Lee Child - [Jack Reacher 01-16]

by Jack Reacher Series (epub)

  “Colonel Petersen is now Lieutenant General Petersen. Three stars. Congressional liaison. About to get his fourth star. About to be named Vice Chief of Staff of the Army.”

  That could complicate things, Reacher thought.

  “Embarrassing,” he said.

  “You bet your ass embarrassing,” Hutton said. “So believe me, this is one lid that is going to stay on. You need to bear that in mind. Whatever you want to do about your promise, you can’t talk about what happened. Any more than I can. They would find a way to get to you.”

  “Neither of us needs to talk about it. It’s a done deal.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it.”

  “I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Ask me how they really got my name.”

  “How did they really get your name?”

  “From James Barr himself.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I didn’t believe it, either. But I do now.”

  “Why?”

  “We should have lunch. We really need to talk. Because I think there’s someone else out there who knows.”

  Emerson and Bianca called it quits at twelve-fifty. Reacher never showed. The feeder flight came in on time. Nobody that could have been a female Brigadier General from the Pentagon got off. The two cops waited until the arrivals hall emptied out and went quiet. Then they got in their car and drove back to town.

  Reacher and Hutton had lunch. A waitress came over, happy to get some business out of her corner table at last. The menu was coffee-shop-basic. Reacher ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and coffee. Hutton went with chicken Caesar and tea. They ate and talked. Reacher ran through the details of the case. Then he ran through his theory. The perverse choice of location, the presumed coercion. He told Hutton about Niebuhr’s theory of the new and persuasive friend. Told her that Barr claimed he had no new friends, and very few old ones.

  “Can’t be a new friend anyway,” Hutton said. “Because this is a multilayered setup. There’s the contemporaneous evidence, and the historical parallels. Second story of a parking garage fourteen years ago in KC, second story of a parking garage here and now. Virtually the same rifle. Boat tail sniper ammunition. And the desert boots. I never saw them before Desert Shield. They’re suggestive. Whoever scripted this for him knew all about his past. Which means it isn’t a new friend. It can’t be. It would take years and years before Barr would feel like sharing anything about KC.”

  Reacher nodded. “But obviously he did, eventually. Which is why I said there’s someone else out there who knows.”

  “We need to find that person,” Hutton said. “The mission is to keep the lid on this thing.”

  “Not my mission. I don’t care if this Petersen guy gets his fourth star.”

  “But you do care that a quarter million veterans don’t get their reputations trashed. The scandal would taint all of them. And they were good people.”

  Reacher said nothing.

  “It’s easy enough,” Hutton said. “If James Barr doesn’t have many friends, you don’t have a very big pool to search through. One of them has to be the guy.”

  Reacher said nothing.

  “Two birds with one stone,” Hutton said. “You get to the puppet master and the army gets to relax.”

  “So why doesn’t the army do it for me?”

  “We can’t afford to draw attention.”

  “I’ve got operational problems,” Reacher said.

  “No jurisdiction?”

  “Worse than that. I’m about to get arrested.”

  “For what?”

  “For killing that girl behind the hotel.”

  “What?”

  “The puppet master doesn’t like me being here. He already tried something on Monday night, with that same girl as bait. So I went to see her yesterday, twice. And now they killed her and I’m sure I’m her last unexplained contact.”

  “Have you got an alibi?”

  “Depends on the exact timing, but probably not. I’m sure the cops are already looking for me.”

  “Problem,” Hutton said.

  “Only temporary,” Reacher said. “Science is on my side. If her neck was broken by a single blow to her right temple, then her head rotated a little, counterclockwise, which means the punch was thrown by a left-hander. And I’m right-handed. If I had hit her in the right temple I would have knocked her out for sure, but I wouldn’t have broken her neck. I would have had to do that separately, afterward.”

  “You sure?”

  Reacher nodded. “I used to do this stuff for a living, remember.”

  “But will they believe you? Or will they figure you’re big enough to have done it with your weak hand?”

  “I’m not going to risk finding out.”

  “You’re going to run?”

  “No, I’m going to stick around. But I’m going to have to stay out of their way. Which will slow me down some. A lot, in fact. Which is why I said I’ve got operational problems.”

  “Can I help?”

  Reacher smiled.

  “It’s good to see you, Hutton,” he said. “It really is.”

  “How can I help?”

  “My guess is there’ll be a cop called Emerson waiting for you after you’re done with your deposition. He’ll ask you about me. Just play dumb. Just say I never showed up, you didn’t see me, you don’t know where I am, all that kind of stuff.”

  She was quiet for a spell.

  “You’re upset,” she said. “I can tell.”

  He nodded. Rubbed his face, like he was washing without water.

  “I don’t care much about James Barr,” he said. “If someone wanted to set him up so he took the punishment he should have taken fourteen years ago, that was OK with me. But this thing with the girl is different. It’s way out of line. She was just a sweet dumb kid. She meant no harm.”

  Hutton was quiet for a moment longer.

  “Are you sure about the threat to Barr’s sister?” she asked.

  “I don’t see any other leverage.”

  “But there’s no sign of a threat. As a prosecutor I couldn’t see entering it as a separate charge.”

  “Why else would Barr have done what he did?”

  Hutton didn’t answer.

  “Will I see you later?” she asked.

  “I’ve got a room not far away,” he said. “I’ll be around.”

  “OK,” she said.

  “Unless I’m already in jail.”

  The waitress came back and they ordered dessert. Reacher asked for more coffee and Hutton got more tea. They kept on talking. Random subjects, random questions. They had fourteen years to catch up on.

  Helen Rodin searched through the six cartons of evidence and found a crisp photocopy of a sheet of paper that had been found next to James Barr’s telephone. It was as close as he had gotten to a personal phone book. It had three numbers on it, written in neat and careful handwriting. Two were for his sister Rosemary, one at her condo and the other at work. The third number was for Mike. The neighborhood guy. Nothing for anyone called Charlie.

  Helen dialed Mike’s number. It rang six times and cut to an answering machine. She left her office number and asked for a return call on a matter of great importance.

  Emerson spent an hour with a sketch artist and came up with a pretty good likeness of Jack Reacher’s face. The drawing was then scanned into a computer and colorized. Dirty-blond hair, ice-blue eyes, medium-to-dark tan. Emerson then typed the name, and estimated the height at six-five, the weight at two-fifty, the age between thirty-five and forty-five. He put the police department’s phone number on the bottom line. Then he e-mailed it all over the place and set the printer to churn out two hundred color copies. He told every prowl car driver to take a sheaf and give one to every hotel clerk and barman in town. Then he added: every restaurant, diner, lunch counter, and sandwich shop, too.

  James Barr’s friend Mike called Helen Rodin back at three o’clock in the afte
rnoon. She asked for his address and got him to agree to a face-to-face interview. He said he was home for the rest of the day. So she called a cab and headed out. Mike lived on James Barr’s street, twenty minutes from downtown. Barr’s house was visible from Mike’s front yard. Both houses were similar. All the houses on the street were similar. They were 1950s ranches, long and low. Helen guessed they had all started out identical. But a half-century’s worth of adding on and reroofing and re-siding and ongoing landscaping had made them diverge in appearance. Some looked upmarket and some still looked basic. Barr’s place looked worn. Mike’s place looked manicured.

  Mike himself was a tired fifty-something who worked the morning shift at a paint wholesaler. His wife arrived home while Helen was still introducing herself. She was also a tired fifty-something. Her name was Tammy, which didn’t suit her. She was a part-time dental nurse. She worked two mornings a week for a downtown dentist. She ushered Helen and Mike into the living room and then went away to make coffee. Helen and Mike sat down and started out with an awkward initial silence that lasted minutes.

  “So, what can I tell you?” Mike asked eventually.

  “You were Mr. Barr’s friend,” Helen said.

  Mike glanced at the living room door. It was open.

  “Just a neighbor,” he said.

  “His sister called you a friend.”

  “We were neighborly. Some folks might call that friendly.”

  “Did you spend time together?”

  “We would chat a little if he walked by with his dog.”

  “About what kind of thing?”

  “Our yards,” Mike said. “If he was decorating he would ask me about paint. I asked him who fixed his driveway. Things like that.”

  “Baseball?”

  Mike nodded. “We would talk about that.”

  Tammy came in with three cups of coffee on a tray. There was cream and sugar and a small plate of cookies with them, and three paper napkins. She put the tray on a low table and sat down next to her husband.

  “Help yourself,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Helen said. “Thank you very much.”

  They all served themselves and there was silence in the room.

  “Were you ever in Mr. Barr’s house?” Helen asked.

  Mike glanced at his wife.

  “Once or twice,” he said.

  “They weren’t friends,” Tammy said.

  “Was it a surprise?” Helen asked. “That he did what he did?”

  “Yes,” Tammy said. “It was.”

  “So you don’t need to feel bad about mixing with him before. It wasn’t something that anyone could have predicted. These things are always a surprise. Neighbors never know.”

  “You’re trying to get him off.”

  “Actually I’m not,” Helen said. “But there’s a new theory that he didn’t act alone. I’m just trying to make sure that the other man gets punished, too.”

  “It wasn’t Mike,” Tammy said.

  “I don’t think it was,” Helen said. “Really. Not for a moment. Not now that I’ve met him. But whoever the other man is, you or Mike might know him or have heard about him or even seen him coming and going.”

  “Barr didn’t really have friends,” Mike said.

  “Nobody?”

  “Not that he spoke about to me. He lived with his sister until she moved out. I guess that was enough for him.”

  “Does the name Charlie mean anything to you?”

  Mike just shook his head.

  “What did Mr. Barr do when he had a job?”

  “I don’t know,” Mike said. “He hasn’t worked for years.”

  “I’ve seen a man over there,” Tammy said.

  “When?”

  “Now and then. Occasionally. He comes and goes. All times of the day and night, like a friend would.”

  “For how long?”

  “Ever since we moved here. I spend more time at home than Mike does. So I notice more.”

  “When was the last time you saw this man?”

  “Last week, I think. A couple of times.”

  “Friday?”

  “No, earlier. Tuesday and Wednesday, maybe.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “He’s small. He’s got funny hair. Black, like hog bristles.”

  Charlie, Helen thought.

  Eileen Hutton walked three fast blocks south from the Marriott and arrived at the courthouse at one minute to four exactly. Alex Rodin’s secretary came down to escort her up to the third floor. Depositions were taken in a large conference room because most witnesses brought their own lawyers and court reporters with them. But Hutton was on her own. She sat down alone on one long side of a large table and smiled as a microphone was placed in front of her and a video camera was focused on her face. Then Rodin came in and introduced himself. He brought a small team with him. An assistant, his secretary, a court reporter with her machine.

  “Would you state your full name and title for the record?” he asked.

  Hutton looked at the camera.

  “Eileen Ann Hutton,” she said. “Brigadier General, Judge Advocate General’s Corps, United States Army.”

  “I hope this won’t take long,” Rodin said.

  “It won’t,” Hutton said.

  And it didn’t. Rodin was trawling in a sea he hadn’t charted. He was like a man in a darkened room. All he could do was dart around randomly and hope he bumped into something. After six questions he realized he was never going to.

  He asked, “How would you characterize James Barr’s military service?”

  “Exemplary without being exceptional,” Hutton said.

  He asked, “Was he ever in trouble?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Hutton said.

  He asked, “Did he ever commit a crime?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Hutton said.

  He asked, “Are you aware of recent events in this city?”

  “Yes, I am,” Hutton said.

  He asked, “Is there anything in James Barr’s past that might shed light on the likelihood or otherwise of his having been involved in those events?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Hutton said.

  Finally he asked, “Is there any reason why the Pentagon might be more aware of James Barr than any other veteran?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” Hutton said.

  So at that point Alex Rodin gave up.

  “OK,” he said. “Thank you, General Hutton.”

  Helen Rodin walked thirty yards and stood on the street for a moment outside James Barr’s house. It had police tape across the entryway and a plywood sheet nailed over the broken front door. It looked forlorn and empty. There was nothing to see. So she used her cell phone to call a cab and had it take her to the county hospital. It was after four o’clock in the afternoon when she arrived and the sun was in the west. It lit up the white concrete building with pale shades of orange and pink.

  She rode up to the sixth floor and signed in with the Board of Corrections and found the tired thirty-year-old doctor and asked him about James Barr’s condition. The doctor didn’t really answer. He wasn’t very interested in James Barr’s condition. That was clear. So Helen just walked past him and opened Barr’s door.

  Barr was awake. He was still handcuffed to the cot. His head was still clamped. His eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling. His breathing was low and slow and the heart monitor was beeping less than once a second. His arms were trembling slightly and his handcuffs were rattling against the bed frame. Quiet, dull, metallic sounds.

  “Who’s there?” he said.

  Helen stepped close and leaned into his field of view.

  “Are they looking after you?” she asked.

  “I have no complaints,” he said.

  “Tell me about your friend Charlie.”

  “Is he here?”

  “No, he’s not here.”

  “Did Mike come?”

  “I don’t think they allow visitors.
Just lawyers and family.”

  Barr said nothing.

  “Are those your only friends?” Helen said. “Mike and Charlie?”

  “I guess,” Barr said. “And Mike’s more of a neighbor.”

  “What about Jeb Oliver?”

  “Who?”

  “He works at the auto parts store.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Barr’s eyes moved and his lips pursed, like a man searching his memory, trying to be helpful, desperate for approval.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never heard of him.”

  “Do you use drugs?”

  “No,” Barr said. “Never. I wouldn’t do that.” He was quiet for a beat. “Truth is I don’t really do much of anything. I just live. That’s why this whole thing makes no sense to me. I spent fourteen years in the world. Why would I throw it all away now?”

  “Tell me about Charlie,” Helen said.

  “We hang out,” Barr said. “We do stuff.”

  “With guns?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Where does Charlie live?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How long have you been friends?”

  “Five years. Maybe six.”

  “And you don’t know where he lives?”

  “He never told me.”

  “He’s been to your place.”

  “So?”

  “You never went to his place?”

  “He came to mine instead.”

  “Do you have his phone number?”

  “He just shows up, here and there, now and then.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Close enough.”

  “How close exactly?”

  “We get along.”

  “Well enough to tell him what happened fourteen years ago?”

  Barr didn’t answer. Just closed his eyes.

  “Did you tell him?”

  Barr said nothing.

  “I think you told him,” Helen said.

  Barr didn’t confirm or deny it.

  “I’m surprised that a man doesn’t know where his friend lives. Especially a friend as close as I think Charlie is.”

  “I didn’t push it,” Barr said. “I was lucky to have a friend at all. I didn’t want to ruin it with questions.”

  ______