Chapter 17

There were still no vehicles parked outside the house. Knight pulled into the wide gravel driveway and turned the car around so that it was facing the exit. Reacher took a moment to study the windows. He was looking for telltale silhouettes or anything that was moving. He saw nothing that worried him so he approached the door. Fletcher's keys still worked the lock. He stepped into the octagonal hallway. Knight followed him. She moved to the bottom of the staircase and turned around 360 degrees.

Knight said, "What a place. You don't see it and think about settling down? Just for a second? Imagine living somewhere like this."

Reacher said, "I'd rather sleep in a ditch."

"Suit yourself. Start upstairs?"

"No. In here."

Reacher led the way to the small room with the security camera setup. The computer monitor was back to showing twelve live images. Knight's Toyota was clearly visible at the top left. Reacher took hold of the mouse and managed to move the pointer, but he struggled to click in the right place. He was working left-handed and his fingers were too big for the buttons.

Knight elbowed him in the ribs. "Move. Let me do it." She used the mouse to select the driveway view and the password box popped up. She said, "Problem."

Reacher closed his eyes. His vision had still been blurred when he'd watched Vidic use the system, and his head had been hurting. He set those echoes aside and tried to focus. He concentrated on the keys Vidic had pressed. Remembered there were sixteen. Worked on recalling them, one by one. He said, "Not a problem," and recited four letters. Knight tapped on the keyboard. He gave her eight numbers. And four more letters. Then the screen filled with tiny pictures.

Knight said, "Now what?"

"You can do something with the mouse. A trash can will appear. Put the most recent record in it."

Knight figured it out, then Reacher told her how to put the camera into privacy mode. She selected a sixty-minute window. "Long enough?"

Reacher nodded, then said, "Now do that for all the other cameras. They record inside the house as well when no one is home."

Knight started pointing and clicking with the mouse. She said, "No problem." Then, "Wait. Look at this."

She had worked through the views of the front and rear of the house and now another exterior image was filling the screen. It was coming from a camera mounted somewhere high up, looking down. It showed the roof of a panel van. It was parked on a rough, stony surface. It was facing away from the lens and its rear doors were open. A man appeared behind it. He was carrying a box the size of a tea chest. Even from above it was clear he was huge. His head was like a boulder. His shoulders were like a bull's. He slid the box into the van, turned, and disappeared from the shot.

She said, "Holy hell. That was Kane. They must have some kind of storage facility. He's clearing it out."

Reacher said, "Looks like Vidic isn't the only one planning to go AWOL. Can you tell where the storage place is?"

Knight slid the mouse around for a couple of seconds, then said, "No. There's no location info. Just time. Date. And temperature. Which is weird. Why would anyone want to know that?"

They watched Kane dump another couple of boxes into the van, then Knight switched the view to one of the inside cameras. She said, "We should take some time with this thing. It could be a gold mine. These archived files—we can see who's been here. When. Who with. What they brought. What they took."

"You do that. I'm going upstairs. Take a look around. We'll rendezvous down here when we're done. Share what we find."

—

Reacher started on the second floor. There were four doors leading off the left-hand branch of the landing, and four leading off from the right. He figured they would all have been bedrooms, originally. The ones at the front of the house were larger. They had more closet space, too, and bigger bathrooms. A quick triage suggested that four were definitely in use. Two could be, or might have been recently abandoned. One looked like it was mothballed. And the last—the smallest—had become a storeroom. It was full of luggage and boxes and crates and other random junk.

Paris's room was easy to identify. It was the only one with women's clothes and toiletries in it. A fluffy robe was hanging on the back of the door. The walls were painted pale blue. The bed was made. There was a half-full glass of water on the nightstand. A phone charger, but no phone. A wooden table under the window that was clearly being used as a desk. It was old with spindly legs and leaves that extended on either side to provide extra workspace. There was a charging cable but no computer. A stack of paperbacks. A mug full of pens. A notebook with a turquoise cover. It was spiral-bound. About half the pages were missing and the ones that were left were blank. There were more books on a shelf against the far wall. Reacher scanned the titles. He saw textbooks covering painting. Sculpture. Jewelry. Furniture. Cars. Watches. Precious metals.

Reacher moved across to an old-fashioned wardrobe and looked inside. Dresses and blouses were hanging from a rail. Sweaters and hoodies were piled up on a shelf. Underwear was neatly folded in a set of built-in drawers. Throughout the room the floor was made from hardwood. It looked like it hadn't seen any polish for a good few years, but it still had a rich patina. The developer had used quality materials. That was clear. He must have been serious about seducing the disaffected city folk. Although Paris wasn't fully on board with that particular choice, Reacher thought. She had covered most of the center of the room with a rug. A thick, heavy, multicolored thing covered with garish abstract patterns. Reacher noticed a pair of slippers tucked against the side of the bed. A pair of hiking socks was lying next to them. Reacher figured Paris didn't like to feel the cold wood on her feet at night.

Paris's bathroom was functional with a few touches of luxury. She had an electric toothbrush. Dental floss. Plastic pots and tubes with all kinds of liquids and gels in them. Another robe. More towels than Reacher thought one person could possibly need. A line of glass bottles along the side of the tub, full of different sizes and colors of grains and crystals. There was another glass container shaped like an hourglass with an open end. Thick, viscous liquid was pooled at the bottom and a half-dozen skinny wooden sticks were poking out of the top. It was giving off a faint smell of lavender. A medicine cabinet was set into the wall above the sink and there was a closet full of spare towels and backup cosmetics. It was less well organized than the rest of the room. Some of the towels had been dumped on a coarse wooden crate. Reacher moved them and lifted the lid. The crate was full of sand. He started to dig with his fingers, carefully. He came across something hard. And cold. It was glass. Full of clear liquid. More of the perfumed oil, Reacher guessed. Ordinarily he would have pulled it out and opened it, to be sure, but he figured there was too much chance of dropping it or spilling a bunch of sand, as he only had his left hand to work with.

Reacher had searched many people's rooms over the years. It wasn't something he had ever come to enjoy. He always felt awkward and uncomfortable, like a trespasser, but he knew it had to be done. Sometimes the rooms belonged to people who were suspected of a crime, and evidence was needed to confirm or deny their guilt. Sometimes the room's owner had fled, and clues were needed to help track them down. Reacher felt like Paris's room was the second kind. Because of her things. No entire category was missing. But in each place he looked he saw gaps. Empty hangers in the wardrobe. Half-full drawers. Spaces on the bookshelves. It felt like someone had grabbed up the bare minimum and wasn't expecting to come back for the rest.

Reacher checked the time in his head. He knew that if they found nothing definitive he would have to be back at the motel before Vidic or he could forget about keeping the gang intact for the FBI to scoop up. He ran through the top hiding spots he had encountered in his years as an MP. The seams of the curtains. The folds of the towels on the rail. Behind the frame of the bathroom mirror. Beneath the lips of the windowsills. He tried the obvious ones as well. Under the mattress. In the underwear drawer. On top of the doorframe. He came up with nothing. But when he turned for a last look before closing the door behind him, he was left with a feeling he was missing something.

The other bedrooms belonged to men. Reacher identified the owners of three of them by the size of the clothes he found in the closets. Fletcher's were tall and slim. Vidic's, almost as tall but broader. Kane's, enormous in every direction. Too big even for Reacher. Then he found two sets he couldn't place. The first was in a room that looked like it had recently been slept in, so he guessed it was Gibson's. The next was in a room that felt like it hadn't been occupied for a few days, so Reacher guessed they belonged to Bowery, the guy who Vidic said had just disappeared. The last room felt like no one had lived in it for some time. It reminded Reacher of rooms he'd visited that belonged to dead people. The kind of places that relatives or friends couldn't bear to clear out after someone was taken early by illness or accident. Vidic had mentioned a guy who died, O'Connell, so Reacher guessed the room had been his.

Reacher checked each room as thoroughly as time allowed. They all shared a weirdly disjointed sense that Reacher chalked up to the contrast between the opulent architecture and the sparse, meager possessions. Vidic's room in particular seemed very lightly stocked. But aside from that, Reacher could find nothing useful. Nothing incriminating. No clue as to what the target for the upcoming job couldbe.

—

Fletcher locked the panel van's back doors and joined the others out in the open. They were standing in a loose circle. Kane inched closer to Paris. Paris shuffled toward Vidic. Vidic looked lost in thought.

Fletcher looked at each person in turn, then said, "Somebody told me something once. I can't remember who it was, but I guess that doesn't matter. They said it's impossible to do a thing, knowing it's for the last time, and not feel sad. I thought they were talking crap at the time, but you know what? I think it's true. Look at us. We haven't always seen eye to eye. We've lost people along the way. But we've had more successes than failures. How many jobs has it been?"

Paris said, "Seventy-four. This'll be seventy-five."

"And seventy-six. And seventy-seven. Our last jobs together. And you know what? I feel genuinely emotional. It's the end of era. We had a good run. We made money. We kicked ass. So let's be careful today. Take care of business. Meet back here. Split the cash from the safe. Go our separate ways." He nodded toward the van. "Then the only time you'll hear from me again is when everything in there is sold and I need to send you your checks. Or your crypto. Or whatever else you want. OK. Any questions?"

Vidic looked up. He said, "I know we'll only be gone a few hours, but am I the only one who's not comfortable leaving the van here, out in the open, all packed up?"

"What's the problem? Who's going to steal it?"

"Said everyone who's ever gotten anything stolen. Sorry. It just seems like asking for trouble. Especially when there's an easy solution."

"Such as?"

"One of us stays here."

"Who?"

"Paris."

Paris said, "No way. You patronizing asshole. I set up this job. I'm just as capable—"

Kane started talking over her. "Like hell. We get back here. She's gone. With the van. You act all outraged. Then you lovebirds meet up later. Grow fat and happy together after you've sold all our stuff. Forget about it."

Vidic held up his hands like he was surrendering. "Guys. Please. Take a breath. One, we're not lovebirds. Look at Paris. She would happily strangle me right now. Two, Paris, of course you're totally capable. But when you planned this job we were expecting another delivery. That hasn't arrived. There's less stuff to carry. So we can get by with fewer people. You staying here to guard the van is a better use of resources. That's just a fact. And three, Kane, the van's locked. You take the keys. Or Fletcher can take them. Then there's no way Paris can drive it anywhere. All she can do is protect it. Which benefits all of us. Right?"

Kane and Paris and Vidic exchanged sullen glances but no one spoke for a long minute. Then Fletcher said, "It makes sense. Paris, you stay. Kane, Vidic, get ready. We go in fifteen."