Chapter 6

Vidic kept going north, pushing hard, until they reached a string of tight switchbacks. Then he eased off the gas a little. The shoulder broadened as they approached a second turn and Reacher saw a set of skid marks snaking across the pale asphalt. The rubber looked dark and fresh, and beyond it he saw a half demolished tree at the side of the road and a gap that had been torn in the safety rail.

Reacher said, "This is where the accident happened?"

Vidic glanced across at him. "You recognize it?"

"No. I just put two and two together. Now pull over. I want to take a look."

"That's not a good idea. The police—"

"Pull over."

The tone of Reacher's voice left no room for debate. Vidic did as he was told.

Reacher climbed out of the Jeep and moved closer to the spot where the skid marks began. They were a curious shape. The tracks started out as one pair, straight and parallel. Then they divided. A loop ballooned to the right, all the way onto the shoulder, then curved back and rejoined the straight part. But only briefly. For maybe a foot. Then the marks careened to the left, winding up on the wrong side of the center line. Finally, almost at the apex of the curve, the marks disappeared. All of them. The pattern reminded Reacher of a rock star from a few years back who had started using a weird symbol in place of his name.

"Come on." Vidic appeared at Reacher's side. "Let's get out of the road. It's not safe. You don't know how people around here drive." He took Reacher's arm and tried to pull him toward the shoulder.

"The vehicle rolled?" Reacher gestured to the spot where the skid marks ended.

"Right." Vidic pulled harder. "The back end stepped out heading into the bend. Gibson recovered it—almost—but he overcompensated. Fishtailed the opposite way. Might have just slid off the road if he wasn't going so fast. Might have missed the tree."

"You said he was driving a Lincoln?"

"Right. A Navigator. New-ish. I doubt there was anything wrong with it."

"An SUV?"

"Yes. A tall one. Probably top heavy. That could have contributed to the rollover, I guess."

"Was it four-wheel drive?"

Vidic shrugged. "Maybe. Or all-wheel drive. Or only rear. I don't know. I'm a Jeep guy."

"What color was it?"

"Black. Why? What difference does that make?"

"Just trying to get the full picture. Maybe jog my memory." Reacher had hoped that a sight or a smell or just being at the accident site would shake something loose, but nothing was coming back to him. It was like opening a door and staring into a pitch-dark room. He could sense something was there, but he had no idea what it was.

Vidic didn't reply.

Reacher said, "Where's the Lincoln now? Did it get towed?"

"No." Vidic pointed to the gap in the safety rail. "It should still be over there."

Reacher walked across and looked down, but he couldn't see much. The whole gully was in deep shadow.

Vidic caught up and tugged at Reacher's arm again. "We shouldn't be here. If the police find us—"

Reacher said, "You pulled me up from the bottom of that crevasse?"

Vidic shook his head. "The Lincoln landed here, on the shoulder. On its wheels. Fletcher told me to push it over the edge after we were done saving you and recovering Gibson's body. I think he was hoping it would catch on fire."

"You called him?"

"I had to."

"When you found out about Gibson? At the motel by the highway?"

Vidic paused for a moment. "You're thinking Fletcher set up some kind of ambush? Forced Gibson off the road?"

Reacher said, "Did he?"

"No. The crash was an accident, like I told you."

"You sure?"

"Positive. It had to be. I didn't call Fletcher until after the accident happened."

"Gibson was dead by then."

"He was."

"So that's when you told Fletcher that Gibson was a Fed?"

"Hell no. I never said a word about it."

"Why not? Isn't that the kind of thing a boss would want to know?"

"He would want to know. For sure. But I didn't tell him. Even if I'd wanted to I couldn't have done it over the phone. Fletcher was paranoid about his calls getting tapped. We were all banned from using phones for anything sensitive. Including landlines. He was dead serious about it. He'd have had my ass if I'd tried. So I'd have had to wait and do it in person. But it was his super-aggressive overexpansion bullshit that got the Feds sniffing around us in the first place. It was O'Connell getting killed that gave them the way in. Or the retired cop. And it was his fault that those guys got killed at all. So screw him. Like I told you, I'm out of here. He can take his chances. So can Kane. I'm done."

"OK. So did you tell anyone else about Gibson?"

"Who would I tell? O'Connell's six feet under. Bowery's missing, presumed an asshole. There isn't anyone else."

"You mentioned a woman. Paris."

Vidic didn't reply.

Reacher said, "You're jumping ship. A woman's involved. You've denounced everyone else but you're determined to keep the spotlight away from her. That math isn't hard to do, Ivan."

Vidic closed his eyes for a second. "I haven't told her. Not specifically. Just that something came up and we need to split, pronto. She doesn't know about you. Or about you helping me get Fletcher's cash. Or about me giving you Fletcher on a plate."

"Is that wise? Keeping her in the dark?"

"How the hell would I know? I'm making this up as I go. The thing with Gibson only happened a few hours ago and I've been busy saving your ass ever since."

—

Reacher and Vidic walked back to the Jeep together. As they got close Reacher acted like he didn't want to squeeze along the whole way between the vehicle and the safety rail. He moved ahead of Vidic and looped around the front of the Jeep, instead. Then when Vidic opened the driver's door and started to climb in Reacher took a moment to check the nearside edge of the bull bar. It was made of metal tubing, an inch in diameter, and it was powder coated solid black. The surface was mostly pristine but there was a stretch about six inches high with a series of parallel scratches. It was as if the bar had recently been jammed against a wall. Or another vehicle. The scratches were deep. They revealed the bright steel beneath the coating but Reacher could see no trace of any other shades of paint embedded in them. He thought about asking Vidic how the damage had been caused, but decided not to. There was no point. If he had anything to hide Vidic was bound to lie. And no good could come out of making him suspicious.

Vidic waited for Reacher to climb on board then he fired up the engine. But before he pulled back onto the road he took out his phone and typed a message. Reacher glanced at the screen. His sight was sharpening and he could read the text without much difficulty. It said, ETA ten minutes.

Vidic said, "Don't worry. It's to the medic, again."

Reacher said, "Who is this guy?"

"His name's Buck Holmes. He's good people. Navy, retired. Runs his own practice now. Sports injuries, mainly. Plus a few discreet jobs for people who don't want to generate any hospital records, if you know what I mean."

"If you trust him, I'm happy." Reacher had been treated by military doctors before. More than once. In his experience they were highly competent but less concerned about the cosmetic side of things than their civilian counterparts. And he had no problem with that. He said, "Where's there ?"

"What?"

"Where we're meeting this medic. Holmes."

"Oh. The motel where Gibson saw his handler, and you hitched a ride. It's the only place around here a stranger can show up and not attract attention."

—

The motel was on its own site, north of the highway, with entrances and exits fanning out to the east and west. The site was a large oval shape with a gas station at each end, a parking area in the center, and the motel and the diner Vidic had mentioned plus a bunch of fast-food outlets spaced out around the sides. Vidic pulled into a space on the edge of the lot, midway along the motel's facade. Reacher counted twenty rooms. Ten, then an office, then ten more. The place had a fifties vibe, all neon and chrome and Sputnik-shaped ornaments. It could have been cool, once, he thought, but now it looked tired and worn. The building's flat roof was in need of resurfacing and its wooden siding could have used a coat of stain.

"Stay here." Vidic killed the engine and opened his door. He made sure to take his keys with him. "I'll get you a room. Won't be long."

Reacher watched until Vidic disappeared into the motel office then turned his attention to the diner. It was the next building in line. It had a vaguely cutesy-cottage appearance with window boxes and curlicues cut into the woodwork, but structurally it was nothing special. The place could just as easily have been a convenience store or a dry cleaner. Reacher was more interested in its position than its architectural merit. It was set at an angle of maybe thirty degrees to the motel. So it was feasible for someone to have sat inside and to have seen a person leaving a particular room, as Vidic claimed to have done. Possibly. If he had been in just the right position. At just the right time. And no vehicles or pedestrians had blocked his line of sight.

Vidic's story about watching Gibson's FBI handler leave the motel didn't pass the smell test easily, Reacher thought. But it didn't immediately fail, either. He resented the ambiguity. But more than that he resented the complete absence of recognition. Vidic said he'd been in this place before. The parking lot. The diner. That he'd been in a fight. Hitched a ride. Yet the whole scene was utterly alien to him. He could have sworn he'd never seen any of it before. He could have taken a lie detector test and passed with flying colors.