The Midnight Line (Jack Reacher #22)

Bramall said, ‘She thinks we’re Mormons.’

Reacher got out. He raised his hand. A universal gesture. Unarmed. Friendly. She moved her head, part responsive, part enquiring. Bramall got out. He and Reacher walked together and stopped a polite distance short of the porch.

Reacher said, ‘Ma’am, we’re looking for a missing woman, who we think once stayed a spell with your neighbour Sy Porterfield. We wonder if you could tell us about that.’

‘You should come in,’ the woman said. ‘I have lemonade in a jug.’





TWENTY


REACHER AND BRAMALL followed the woman inside. The walls were made of the same boards as the outside, but stained and polished, not weather-beaten. The kitchen was a low dark room. The woman poured lemonade into glasses. They sat down at her table.

‘Are you private detectives?’ she asked.

‘I am,’ Bramall said.

She looked at Reacher.

He said, ‘Military investigator.’

Which was true, in a historic sense.

She said, ‘Was it last year Sy died, or the year before?’

‘Last year,’ Reacher said. ‘The start of spring.’

‘I didn’t know him very well. Never really met him, except for once or twice. Seemed to be a solitary type of guy, always coming and going.’

‘What did he do for a living?’

‘None of us knew.’

‘Us? Did you talk about him with other people?’

‘That’s what neighbours do. You don’t like it, mister, go live on the moon.’

‘What was the consensus opinion?’

‘We all thought he was a solitary guy, always coming and going.’

‘No one saw any sign of a woman living there?’

‘Never,’ she said.

Which sounded definitive.

Reacher said, ‘You ever heard the name Serena?’

‘In my life?’

‘Around here.’

‘No,’ she said.

‘Or Rose?’

‘No.’

‘Or Sanderson?’

‘No.’

Reacher said, ‘We found stuff in Porterfield’s house.’

‘What kind?’

‘Random items of women’s apparel and toiletries. Not much. Like very faint clues.’

The woman said nothing.

Then she said, ‘How faint?’

‘We know the bathroom was used by two people,’ Reacher said.

The woman said, ‘Huh.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I guess one time I wondered something. In the end I figured I made a mistake.’

‘Wondered what?’

‘I was on the dirt road, heading out to the turn at Mule Crossing. He was driving the other way. From the turn, heading home. It’s rare to see another car. It kind of perks you up. It makes you get in your own lane, and so forth. You don’t want to get in a collision. So we passed each other by. We kind of waved, I guess. No big deal. Except I was sure he had someone in the passenger seat beside him. I thought it was a girl. Just a glimpse. She was hunched down low, turned away from him, kind of pressing herself into the side of the seat. I couldn’t see her face.’

‘How old?’

‘Not young. Not a kid. But quite small, and agile, I guess. She was all twisted around, hiding her face from him.’

‘Weird.’

‘And silvery, somehow. That’s what I remember. A silvery colour.’

‘Also weird.’

‘I thought so too. It stayed on my mind. So the next day I went over there. I took him a pie. Said I had one extra. But really to check. Back then there were all kinds of stories. Human trafficking, and custody disputes. Maybe he was into that kind of stuff. Or maybe she really was a genuine girlfriend. Who knew? Maybe they had been having a fight in the car. I figured they might be over it by then and he would introduce me.’

‘What happened?’

‘He acted weird. He was pleased about the pie. Very polite. But he wouldn’t let me in the house. We talked on the porch. He pulled the door almost shut behind him and stood where I couldn’t see through the gap. He didn’t say much. I tried to introduce the subject. I said I was sorry the pie was too big for one. It was a natural opening. It gave him a chance to tell me he was planning to share it with his girlfriend. But he didn’t. He said he would wrap the second slice in aluminium foil and eat it in a couple days.’

‘What kind of pie was it?’

‘Strawberry,’ the woman said. ‘They had some nice ones at the market. Where I was going when I passed him on the road.’

‘What happened next?’

‘Nothing. That was it. It was kind of awkward, just standing there, so I said, OK, I guess I’ll get going, and he said thanks again for the pie, and then he practically rushed me off his property.’

‘What was your conclusion?’

‘It was in the way he was standing. He was screening me off from the house. He was hiding something in there. Or someone. Then I got to wondering about when I saw them in the car. Maybe she was hiding her face from me, not him. Maybe he told her to. Like she was his secret.’

‘But you never found out for sure?’

‘I never saw him again. He was dead a month later. No one ever said anything about a widow or a partner or a girlfriend. Or a sex slave or a hostage. So in the end I figured I must have been wrong. Then I guess I forgot all about it. Time passes.’

‘How long had he lived there?’

‘Five years, maybe.’

‘Did any of the neighbours ever take a wild-ass guess about what he did for money?’

‘That would enter the realm of gossip.’

‘I guess it would, technically.’

‘We figured he already had plenty. We figured he was a rich guy from out of state, come to find himself. We get those, from time to time. Maybe they’re writing a novel.’

At that moment three hundred miles away in Rapid City, South Dakota, the clerk behind the deli counter in the convenience store was finishing up making change for a BLT and a diet soda, and then picking up the phone, and dialling the police department.

He said, ‘Excuse me, I think you have a woman detective working for you. An Oriental person. Or Japanese-American. Or Asian, or whatever it’s supposed to be now. I need to speak with her.’

The call was transferred, and a voice said, ‘Property, Nakamura.’

‘This is the guy from the convenience store. On the corner from Arthur Scorpio’s laundromat. I got something I figure I need to tell you before you find out for yourself and get mad at me.’

‘What kind of something?’

‘Arthur Scorpio just came in.’

‘And?’

‘He bought another phone.’

‘How long ago?’

‘Five minutes.’

‘Which phone?’

‘First one off the left peg.’

Also at that moment, Arthur Scorpio was dialling Billy in Wyoming again. Again there was no answer. Just voice mail.

Scorpio said, ‘Billy, this is Arthur. I need to hear from you. You’re making me worried now. What’s with not answering your phone all the time? And you got that guy coming. Plus maybe another guy. We just got a message from Montana. They sent a rider down especially. They have a Fed up there asking questions. He just left Billings. We don’t know where he’s headed next. Eyes open, OK? And call me back. Don’t make me worried, Billy.’