“Slap on the wrist,” she said.
“Do you have any others in your family?”
“Cousins,” she said. “Otherwise—”
“You’re all alone.”
“Yes,” she said, although she didn’t like hearing someone say it out loud.
“How does that make you feel?” he asked somberly.
“I’m okay with it,” she said hesitantly.
“I suppose your work helps.”
She popped a wedge of fish into her mouth and waited for him to say something, but he returned to his meal in silence. She washed the salmon down with a drink of water. “Your turn to share.”
He glanced up. “My turn?”
“What about your family? Besides your parents, anyone else? Any other siblings?”
“There’s just the two of us.”
“You and Luke and that’s it?”
He nodded and looked away.
Something is wrong there, she thought.
AS THEY STOOD under a streetlamp outside the restaurant, the October wind buffeted their backs and sent crumpled McDonald’s bags flying past their ankles. Urban tumbleweeds. She waited patiently while the swaying man searched for his buttonholes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a man in St. Paul wearing fur. It wasn’t something moderately rustic, like a raccoon jacket or a beaver bomber. It was a full-length black mink coat with wide lapels.
“I wish you had let me pay,” he said, finally unearthing the holes and buttoning up. “Going Dutch with a woman is so junior high.”
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, pulling on her leather gloves. “Let me hail you a cab and you can pay for that.”
“I don’t need a ride,” he said, pulling on his gloves.
“You can leave your car in the ramp,” she said. “It’ll be fine.”
They both stepped to one side. A Wild hockey game had just let out, and a wave of green jerseys was rolling down the sidewalks. A couple of the female fans eyed the mink as they passed Matthew.
“I walked here and I can walk back,” he said.
“Where do you live?”
He thumbed over his shoulder, toward the Mississippi River. “Across the bridge. I’ll be home before your car warms up.”
“That’s convenient.”
He buried his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the gale. “Are you in the ramp? I can at least walk you to your car.”
She didn’t want him to know she lived downtown and had walked to the restaurant. “Don’t worry about it. I’m close. Parked on the street.”
“You sure? I don’t mind a little walk.”
“I’m good.” She held out her hand. “Thank you. It was interesting.”
“Interesting,” he repeated as he shook her hand.
“No. Seriously. It was … nice.”
He stood staring at her for a moment, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. A teenage boy trying to put closure on a disastrous first date. “Well, good night,” he said with a tip of his head, and turned his back to leave.
“Matt?”
He pivoted around, a pained expression on his face. His escape had been delayed. “Yes?”
“Ask your brother to think about the files,” she said.
“I’ll talk to him,” he said dully.
As she watched him go down the sidewalk, she wondered if his unsteadiness was from the wind or the wine. The mink bumped shoulders with a hockey jersey going the opposite way on the sidewalk. It was the wine.
She waited until he was a block away before she started to follow him.
Chapter 26
DEFTLY WEAVING THROUGH the people crowding the downtown sidewalks, Bernadette kept Matthew at a distance but within eyeshot. While she’d easily found a home address for Luke, she’d been stumped when trying to track down the younger brother’s residence. Did he live in his Jag?
When he stepped onto the west side of the Wabasha Bridge and continued south over the river, she slowed her pace. There were few pedestrians on the bridge, and she didn’t want to risk being spotted by her quarry. The walk was ten feet wide, and the side bordering the road was dotted with fat concrete pedestals topped by streetlights. She hugged that side of the walk, moving from pedestal to pedestal. Burying her hands in her coat pockets, she felt the comforting outline of her gun tucked under all the clothing.
About a third of the way across, Matthew stopped to look out over the river. Afraid he’d spot her, she stepped onto one of the overlooks that jutted out from the bridge like concrete balconies. The apron was surrounded by a cagelike structure that camouflaged her but still allowed her to keep him in her sights.
While the river side of the walk was bordered by railing as high as Matthew’s shoulders, Bernadette was still nervous at seeing him lean against the bars and stare into the water. Nighttime on the river was always the most dangerous. The downtown lights became a string of pearls cast against black velvet, making the Mississippi appear deceptively safe and beautiful. Alluring. More than one person had jumped off that bridge at night on a stupid dare. Some were saved. Others died in the black water.
She sidled next to one of the light poles that lined the overlook and continued to watch him. What was he doing there all by himself, half in the bag from four hundred dollars’ worth of wine? Was he frustrated he hadn’t charmed the FBI bitch into backing off? Were his thoughts even darker? Perhaps he was wondering what it would be like to drop into the river, sink to the bottom. She could almost understand that sort of fantasy.
A frigid wind rolled down the deck of the bridge. A man and a woman, both dressed in jeans and flannel shirts with puffy down vests zipped up over them, hustled past Bernadette without giving her a glance. They wore matching Minnesota Wild stocking caps pulled over their heads. They’d been to the hockey game and parked on the outskirts of downtown to save money. As they moved past Matthew, they shot a quick look at his back. They were probably wondering what a guy in a mink coat was doing walking.
Shivering, she pulled her gloves tighter over her fingers and told herself that she’d picked the wrong night to chase after someone out of curiosity. What would she do once he got home? Knock on his door?
FINALLY, MATTHEW moved off the railing, buried his hands in his pockets, and resumed his walk. She hesitated, telling herself it would be more sensible to abandon this foolish hunt and go home. Her gut had other ideas.
As she trailed him south on the bridge, she tried to guess where he was leading her. Anchoring the south end was Harriet Island, a groomed park directly across the river from downtown. It had picnic tables, a pavilion, and a playground. Tied up along its shoreline were a floating dinner theater, a floating restaurant, and massive paddle-boats. To its west was Lilydale Regional Park, a long, narrow tangle of woods and marshes that ran along the river. The area immediately south of the parks was mostly commercial, with a gas station, a health clinic, office buildings, and assorted factories. Beyond that, overlooking downtown and the river, were bluffs dotted with trees. Atop the bluffs were homes. If that was where Matthew lived, she had a long hike ahead of her.
After the bridge, however, he hooked to the right and jogged down a set of steps that led to Harriet Island. Strange, she thought. Even the homeless folks would avoid hanging out in that park on such a frigid night.
There was a small parking area near the entrance to the island, and Bernadette figured Matthew was going there to collect his car. He passed the parking lot, however, and crossed the street to a chain-link fence that followed the banks of the river. He stopped at a gate in the middle of the fencing and dug into his coat pockets. He pulled a key out of his pocket and dropped it on the sidewalk. “Fuck!” he said, loud enough for her to hear. He bent over, retrieved the key, and inserted it in the gate’s lock. After some fiddling and more cursing, he pushed the gate open and stepped through. It clanged shut behind him.