Black Jack

by Diane Capri

  The driver traveled the New York City streets expertly without fanfare and pulled up in front of the restaurant in fifteen minutes.

  “What do I owe you?” She looked for a credit card terminal or a way to slide cash through the partition but found neither.

  “We have payment arrangements with your hotel, Miss. Charges will be added to your hotel bill.” He spoke into the handset, which she’d rapidly appreciated the first time he’d employed it. No incessant chatter to deal with.

  He pointed over his right shoulder. “If you’d like me to pick you up later, just call the cell number on my license posted on the partition behind my seat.”

  She noted the number, thanked him, and let herself out. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, and the wind speed had picked up. She dashed inside.

  The restaurant was no longer busy, but a few diners remained. Once she was seated at an isolated table away from the cold wind that blew inside every time the door opened, Kim found Harper’s card.

  She texted, “Otto here. In the dining room. Alone. Join me?”

  After that, she ordered coffee and settled in to wait. Before the coffee arrived, she received two texts. The first one was from an unknown number. Short and to the point. “Say hello to Harper for me. R.”

  Her spinal nerves jumped to attention. She’d told no one she was meeting Lisa Harper. Hell, she’d only made the decision after Brice dropped her off at the hotel. She looked up from her phone and scanned the restaurant for watchers. If he was inside, she didn’t spot him. Outside then. Or electronics. Stay alert, Otto.

  She looked at her phone again.

  The second text was from Harper. “Fifteen minutes.”

  She arrived in ten, every bit as stunning as she’d looked earlier. She had luggage with her this time. She leaned it against the wall near her chair and took her seat. “My flight leaves JFK at 7:05. Traffic shouldn’t be a big issue tonight. But I don’t want to get stuck here, with the snow coming in. I can give you thirty minutes.”

  “If we have more to talk about, I’ll ride out with you, and we can talk in the car,” Kim said.

  Harper shrugged. “Totally up to you. How can I help you? Have you read the old files? Everything should be in there. The cases were extensively documented at the time.”

  “I haven’t received the files yet. But I know generally what was going on. What I’m really interested in is Reacher.” Kim expected some pushback but didn’t get any. “You said he didn’t kill those women. How do you know?”

  Harper leaned in, forearms on the table, hands clasped, and lowered her voice. “Have you ever met Reacher?”

  “No,” she replied. True enough. She felt no need to explain the various ways she’d experienced Reacher, though.

  “Well, if you had, you’d understand. He’s not a guy who’s going to lug a bunch of paint to a bunch of houses so that he can drown some naked women. Not even if he didn’t like them very much.” Harper’s opinion on that was emphatic. Arguing would be futile, but also unnecessary. Kim already agreed with her.

  Kim spent a few minutes exploring Harper’s general knowledge of Reacher’s Army career, which was limited. They discussed Reacher’s behavior inside and outside the rules laid down by the military police. Harper seemed to have less information about Reacher’s career history than Kim did.

  Then she returned to the material Harper knew much better. “What about the Behavioral Science Unit profile? Didn’t you say it fit Reacher perfectly?”

  “A little too perfectly, if you ask me.” Harper cocked her head. “What’s a brutal, vigilante personality, anyway? I mean, that’s not a technical term for any kind of mental defect or disease.”

  “If all you knew about him came from what you saw in his Army files, the term pretty well describes Reacher, though, doesn’t it? I’ve seen those records and interviewed people who knew him. The brutal part is a common thread. He wasn’t one to avoid confrontation, that’s for sure. There’s plenty of the vigilante in what I’ve been told, too,” Kim said.

  “I didn’t know him back then.” Harper shrugged. “He wasn’t like that with me.”

  She didn’t claim that Reacher failed to display such behavior, though. So Kim pressed her. “You said earlier that he was terrifying. What did you mean by that?”

  “He was huge, for one thing. As petite as you are, he could knock you over with a flip of his big paw.” She smiled a little, and when Kim did not, she continued. “His combat skills were very well-honed, too. All of that made him terrifying to the wrong people.”

  “Who were the wrong people?”

  “I guess I don’t know.” Harper shrugged again. “And before you even think it, no. We didn’t have sex. I don’t sleep with co-workers or suspects, for one thing. But he didn’t even try. He had a girlfriend. Like I told you.”

  “How about the rest of the BSU profile? Definitely a fit for him?”

  “Almost, but not quite.” Harper nodded. “He was a smart guy and a loner. He was ex-Army. All that was true. Probably still is. But the part about his movements being unaccounted for wasn’t true.”

  Kim arched her eyebrows. “Really? I’ve been looking for the guy for weeks, and I can’t find him. We live in the most heavily monitored country on earth, and he has no digital footprint we’ve been able to locate. I’d say his movements are unaccounted for, for sure.”

  “That could be how it is now, I don’t know,” Harper replied, perfectly tweezed eyebrows arched. “But back then, he was out of the Army for three years. He had a house and a girlfriend and a car and taxes to pay like everybody does. He’d been living in New York for a while when they picked him up. At his home, mind you. So I’d say he was pretty well accounted for, wouldn’t you?”

  “Sounds like you’re right.” She nodded, thinking about what she’d been told by others. “Deerfield said Reacher was cleared because he had an alibi for one of the murders. Is that how it worked back then? One element of the profile doesn’t fit, and they just give up on their best suspect?”

  Harper took a deep breath. “Not just any element, I guess. I already told you that his whereabouts were the farthest thing from unknown. But having an alibi for the time and place of a murder is a pretty compelling defense, as you know.”

  Hard to be in two places at once. Even for Reacher.

  Kim said, “Deerfield was the one who flipped him, right?”

  Harper nodded. “And you’ve guessed already that he used threats against Jodie Jacob to do it. Reacher was really gone on her. He would never allow anything bad to happen to her. You can ask her. She’ll tell you all about it, I’m sure.”

  “When I find her, I will,” Kim said. “At the moment, we’re not sure where she is.”

  “She’s missing?” Harper’s eyes widened and then her mouth formed a perfect O as she gasped. “You think she’s the murder victim? And you think Reacher killed her?”

  Kim paused a bit, waffling before she took another risk with Harper. “Actually, I don’t think so. But Deerfield does. Brice, too.”

  “That’s crazy,” Harper said, emphatically, shaking her head.

  Once again, Kim agreed. But she wanted to hear Harper’s reasons. “Why?”

  “Well, not only for all the other reasons I’d never like Reacher for this but also because he really loved her. He just wouldn’t do that,” Harper declared.

  Kim replied, “That’s exactly why Deerfield thinks he killed her. Because he loved her and she left him. Happens all the time, as we all know.”

  “Deerfield is wrong. Sorry.” Harper fell back in her chair, shaking her head. “I don’t believe that. Something else is going on here. You can take that to the bank.”

  “As it happens, I agree with you,” Kim said. “What do you think is really going on?”

  “I have no idea,” Harper replied. “None at all.”

  “Do you trust Deerfield?” Kim asked.

  “Pfft!” A little puff of air escaped her lips. She shook her head. “N
ot even a little bit. And you shouldn’t either if you know what’s good for you.”

  Harper glanced at the darkness outside and seemed to notice the time. “I’ve got to run. Do you want to come along? Change of plans for me came up during my meetings after lunch. I’m not going back to Portland. You won’t be able to reach me for a few days if you want to talk again.”

  Kim shook her head. “I think we’re okay for now. And I need to get into those old files tonight.”

  “You can always text me. If I can, I’ll get back to you.” Harper gathered her bags and used her phone to call a ride. “Can I give you a lift? It’s not easy to get a cab here. You might freeze to death before an empty one comes along.”

  “Thanks. That’d be great.” Kim followed her out, still feeling dwarfed while standing next to her.

  When they were settled into the private car, Kim said, “Deerfield’s a little old to be sitting in the New York Field Office. Guy his age, with his experience, should be closer to the top of the food chain. You know anything about why he’s not?”

  Harper glanced around uneasily. “The driver’s one of ours, but it’s generally not safe to discuss sensitive intel inside vehicles in the city. Could be a career killer, you know?”

  “Understood.” Kim nodded. “I wouldn’t ask, but you’re going quiet tonight, and it’s important.”

  “You know how it is, Kim.” Harper inhaled loudly and exhaled slowly. “Rarified air up at the top of any pyramid scheme, which is what all government agencies and just about every other kind of organization is. You worked as an accountant in one of the big firms. And you’re a lawyer by training. Surely, you understand how few people reach the status he has now, even.”

  “True. He’s in the number nine position, though. He’s not down here with the rest of us, swimming upstream.” She paused. “Once a guy gets to where he is, going higher shouldn’t be a matter of qualifications or expertise.”

  “Exactly. Advancement decisions are made by people above you. The criteria are subjective more than objective. You’ve passed all the tests, you’ve put in your time.” Harper glanced out the window and said quietly, “At that point, it’s just a question of how well you get along with the top cop, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “When did he stop moving up?”

  Harper looked pointedly at her and said nothing.

  She nodded again. Understood.

  With her hand on the door, Kim turned and asked her last question. “Lisa, when you worked with Reacher, what did he call you?”

  “You know, you asked me before how he was with me? Well, he was the first man at Quantico to treat me like a professional instead of trying to get into my bed. It was a refreshing change.” Lisa frowned a moment, and then a dazzling smile brightened her whole face as if she’d remembered something long forgotten that had touched her heart. “Most people call me Lisa, and men always do. Men think using my first name will warm me up, make me like them better. Usually, it’s the opposite. I don’t like men using my first name without permission. It’s too familiar. Reacher understood the dynamics of communication. He called me Harper.”

  “Good to know. Thanks again for all your help.” Kim’s stomach churned as she stepped out on shaky legs. Reacher was a low-tech guy. He’d probably do his watching the old-fashioned way. As she closed the door, she scanned the street, sidewalks, doorways, and nearby vehicles for a big man paying too much attention.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Saturday, January 29

  3:55 p.m.

  New York City, New York

  From behind the wheel of the stolen Toyota sedan he’d removed from the impound lot, Reed had watched Brice pull away from the valet entrance at Otto’s hotel. She stood on the sidewalk and waited until Brice turned north and could no longer see her in his rearview mirror. Then she asked the doorman to flag a cab.

  The vehicle she stepped into a couple minutes later was actually a white Audi sedan from one of the car services, which were common in the city these days. Tourists liked the services better than taxis, so the drivers hung around the better hotels and paid off the doormen to get better fares. The vehicles were unmarked, usually foreign models on the higher end of the price range, and a lot cleaner than an average New York taxi. Payment was handled in various ways, but passengers weren’t required to have cash on hand, which they found more convenient.

  If Otto hadn’t known about the car services before, she did now.

  The Audi went around the block and headed back in the direction Brice and Otto had arrived from. Reed followed, hanging back in the light traffic to avoid being spotted. He was tracking Otto’s personal cell phone. He wasn’t worried about losing her. After they’d traveled a few blocks, he was sure he knew where she was headed, anyway.

  When the Audi stopped in front of the restaurant where Brice and Otto had had lunch, Reed circled the block looking for a place to park. On the third pass, he gave up on finding a spot with an unobstructed view from the Toyota’s front seat and parked a couple of blocks down.

  He glanced at his watch. He still had time to kill. Reed wasn’t dressed appropriately for the restaurant, and his abdominal pain had returned with a vengeance, but he walked back and went inside.

  He looked around the mostly empty dining area until he saw Otto’s back. She was dwarfed by the striking blonde woman seated across the table. At first, Reed guessed the woman was a model or maybe a TV reporter. But then he recognized her as the woman in the photos his brother had shared. Lisa Harper. No doubt.

  Well, well, well.

  They were deeply engrossed in their conversation. Neither noticed him, and he wanted to keep it that way. He turned his back and found a partially obscured table. He ordered to avoid suspicion, although his stomach wouldn’t accept solid food today.

  Reed put the earpiece into his left ear and found Otto’s encrypted cell phone easily enough. He couldn’t hear very well. Their voices were hushed, and the phone was inside Otto’s pocket. He raised the volume, but still caught only snippets of the conversation. Garrison. Bathtub. Serial killer. Jodie Jacob. Deerfield.

  And then he heard the only name that mattered to him. Reacher.

  After a while, he noticed the noise level rising in the restaurant. Streetlights came on outside and splashed a glow across his table. He looked through the window, surprised by the encroaching twilight.

  Time to go. He’d pick up with Otto later.

  Reed tossed a few bills on the table and returned to the Toyota.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Saturday, January 29

  5:45 p.m.

  New York City, New York

  Harper’s driver left Kim at the entrance to her hotel, which was bustling with guests headed to and from Saturday night activities. She stood on the sidewalk, shivering in the cold.

  She needed to move. She’d been sitting too much, and she felt restless. It was too damn cold to walk anywhere, but she didn’t want to hang out alone in her room and she had no energy for the hotel gym tonight. Her options were limited.

  People were everywhere along with bumper-to-bumper traffic. On the sidewalks, pedestrians moved quickly like salmon swimming upstream in both directions. At various establishments, doors opened, and patrons entered and exited in bursts. A sizeable knot pushed through the double doors leading from Grand Central Terminal just ahead.

  She had been there several times before. Inside were shops, restaurants, open corridors, and best of all, heat. She hurried to the entrance and went inside.

  The terminal was crowded, too. People scurried to board the trains as inbound passengers emerged. The stores were filled with last-minute shoppers headed home. Even the restaurants were busy. It seemed that everyone in New York wanted to be inside tonight.

  She walked the corridors, end to end simply for the exercise. She felt like a caged animal in winter. Always had, since she was a kid growing up in Michigan. Simply moving her limbs for a while was a welcome change.

  Walkin
g also helped her think, as one thing led to another, one step at a time. At the end of the first corridor, she turned to walk back, focused on Alan Deerfield. There was something not right going on with him.

  She had checked the basic facts about Deerfield on the FBI’s public website. The first thing she noticed? Deerfield was long overdue for a promotion. He was number nine in the direct line of succession to become Director of the FBI, with eight others ahead of him. As an Assistant Director already, only four titles above his separated him from the Director position.

  The problem was, Deerfield had not moved an inch in years. The timing was suspicious, too. He came to the Bureau later in his career after a stint with Phoenix PD. He’d had a stellar trajectory up the ranks before the bathtub murders case ended without an arrest or conviction. At that point, his career had stalled like an airplane engine choked for fuel. He’d been gliding along at the same level all this time. He hadn’t crashed and burned yet, but he was on his way down for sure.

  The timing didn’t make sense. Could be an unlucky coincidence.

  The bathtub murders case, on its own, wasn’t the kind of screwup that should have stalled any career at Deerfield’s level. His office handled much more significant matters with alarming frequency. Some didn’t end well, which was to be expected. The good guys didn’t always win, and the bureau was realistic about the odds.

  Which probably meant that the bathtub murders case wasn’t Deerfield’s first or only failure. Maybe he’d had a string of flameouts, and this one was the final straw. She’d seen that sort of thing happen before.

  The possible reasons he’d been stuck in place were limited, though. An Assistant Director in charge of an office like New York would have been thoroughly vetted long before he got to that position.

  She quickly ruled out the easy ones, like Deerfield’s personal choice.