And a very big guy.
Stackley stopped his truck in the mouth of the driveway. He paused a second, and then shut it down. He got out and led the eager cowboys back to the camper door. Where he did something he never did. He let them see inside. He pulled back his blanket a little too far, as if carelessly, and he exposed the boxes, dozens of them, most still shrink-wrapped, some opened but still mostly full, all white and clean and printed with American writing. Behind his shoulder he felt the hum of desire. Which was good. He needed his new pals to feel what he had to offer.
He huddled them close, and he told them what they could do for him, and what he could do for them. Delegation. Rule one in the modern environment. Especially against a guy so big.
Reacher saw them cluster at the back of the truck. They all looked inside. Inspecting the merchandise, maybe. They seemed happy with the quality, or the quantity, or both. They reminded Reacher of his mother, a lifetime ago, on a foreign base somewhere, huddling on the kerb with the other army wives, when the fish truck came to call. Then Stackley moved in close, and started on a big discussion. The price, maybe. Important to them all, in different ways.
Mackenzie said, ‘Rose isn’t coming out of the house. I guess her friends are buying for her. Maybe they always do. Which would mean Billy never saw her. He couldn’t have helped us anyway.’
Reacher said, ‘We need to talk about Billy.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s in the system now. The Boy Detective has already talked to him once.’
‘He’s denying everything.’
‘Will he for ever?’
‘I assume you guys were kidding about the rubber hoses and the nightsticks.’
‘He’ll take a deal. Or he’ll cough it up by accident. He doesn’t know which pieces they’re missing. Sooner or later he’ll say the wrong thing. It would be prudent to assume the clock is already ticking. We might want to revisit the timescale for getting out of here. No point still being around when the supply cuts off. Definitely no point still being around when the Feds show up. I know how hard this is for both of you, but those kind of problems would make it much worse.’
‘You don’t think a month is possible?’
Reacher saw money change hands, behind the truck at the mouth of the driveway.
He said, ‘I think we should aim for a little faster.’
He saw small white boxes change hands in the other direction.
‘How much faster?’ Mackenzie asked.
‘I told Mr Bramall my instinct would be get out of here within two or three days.’
‘Impossible.’
‘How fast can you do it?’
The truck started up and turned around, and headed back down the driveway. The cowboys carried the small white boxes towards the house. They stacked half of them on the porch, outside the front door, and they took the rest away with them, down a path that curved through the trees, and out of sight.
‘It’s about finding the right doctor,’ Mackenzie said. ‘She can’t live without this stuff.’
‘Ask your neighbours back home.’
‘They go to rehab. We need a pusher.’
‘We’re sitting ducks here,’ Reacher said. ‘Some kind of trouble is coming.’
Mackenzie spent another hour with her sister, and then she came out and said she was ready to go check out of the hotel. Back in four hours, she had promised. With her bags. Ready to stay as long as it took. Bramall shrugged, and finally agreed to do the same. Outside his comfort zone, but hey, second career. Reacher said he was already checked out. He never paid for more than a night at a time. His toothbrush was in his pocket. He had no other luggage. All in all he would prefer to stay in the peace and quiet, and see them later. Mackenzie went back in to tell her sister the updated arrangement, and then she and Bramall drove away.
Reacher sat on the porch step. Already his accustomed spot. Ahead of him the ravine widened and fell away. Beyond it the horizon was dusty orange, with ghostly blue mountains behind it. The air was clear and silent. He watched birds of prey riding thermals, and condensation trails eight miles up, and a chipmunk on a rock ten feet away.
Then behind him the front door opened.
The chipmunk disappeared.
The shared voice said, ‘Major Reacher?’
He stood up and turned around. She was in the doorway, in her silver track suit top. The hood was pulled forward. She was peering out from deep inside. Shadowy scars, and aluminium foil. Steady eyes.
She said, ‘I would like to continue yesterday’s conversation.’
‘Which part?’
‘When I thought you were here on business.’
‘I’m not.’
‘I accept that. All I want is your opinion. You might know things I don’t.’
‘Come sit down here,’ he said. ‘It’s a beautiful day.’
She paused a beat, and then stepped out and crossed the porch. She was lithe and petite and moved like an athlete. Which she was. The infantry was an athletic discipline. She sat on the same step as Reacher, maybe a yard apart. She smelled of soap, and something astringent. The stuff on her face, he figured. Under the foil. Sideways on all he could see was the hood, pulled forward like a tunnel.
The chipmunk came out again.
She said, ‘I told you I had a friend whose case is still open.’
‘Sy Porterfield,’ he said.
‘You are here on business.’
‘No, but I picked things up along the way.’
‘How much do you know about him?’
‘Very little,’ Reacher said. ‘Except he was your friend for a spell, and a rich Ivy Leaguer, and a Marine, and wounded, and he liked authenticity so much he would rather catch drips in a bucket than replace his leaky roof.’
‘That’s a fair summary.’
‘Also he had three sealed files in the Pentagon.’
‘I can’t talk about those.’
‘Then how can I give an opinion?’
‘In theory,’ she said. ‘Why would an investigation just die away?’
‘All kinds of reasons. Maybe it wasn’t what they hoped it was. Maybe it dead-ended. Maybe it was too hard all along. I would need to know more.’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Then let me make an educated guess. Maybe it fell between two stools. The Pentagon seems to have the original file. Let’s say two years ago Porterfield had something on his mind. Why would he call the Pentagon? That was not a natural reflex. Twelve years before he had been a combat lieutenant in the Marines. The Pentagon was never a part of his life. I bet he never even saw the place. I bet he didn’t have the phone number. But he found it out and dropped a dime. Which means the thing on his mind must have had some kind of high-level military aspect. Then the Pentagon copied in the DEA, which means it must also have had some kind of high-level narcotics aspect. Maybe there was miscommunication. Maybe the Pentagon thought the DEA was dealing with it, and the DEA thought the Pentagon was dealing with it. So in the end no one dealt with it.’
‘I can’t talk about the details.’
‘We know his house was broken into after he died.’
‘Yes, I saw that. I went back a few times, just to walk around.’