hair with severe bangs. With her was a man of a similar age, who wore slightly tinted eyeglasses and had disorderly gray hair.

In the reception area, Judy approached with a confident stride, sticking out her hand.

“Special Agent Keller, thanks for meeting with us. I’m Judy Adler. This is my husband, Ira.”

Keller was tempted to say that she knew who they were, but just shook both their hands, nodded politely. “What can I do for you?”

“We hoped we could talk”—Judy looked around the empty reception area as if to confirm no one was listening—“about the Pine investigation.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Judy Adler gave Keller a knowing smile. “There’re photos of you with Matthew Pine all over the internet. It took our people about five minutes to identify you.…”

The damn paparazzi from the dorm.

Before Keller responded, Judy Adler said, “We’re filmmakers. We made a documentary about the Pines. Maybe you’ve seen it—‘A Violent Nature’?”

“Some of it,” Keller said, not offering a compliment. She actually thought it was well done—the Adlers were good storytellers. The old family photos of the Pines, the eerie string music, the interviews and news clips expertly interspersed for dramatic effect. Keller realized that Judy Adler was the interviewer, the faceless voice off-screen who’d probed subjects about Charlotte’s death.

“We had our investigator go down to Mexico,” Judy said. “He found something, and our lawyer said we should talk to the FBI.”

She had Keller’s attention now. By the look on Judy Adler’s face, she knew it.

“Why don’t you come back to my office.”

The Adlers signed in and secured guest badges, then followed Keller to her office. Keller gestured to the visitor chairs and took her seat behind the desk. She subtly closed the computer research file on the Pine family.