‘So what’s the story?’
‘I found it in a pawn shop in a small town in Wisconsin. It’s not the kind of thing you would give up easily. This woman suffered four hard years to get it. Every day they tried to break her and make her quit. That’s how West Point works. And 9/11 had just happened. Those were serious years. And what came afterwards was worse. Iraq, and Afghanistan. She might have sold her car, or the watch she got from her aunt for Christmas, but she wouldn’t have sold her ring.’
‘Does this guy Jimmy own the pawn shop?’
Reacher shook his head. ‘He’s a local biker. Goes by the name Jimmy Rat. He wholesaled the ring along with a bunch of other trinkets. He told me he got it from Arthur Scorpio, here in Rapid City. So now I want to know who Arthur Scorpio got it from. That’s the only question I want to ask him.’
‘He won’t tell you.’
‘That’s what the guy in the pawn shop said about Jimmy Rat.’
Nakamura didn’t reply. Nothing was happening out the window. The waitress came back with Reacher’s meal. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, maple syrup. It looked good. He asked for more coffee. Nakamura ordered hot tea and a bran muffin.
Reacher put the ring back in his pocket.
The guy in the necktie got up and left.
Still nothing happening out the window.
Reacher asked, ‘What kind of private investigator is he?’
Nakamura said, ‘I didn’t say he was.’
‘I told you stuff. Now you can tell me stuff.’
The waitress brought Nakamura’s muffin. It was about as big as her head. She broke off a pea-sized crumb and ate it.
She said, ‘He’s from Chicago. His name is Terry Bramall. He’s retired FBI. He finds missing persons.’
‘Who is he looking for here?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is Scorpio a kidnapper too?’
‘We don’t think so.’
‘Yet Mr Bramall from Chicago is watching his place. Not just this morning. He was in the neighbourhood last night. I saw him in the convenience store.’
‘You got in last night?’
Reacher nodded. ‘Pretty late.’
‘You came straight here from Wisconsin. This is important to you.’
‘I could have gotten here sooner. I took a nap in Sioux Falls.’
‘Exactly how did you get Arthur Scorpio’s name from Jimmy Rat?’
‘I asked him nicely.’
She didn’t reply. He carried on eating his breakfast. She sipped her tea. There was a long silence.
Then she said, ‘Arthur Scorpio is not well liked within the police department.’
‘Understood,’ Reacher said.
‘Nevertheless I am officially required to warn you against committing any kind of crime inside our jurisdiction.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Reacher said. ‘All I’m going to do is ask him a question. No law against that.’
‘What if he doesn’t answer?’
‘I suppose that’s always a theoretical possibility,’ Reacher said.
She took a business card from her purse. She put it on the table, near his coffee cup. She said, ‘Those are my numbers. Office and cell. Call me if you need to talk. Scorpio is a dangerous man. Never forget that.’
She put five bucks on the table. For her tea and her muffin. Then she got up and left. Out the door, along the sidewalk, and out of sight.
Still nothing happening out the window.
She had left her muffin. Whole and untouched, apart from the pea-sized crumb she had eaten. So Reacher ate the rest of it, with another mug of coffee. Then he called for his check, and asked for quarters in his change. He stopped in the restroom corridor, where there was a pay phone on the wall. Just like there was in the bar in Wisconsin. Which was where Jimmy Rat had made his call to Arthur Scorpio. The background noise proved it. Reacher had seen the guy loop around the line of bikes, to the rear of the building, where he must have gone in the back door, where he must have seen the phone on the wall, where he must have decided upon an immediate warning. Right there and then. While Reacher was still outside, still talking to the county cop.
Some kind of urgency.
Reacher leaned on the wall, where he could still watch the front window, and he dialled the same ancient number from memory.
The same woman answered.
‘West Point,’ she said. ‘Superintendent’s office. How may I help you?’
‘This is Reacher,’ he said.
‘Wait one, major.’
She knew his rank. She had read his file. There was a click, and a long silence, and then another click, and a man’s voice said, ‘This is the supe.’
The superintendent. The big boss. What any other college would call the president.
Reacher said, ‘Good morning, general,’ politely but vaguely, because he didn’t know the guy’s name. He didn’t keep up with alumni affairs. But the supe was always a general. Usually smart and accomplished, sometimes progressive, never a pushover.
The guy said, ‘Your enquiry yesterday was most irregular.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Reacher said, purely out of habit. In such situations there were only three permissible responses at West Point: yes sir, no sir, no excuse, sir.
The guy said, ‘I would like an explanation.’
So Reacher told the same story he had just gotten through telling Nakamura, about the pawn shop, and the ring, and his nagging sense of disquiet.
The supe said, ‘So this is about a ring.’
‘It seemed significant.’
‘Yesterday you implied the former cadet was in danger.’
‘She might be.’
‘But you don’t know for sure.’
‘She pawned the ring, or sold it, or had it stolen. Any of which would suggest some kind of misfortune. I think we should find out.’
‘We?’
‘She’s one of ours, general.’
The guy said, ‘I read your file. You did well. Not well enough to get a statue on campus, which you wouldn’t get anyway, mostly because of the corners you cut.’
‘No excuse, sir,’ Reacher said, purely out of habit.
‘I have one obvious question. What are you doing now?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s a long story, general. We shouldn’t take the time.’
‘Major, I’m sure you understand that supplying personal details about current or former military personnel is strictly prohibited about nineteen different ways. The only possible chance it could happen would be a top-secret off-the-record whisper from one West Pointer to another. Purely as a courtesy. Exactly the kind of oak-panelled bullshit we’re always being accused of. Therefore naturally you and I face a question of mutual trust. Possibly less important to you than to me. You could put my mind at rest by letting me take your measure.’
Reacher was quiet a beat.
‘I get uneasy,’ he said. ‘I can’t stay in one place. I’m sure if you gave the VA enough time, they could come up with a name for it. Maybe I could get a cheque from the government.’
‘It’s a medical condition?’
‘Some would say.’
‘Does it bother you?’
‘Turns out I don’t want to stay in one place anyway.’
‘How frequently do you move around?’
‘Constantly.’
‘Do you think that’s a fitting way for a West Pointer to live?’
‘I think it’s perfectly fitting.’
‘In what sense?’