got a booth and waited for Keith. The restaurant was full of truckers stopping to get a quick bite to eat and gas up their rigs before hitting the road. The tables were sticky, the coffee scalding hot, and the smell of bacon wafted through the air.
“Here he comes now.” Red pointed out the window to a purple eighteen-wheeler pulling into the parking lot. Rachel watched as Keith expertly parked his rig, jumped out, and waltzed into the restaurant. He was wearing tight Levis, a plaid button-down shirt, and cowboy boots. He removed his ball cap as he walked to their table.
Red made the introductions as Keith sat down.
Rachel immediately sized him up. He looked to be around midforties, with sandy blond hair and a kind face.
“Thanks for meeting with us. Tell me about the night you met Matt O’Malley,” Rachel said. She took her notepad out of her purse.
Keith cleared his throat before he began. “I have a private rig and run a route from Katy, Texas, to Jackson, Mississippi, a couple times a week. Last Thursday night, I was headed back to Jackson when I stopped here for a bite to eat around eight thirty in the evening. I was checking my rig when this guy walked up and asked me for money. It’s not unusual, especially in this town, for homeless people to hang around truck stops looking for rides or something to eat. Right off, though, something made me want to help this guy. He wasn’t just your usual vagrant, he seemed more like a regular guy who’d had a rough night or something.”
“Why is that?” Rachel asked.
“For starters, he carried himself a lot nicer than most homeless people who wander around here. The clothes he was wearing were a little disheveled but somewhat clean. His hair was neatly trimmed, and there was a little stubble on his face, but otherwise he was in good shape. I gave him a ten-dollar bill and invited him to eat with me. I had a feeling the guy would have an interesting story. We sat at that table over there.” Keith pointed to a booth a few feet away. “We both ordered dinner, and while we waited to be served, I tried to make some small talk. I started by asking him what his name was and where he was from.”
“What did he say?”
“A strange look crossed his face. I just figured that something bad must have happened to him and he didn’t want to talk about it. So we talked about the weather and sports instead. Or I should say that I talked. He didn’t say much of anything. He didn’t even eat that much. Just a few sips of water and a couple bites of food.”
“What was his mental state like?” Rachel asked.
“He looked a little lost, maybe confused. Thank goodness the food came quick. We ate in silence. I asked him if he needed a lift anywhere when we were done. He said no, thanked me again for the money and the grub, and then hit the restroom. I paid the check, and while I was pulling out, I saw him stumble out to the parking lot. I thought he may have been drinking, but come to think of it, I never smelled any alcohol on him.” Keith shrugged. “That was the last I saw of him until I spotted the flyer.”
“When was that?” Rachel asked.
“The next morning when I left Jackson, I headed out back on the road to Katy. I always stop at the Feed and Fuel near my house. When I headed inside, I saw a flyer on the door with this guy’s face on it. I was shocked. I immediately pulled out my phone and called the tip line.”
Red finished his coffee and pushed the cup aside. “The call came into our hotline, and Janine called me right away. I headed up to Baton Rouge and met Keith later that morning. Along with the Baton Rouge police department.”
“He never mentioned having a family or living in New Orleans?” Rachel asked.
“The only thing I got out of him was his name. Matt. I remember that because it’s my nephew’s name. Like I said, I figured the guy was down on his luck. With this economy, you’d be surprised how many men and women are on the street looking for work.”
Rachel took a business card out of her purse and slid it across the table to Keith. “Please call me if you remember anything