‘Fewer rules than the first.’
‘But more rules than you.’
‘I have rules,’ Reacher said. ‘I have plenty of rules. One of which says a wounded veteran gets the benefit of the doubt. But another of which says always be gone before the government arrives. So I agree. We need to thread the needle.’
The house stayed quiet and the door stayed closed. Reacher borrowed Bramall’s phone, and carried it to the head of the ravine, where it could soak up maximum signal.
He dialled the number he remembered.
The same woman answered.
‘West Point,’ she said. ‘Superintendent’s office. How may I help you?’
‘This is Reacher,’ he said.
‘Hello, major.’
‘I need to speak with General Simpson.’
‘Wait one, major.’
The supe came on and said, ‘Developments?’
‘We found her,’ Reacher said.
‘Condition?’
‘We have concerns,’ Reacher said. ‘The Purple Heart was a severe facial wound. She has dependency issues with the painkillers we gave her in the hospital. She has no visible means of support.’
‘Can I help?’
‘At this point only with information. I need to know which boxes she checks. In terms of her mental state. Might help us with what happens next.’
‘What information?’
‘It was a roadside IED. I want to know more about it. Specifically why she was there, and who else was hurt or killed.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘And I want to know more about Porterfield. She said it’s safer if we don’t. I’m not sure what that means. Who was this guy? All we know is fourteen years ago he was a brand new butter-bar lieutenant who didn’t make the first cut. What part of that twelve years later got him so much attention?’
‘Sanderson must know.’
‘I can’t push for an answer. The emotional situation here is delicate.’
‘Did you give back the ring?’
‘She asked for a layaway. Until happier times ahead.’
‘Will they come?’
‘Maybe,’ Reacher said. ‘The first part will be hardest.’
He gave the phone back to Bramall. Then they waited, ending up in the same places as the day before, Reacher on the porch step, Bramall on a rock at the edge of the ravine. The cowboys were all grouped together in the mouth of the track, standing around, as if they were expecting someone to show up, sometime soon.
Stackley was a man who believed data and information should be put to work at once. It was rule one in the modern business environment. Or maybe rule two, after ruthless control of costs. Different magazines didn’t always agree. He played it safe by working both ends. Every morning, right there in his truck, before he got up, he read his overnight texts and played his voice mails. Therefore right away that day he knew the big guy was supposed to exit the picture. He spent his early calls working out how to do it. He was a man who believed delegation was the hallmark of a successful executive. It was rule one in the modern environment. Or two, or three. Or whatever. But it was definitely up there.
By the time he turned at Mule Crossing, Stackley had decided on his strategy. By the time he passed what he had learned was his predecessor Billy’s place, he had decided on the bait. By the time he passed what he had learned used to be a guy named Porterfield’s place, he had decided on exactly where to offer it.
He drove on, many miles, and turned in on the next-but-one track on the right, ahead of what he knew from the morning before was a slow four miles over roots and rocks. Not good for his truck. But he was a man who believed productivity depended on the maximum use of all fixed assets. It was the number one rule in the new environment.
Behind him Reacher heard the front door open, and he stood up and turned in time to see Mackenzie step out of the house. In the shadows behind her was a small vague figure. A silvery colour. Mackenzie closed the door on it and came down the path. She glanced at the cowboys, still all the way over at the mouth of the track. She headed for Bramall, and Reacher followed. She chose a rock and sat down on it. Reacher chose one six feet away. Bramall used the one he had used before. They looked like three castaways on a rocky shore, making a plan. The endless plain behind them looked as wide as an ocean.
Mackenzie said, ‘We’re making progress, I think. More than I thought we would so soon. That is, if in fact she means what she’s saying. Sometimes I think she’s agreeing to things far too easily. Because they’re about the future. She knows nothing will change today. That seems to be the limit of her horizon. But every day becomes today when you get there. She needs to take this seriously. She needs to understand the day will come when I have to move her.’
‘When will that be?’ Bramall asked.
‘New accommodations and the right kind of doctor are the essential components. We can get those searches started immediately, while we’re still waiting here. As soon as tomorrow, if we want. By the way, I decided to move in. I think we all should. There are empty houses here. The drive back and forth to the hotel is ridiculous.’
Bramall said, ‘Move in?’
‘More efficient, don’t you think? If I’m close by all the time, I can look after her all the time. Maybe in the end we might get this done faster.’
Bramall said, ‘We don’t know who owns this place.’
‘Someone who hasn’t shown up for three years. Why would they show up now? We won’t be here very long.’
Bramall said, ‘How long, do you think?’
‘Depends entirely on the accommodations and the doctor.’
‘Best guess?’
‘Mentally I’m allowing a month,’ she said. ‘Worst case two.’
Up at the head of the driveway there was engine noise and tyre scrub and the cowboys stood back. Reacher saw a beat-up old pick-up truck drive out of the woods. It had a plastic camper shell in the bed. He had seen it before. On the dirt road. Driving by, with a guy at the wheel, late thirties maybe, looking straight ahead, paying no attention.
Mackenzie turned to see.
‘This must be Stackley,’ she said. ‘Rose hoped he would come by again today.’
THIRTY-SIX
STACKLEY SAW THE cowboys step back. He recognized them from the day before. The same three guys. Partly they were moving to get out of his way, and partly to form up like a welcoming committee. Or like a guard of honour. Deep down Stackley enjoyed dealing dope. Customers were so grateful and enthusiastic. Not like some jobs he had worked.
Then beyond the cowboys he saw the dusty black Toyota. Right there. The actual truck he had called Scorpio about. He had described it, parked on the shoulder of the dirt road, like a cop, with the two men and the woman in it, who folks said had been asking questions. One of the men was big.
Stackley had called it in, and had he gotten his reply.
He looked at the house. All quiet. The door was closed.
He looked right, at the far tree line.
Nothing there.
He looked left, at the rocks near the edge of the ravine.
Three people sitting on them.
An old man in a suit.
A pretty woman.