Free Fall by Rick Mofina Page B

something there.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œUnder the M ’s.”
    Kate jotted it down.
    â€œWhat if there are other M ’s?”
    â€œI don’t think you’ll have a problem.”
    Kate’s keyboard clicked and she’d found the site, went to the M ’s and landed on a page with a photo and bio of Raymond Brian Matson. His was the only listing under M for ten years with EastCloud. The listing was about three years old.
    â€œNick, you know you have a friend here who owes you a favor.”
    â€œNo favor, Kate.” He chuckled. “Because I didn’t give you any information that wasn’t already public.”
    â€œUnderstood. Thanks.”
    Kate read the brief bio describing Matson’s experience and time with EastCloud. Of course it didn’t list his address or the city where he resided.
    He could live anywhere in the country.
    She tapped her pen again.
    She had another source, Marsha Flood, a retired FBI agent she’d known since she’d been a reporter in California. Marsha ran a private-investigation firm and had quicker and better access to more databases than Kate, like the one containing driver’s licenses. Kate sent her a text requesting help locating an address for Raymond Brian Matson. Then she sent a link to Matson’s bio and pic to help her find the right Matson. Kate calculated the time zone difference, confident that Marsha would be up by now.
    As she waited, she ran Raymond Matson’s name through several of Newslead’s archives and news information networks to see of he’d ever been the subject of a news story.
    Nothing. She left a message on Marsha’s voice mail.
    She checked his name with several popular social media sites.
    Nothing.
    As she downed her coffee her phone rang.
    â€œHi, Kate, it’s Marsha.”
    â€œHey, Marsha.”
    â€œHow’re Vanessa and Grace doing?”
    â€œVanessa’s doing great, and Grace—well, they grow up too fast, don’t they? How’s your son doing? Still posted overseas?”
    â€œHe comes home from South Korea next month.”
    â€œOh, that’s good. I’m happy for you.”
    â€œNow about your subject, Raymond Brian Matson. He’s close to you. According to his valid state driver’s license he resides in Westfield, New Jersey, Lamberts Mill Road.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œI’ll send you the address. Oh, I also saw that he’s involved in divorce proceedings, so bear that in mind.”
    â€œI appreciate this, Marsha.”
    â€œAnytime.”

Eleven
    Westfield, New Jersey
    L amberts Mill Road ran through a quiet, tree-lined section of Westfield.
    The Matson house, a century-old two-story colonial with a screened side porch, sat back from the street. No vehicles were in the driveway when Kate pulled up.
    It looked like no one was home.
    She rang the bell but got no response.
    Kate had been afraid this would happen—that no one would be home. The for-sale sign and the divorce were likely factors, she thought as she drove off and parked several doors down.
    She adjusted the car’s mirror and settled in to watch the address. Showing up cold was always a risk whenever you were pursuing a sensitive interview. When you emailed, or called, people were quick to delete or hang up. When you appeared at their door and looked them in the eye, the odds sometimes worked in your favor.
    Not always but sometimes.
    The air was tranquil with sounds of birdsong, the wind through the trees and the distant laughter of children. Traffic had been good. It had taken her about forty-five minutes using one of Newslead’s leased cars to make the trip across the Hudson.
    Kate worked on her phone, building a story based on the few updates she had from the people she’d reached earlier. Between sentences, she monitored her mirrors, noting that the for-sale sign could also mean that Matson no longer lived here.
    She wasn’t