by Diane Capri
She glanced through the windshield. There was a stand of trees up ahead. She pointed. “Pull over there.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“Call of nature. Too much coffee this morning,” she replied.
It was possible that The Boss wasn’t listening in real-time to every word they said inside the Navigator. But he recorded every last breath, all the time. If he wasn’t listening now, he’d find the discussion later. The only way to have a private conversation was to get away from his surveillance range.
Burke slowed the big SUV and pulled off on the shoulder near the trees. Kim unlocked her seatbelt. She pulled both phones from her pockets and tossed them onto the floor. Then she opened the door and slid onto the gravel. She gestured to Burke to do the same.
He frowned again, but he did as she wanted and followed her toward the trees.
Kim led him to the shady center of the stand of pines. The tall trees and broad branches blocked the sun, which meant it was a little too cool. She buttoned her jacket, turned up her collar, and stuffed her hands into her pockets.
“What the hell are we doing?” Burke said, still grumpy.
“If we can’t see him, he may not be able to see us,” she explained, like talking to a three-year-old. “If he can’t see us at the moment, he might not be able to hear us, either.”
“Who the hell are you talking about?”
“Cooper. And keep your voice down.”
He looked at her like she’d lost her mind, but he clamped his lips together and didn’t say anything more.
“Look, we know Reacher left South Dakota seven years ago and turned up again in Duncan. We know he connected with local residents. We know one of those people is the local doctor.”
“How do you know all of that? And what difference does it make now?”
“I’ve read the police reports from back then,” she said, pausing a moment. “And Gaspar found the satellite video from Sunday. It took a while to locate, but he did.”
He frowned and might have objected, but annoyance about Gaspar lost to his curiosity and his desire to find Reacher. “What’s on the video?”
“If the hitchhiker was Reacher, and we’re operating on the assumption that it was, he hitched a ride from Mount Rushmore and headed this way two days ago,” Kim said, rushing ahead before Burke could interrupt again. “He knows there’s a friendly doctor in Duncan. Maybe he needs medical attention or something. Like you said, jumping out of airplanes isn’t the safest thing in the world.”
Burke’s eyes rounded and his eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been working directly with Gaspar? We’ve talked about this. Sharing classified intel with a civilian is a crime, Otto. Are you out of your mind?”
“Probably. You’ll come to visit me in Leavenworth, won’t you?” she joked.
He wasn’t amused.
“We’ll talk to these people, find out if Reacher was there in the past few days and where he went, and go after him,” she explained patiently.
He cocked his head, unpersuaded.
She inhaled deeply. “Look, it’s very likely that The Boss knows what we’re doing and why. He watches every move I make. Has for months. He probably knows everything Gaspar told me, too. And he hasn’t attempted to stop us.”
She paused again and Burke didn’t interrupt. “Which probably means he knows we’re on the right track.”
“If you say so,” Burke said sourly, shaking his head.
“Or maybe he doesn’t know that at all. In which case, I’m violating orders. I could be fired or worse. So you should exit here and hitch a ride because I’m going to Duncan.” Kim’s patience had been stretched way too far already. “Unless you’ve got a better idea. In which case, let’s hear it.”
He frowned and jerked his head in a sharp no.
“Just as I thought,” she smirked. “Look, I can’t tell you what we’ll find out here in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska. But I’ve got a strong feeling about this. It makes sense that Reacher might have gone back there, doesn’t it? Hell, he could still be in Duncan right this minute. We’re wasting time. Time he could use to slip through our grasp again.”
After another moment, Burke stated flatly, “Okay. But if we find a better approach, we’re taking it. And I value my career, even if you don’t. So leave Gaspar out of this from now on.”
Kim simply shook her head. She’d thought it would help to read him in on her plans. But she might have made a mistake.
Burke was the kind of guy who wanted to run his own show. Nothing she decided was likely to make much difference to him. She’d figured that much out already.
They walked back to the Navigator and rode the next fifty miles in welcome silence until the GPS beeped. “Four miles from the destination,” the mechanical voice said.
Two miles beyond the beep, an ambitiously large, weathered sign appeared on the side of the road. She read aloud. “Welcome to Duncan. Population 683.”
“Six hundred eighty-three?” Burke snorted. “That’s fewer people than my high school graduating class, and I lived in a small town.”
“The sign’s old. They’ve probably grown a bit since the last census,” Kim replied.
“Yeah? By how many?” Burke grinned. “If nobody died and every female in town had at least two babies, the population would still be less than a thousand.”
Duncan came into view up ahead. It was nothing more than a crossroads named after a prominent local family.
Zip codes hadn’t been assigned when the post office was built fifty years ago. Like many small towns in America, the post office was a lifeline to the outside world. The place needed a name to put on mailing labels so the postal service could do its job.
Just like that, Duncan, Nebraska, was born.
The land around the crossroads was flat and empty, although Kim noticed a few signs of spring. The snow had melted and green weeds grew along the roadside. A few of the weeds sported jaunty yellow and purple blooms. In the distance, fields had been plowed in preparation for planting.
In a fit of capitalist enthusiasm probably ginned up by the new post office, the crossroads had developed a bit at some point. But the commerce seemed to have dried up before it really got started.
An abandoned gas station stood on one corner. It probably had leaky underground storage tanks that weren’t worth the cost of environmental cleanup, so the station would never re-open and the land would most likely never be sold.
Another corner sported a large, poured foundation. Maybe it had been installed for a strip center that was never built. The enthusiasm for shopping had come and gone, too. Now folks probably ordered online and had merchandise delivered by the post office.
The third corner was covered in dust and weeds, plans probably abandoned when the expansion had sputtered and died.
Only one corner showed any signs of life. The whole business district was now the enterprise that had settled on that fourth corner—a retro motel that looked like a 1960s children’s comic book depicting a space colony.
There was a large domed main building and smaller round buildings in steadily decreasing sizes leading out from it, all painted silver. The effect resembled a silver apostrophe but was probably intended to simulate perspective.
A late-model Chevy was parked in front of room seven, which suggested that the place was still in business.
The motel’s sign sat atop a plywood rocket ship from the same era. Letters that looked like the MICR standard E13B font used to print on the bottom of bank checks since 1963 identified the place as The Apollo Inn.
The real Apollo 11 mission landed on the moon in 1969, and the motel could have been constructed in the same era.
Like everything else in Duncan, the Apollo Inn desperately needed maintenance. The paint was flaked and faded on the buildings, and the pavement in the lot was cracked and buckled and punctuated with potholes deep enough to swallow a toddler.
“We’re booked there for the night,” Burke dipped his head toward the m
otel, his lips pursed as if he was sucking on a sour lemon. “I doubt we’ll have room service. Maybe not even a decent cup of coffee.”
“Sometimes these places surprise you,” Kim said. Not because she believed the lie. She just didn’t like his superior attitude. “Let’s check it out before we go looking for our interview subjects. Given the size of Duncan, the Apollo’s owner is likely to know any potential witnesses. We might acquire a bit of useful information before we approach.”
Burke turned into the parking lot. “And once we see the inside of the place, we might decide to keep on driving until we find a better rack for the night, too. This place probably has bedbugs.”
CHAPTER 8
Tuesday, May 17
Duncan, Nebraska
11:30 a.m.
Burke parked the Navigator and they walked into the main building. The sun was shining and the temperature had warmed slightly, but Kim was happy to be wearing her jacket.
Inside, the domed building was mostly open space. There was a pie-shaped slice at the back for restrooms and probably an office. A curved reception desk was close to the front at the right of the door and a larger curved bar was on the opposite side.
The rest was basically a retro lounge, as gaudy as they were back in her grandma’s day. A dance floor, red velvet chairs set up in groups of four around cocktail tables with lamps and tasseled shades. The lightbulbs cast a pink glow. The domed roof’s concave ceiling was awash with the same red and pink lighting that adorned the walls and the tables.
Kim half expected a Bobby Darin impersonator to emerge from somewhere singing a karaoke version of “Mack the Knife” or “Beyond the Sea.” She’d seen a guy like that once when she was in Vegas on the job. The stage where he’d performed was set up something like the Apollo Inn.
There was only one person in the place, a guy behind the bar. He was somewhere north of sixty with a full head of russet hair styled like he’d been electrically shocked as a teenager and never managed to tame his hair again.
When the front door opened, he looked up with a smile as if his goal in life was to be sure every customer who walked into the Apollo Inn was satisfied. Maybe it was.
Kim approached the bar and Burke followed a couple of steps behind.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked, still wearing a welcoming smile.
“Got any coffee?” Kim replied, scanning the bar and the rest of the room. Nope. Not another soul in the place.
She wondered how the Apollo Inn stayed in business. The community probably supported the place, but how profitable could that possibly be?
“Let me brew you a fresh pot. How’s that?” He was already walking toward the end of the bar where a service station was set up. He filled the Bunn flask, added the coffee, and pushed the button. Before he returned, the aroma of fresh-brewed caffeine filled the air.
“Passing through?” he asked.
“Not exactly. We’re staying overnight. We’ve got business here in Duncan,” Burke said.
Bushy eyebrows tinted the same russet color as his hair looked like a terrified caterpillar climbing up his forehead. “What kind of business?”
“I’m Burke. This is Otto. We’re assigned to the FBI’s Special Personnel Task Force,” Burke said smoothly, showing his ID too quickly for the guy to read it but slowly enough to let him see the badge. “We’re completing a background check on a job candidate. He’s being considered for a classified assignment.”
Kim extended her hand to shake. She put a friendly tone into her voice when she said, “What’s your name?”
“Evan Vincent. I’m the owner here.” He wiped his hand on a bar towel and took hers. His eyebrows calmed down and slid into a normal position above dark eyes, impossible to read in the pink light. “You called ahead. Reservations for two nights.”
“Yes,” Burke said. “We may not be here that long. But don’t worry. Uncle Sam will pay for both nights, even if we finish up early.”
“Sounds good to me.” Vincent seemed pleased that he’d have money coming in soon. Kim wondered how often the Apollo Inn had paying overnight guests. Not very, she guessed.
He pulled a pair of ceramic NASA mugs from the shelf and washed them. Then he filled both and slid them across the bar with great pride.
“Cream or sugar?”
“Just black, thanks” Kim replied, leaning into the bar.
Her stomach growled as the coffee teased her appetite. “Do you serve food here?”
“I’ve got mixed nuts if you’d like that. Otherwise, there’s a diner about an hour south of here, closer to town.” He found his jar of mixed nuts and poured them into a small bowl and set it in front of her.
“Seems like you’d have a lot of business if you served breakfast and burgers.” Kim collected a few nuts with the spoon he’d put in the pewter NASA bowl.
“No restaurants closer off to the west?” Burke asked, tilting his head that way.
Vincent shook his head. “The road goes to gravel after about a mile in both directions. You probably came in from the north, so you know there’s not much up there, either.”
“Why have a crossroads here if it doesn’t lead anywhere?” Burke asked.
Vincent shrugged. “People had high hopes at one time. Everything dried up. Those of us still here got nowhere better to go. No place like home, right?”
Kim swallowed and dusted the salt off her hands before she washed the snack down with the coffee, which was surprisingly good. “No other business in Duncan, then, besides the Apollo Inn?”
“Most folks are farmers. There’s a trucking company folks use to move their crops to market after harvest. But that’s about it. People eat at home, pretty much,” Vincent replied.
“Who owns the trucking company?” Kim asked as if the existence of another business was a surprise. Which it wasn’t. The company’s sordid history had been included in the police files Gaspar uncovered.
When Reacher was here seven years ago, Duncan Trucking was owned by the Duncan family. Those Duncans ran afoul of Reacher for some reason the police had not uncovered at the time. And they’d failed to survive the experience. She’d assumed some Duncan family members remained in charge of the business.
“Uh, I’m not sure who owns the company now.” Vincent squirmed a bit, and sweat beads broke out on his forehead above the caterpillars.
“Was it bought out by some conglomerate or something?” Burke asked after he’d swilled the last of his coffee and offered the empty cup to Vincent for a refresh.
Vincent seemed grateful for the chance to retrieve the flask. He walked toward the coffee maker and brought the refilled cup back, giving him enough time to come up with his story.
“It’s still called Duncan Trucking, but like I said, I’m not sure exactly who owns it now,” Vincent said as he busied himself with small tasks.
“Where’s the main office?” Burke asked.
“The depot is about twenty miles from here,” Vincent replied, clearing his throat to signal a change of subject. “Let me get your room keys and we’ll have that done, at least.”
Burke cast Kim a questioning glance as they watched Vincent shuffle toward the reception desk, pull keys out of the drawer, and return. He placed the keys on the bar. Rooms five and six, in the middle of the curving line of small, silver pods.
“Who runs the depot if the Duncans don’t?” Kim asked, picking up her rocket-shaped key ring with the shiny silver-colored key attached.
“A couple of guys. Thad Brady and Ollie Simpson. Former football players good enough for college but not good enough for pro. Cornhuskers.”
Kim cocked her head quizzically.
“University of Nebraska. Duncans always hired Cornhuskers to work at the depot. When the last Duncan, uh, died, the employees, uh, stepped up, I guess.” Vincent turned his head and coughed weakly to cover the lies.
“If we head out there now, are we likely to find anyone around?” Burke asked, draining his coffee and plopping the
mug onto the bar.
Vincent’s face scrunched up again like he was thinking hard to come up with a plausible reply. He failed. So he said, “You’d probably have more luck early in the morning. That’s generally when the shipments roll in and out if they have any. My deliveries come once a week. On Wednesday. That’s all I know about the schedule.”
“Maybe tomorrow, then.” Kim nodded and changed the subject. “We’re gathering background information, as Burke said. So we can fill in the blanks on the government forms. You know how it is.”
Vincent nodded.
“The guy we’re considering stopped in Duncan about seven years ago,” Burke said. “He probably stayed here, given this is the only motel around.”
Vincent’s eyebrows were twitching like crazy now, and his Adam’s apple was bouncing up and down, too. Sweat trickled down his temple, and he flipped it away with his right hand.
This was all the confirmation Kim needed that they were on the right track. She’d seen similar reactions before. Reacher had that kind of effect on people, even years later.
Usually it was because they had what her law school professors called guilty knowledge.
Meaning he knew things about Reacher that he didn’t want to tell.
Burke said, “We’ve got four names on our list to interview. All have Duncan mailing addresses. Town this size, you all must know each other. Maybe you can help us out.”
Vincent cleared his throat and tried twice before he managed to croak out, “Who are they?”
CHAPTER 9
Tuesday, May 17
Duncan, Nebraska
11:30 a.m.
“We’re looking for the local doctor and his wife. You can’t have more than one doc in this place, right?” Burke replied. “And two widows. Dorothy Coe and Eleanor Duncan.”
Vincent’s breathing had quickened. The dark eyes glanced everywhere but directly at Burke or Kim. His forehead and the russet hair looked like he’d stuck his head under a running faucet. Even his shirt collar was soaked.
