Chapter 9

Vidic sat behind the wheel of his Jeep with one eye on the door to Reacher's motel room and the other on his phone. He dialed Fletcher's number but before he hit Call his phone began to ring. It was Fletcher calling him. Vidic smiled. He loved coincidences like that. He took them to be signs that the universe was winking at him. Letting him know he was on the right track. He hit the answer button.

Fletcher said, "Where are you?"

Vidic said, "At the diner by the highway."

"What are you doing there?"

"Getting something to eat. I missed dinner."

"Seriously? Gibson's dead and all you can think about is your stomach?"

"If I starve myself, will that bring Gibson back to life?"

Fletcher didn't reply.

Vidic said, "I'm sorry. Scratch that. I know you guys were close. But listen, I was about to call you. Losing Gibson, the stranger showing up the way he did, I've been doing some thinking. We need to talk. About what we do next. And when. We have some decisions to make. Urgent decisions."

"Damn right we do. Meet me at the cave in an hour. We'll figure everything out then."

"The cave? Why there?"

"You'll see."

"OK. I guess."

"One other thing. The stranger. Something weird happened. He got away."

"How? You said you were going to tie him to a table."

"I did. I cuffed him. Somehow he got the cuffs unlocked. Must have had a key hidden somewhere. But how is not important. Finding him is. So keep your eyes open. He and I—we have unfinished business."

"Understood. Will do."

"Good. Last thing. Is Paris with you?"

"No. Why should she be?"

"No reason. See you in an hour."

—

The call disconnected and Vidic sat for a moment, staring at Reacher's door. He wasn't happy about what he'd just heard. Why did Fletcher want him to come to the cave? It was the most secluded place he could think of. And why did Fletcher want to know if he was on his own? To figure out if he needed to worry about witnesses? Vidic turned and looked over his shoulder as if he could see through the Jeep's back seats and into the trunk. His go-bag was there, as always. He had everything he needed. Including a copy of the report. He could leave that minute. Never be seen again. But then he thought about that wink from the universe. He figured he was overreacting. Maybe Paris was thinking along the same lines. He called her number but got bounced straight to voicemail. He hung up. Thought for a moment, then called her again. This time he left a message. Then he turned his attention back to Reacher's door. It was five minutes since he'd closed it behind him. He figured he'd give it another ten and then, if Reacher was still inside, it would be safe to assume he would stay there.

—

Reacher counted down ten minutes in his head after Wallwork ended their call then crossed to the door and peered out through the peephole. Vidic's Jeep had gone. The space it had been in was empty. Reacher scanned the lot just in case Vidic was playing it cute and had switched to a different spot, but there was no sign of the black hood anywhere.

Reacher grabbed the key card and slid it into his back pocket. He stepped outside, made his way past the row of rooms, listening at each door, until he got to the office. No one else was there but he saw that the color scheme from his motel room was carried over. Orange. Lime green. Teal. But the design didn't extend to the fixtures. There was a vending machine, essentially the same as hundreds of others he'd seen in hotels and motels all across the country. A wooden dispenser holding leaflets with details of local attractions. A plain reception counter. And on it, a computer.

Reacher didn't care either way about the furnishings or the decoration, but he wasn't too happy to see the computer. He had been hoping for an old-fashioned ledger. He found those far easier to interrogate. He leaned across the counter and contemplated the keyboard and the mouse. He was wondering which one to start with when a door opened in the back wall. A woman came through. She was maybe five feet tall. Maybe twenty-five years old. Her hair had been dyed scarlet some time ago. It had long blond roots and it was sticking out at crazy angles like she had recently been electrocuted. Her skin was pale and pockmarked. She was skinny to the point of malnutrition and she was wearing bleached denim overalls and a plain white T-shirt. One strap was hanging down, unfastened, and abadge pinned to the other gave her name as Mary.

"Can I help you?" she said.

Reacher said, "I hope so." He attempted an engaging smile. "Or more accurately, I hope you can help my sister."

"We're not hiring."

"That's not a problem because she's not looking for a job. She's looking for her husband."

Mary shrugged. "I haven't seen him."

"I wasn't suggesting you had, but she heard he's been coming here. Maybe to see someone else. Every week, like clockwork. So I need you to tell me if anyone is renting a room on a regular basis?"

Mary shook her head. "No. I can't."

"It's not possible?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm certain."

Reacher nodded toward the monitor. "Aren't those kind of details stored in the computer?"

"Obviously. But I can't share them with you."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"I'm not allowed to. There's like eight company policies stopping me. And probably the law, too."

"You don't need to worry about those things."

"Why? Are you a cop? You don't look like one."

"I used to be one. But that's not what's important here. What's important is that the information does exist. Right there in the computer."

"It does. But it's private. You're not getting it."

"Life is a very uncertain thing, wouldn't you say, Mary?"

"I guess."

"Well, this is a very unusual moment because right now the outcome is absolutely guaranteed. I'm leaving here with the information I want. There is no doubt about that. The only question is how we get to that point. There are two possibilities. One, you tell me what I need to know. Or two, I call my old cop buddies. Suggest they come visit. Now, I'm going out on a limb and guessing that you don't want those guys coming here with their dogs, sniffing around your locker. I'm guessing you don't want them stopping you on your way home and searching every last hiding place in your car. Am I right?"

Mary's eyes grew wide. "Please. There's nothing I can do. You don't understand. I can't give you that information. I just cannot do it. You've got to believe me."

"Let me tell you what we used to do back in the day when an investigator needed information from someone who wasn't supposed to give it to us. That person would leave the file or the records, or the computer, on their desk and step out to the bathroom, or to have a cigarette, or whatever else they felt like doing. While they were gone we got what we wanted. And technically they didn't tell us a thing. Does that sound like something we could work with here?"

Mary didn't reply.

"Or would you prefer the dogs and the traffic stops?"

Mary thought for a moment, then said, "Two minutes." She worked the keyboard for a few seconds and fiddled with the mouse, then a display popped up on the screen. A grid. The squares across the top indicated the days of the week. The squares down the side showed the room numbers.

Reacher waited until Mary ducked out through the door behind the counter then turned his attention back to the screen. Vidic said that Gibson met his handler in room 1, earlier that day. The grid showed that room 1 had been booked by a corporate client. A company named Automotive Factors Inc., which had a contact number with a 312 area code. That would place it in Chicago. If it actually existed. Reacher picked up the desk phone and dialed the number. His call rang six times then diverted to a message that gave the correct company name and stated its standard business hours. He wondered how hard it would be to fake such a thing. He figured it would be pretty straightforward.

Reacher scanned down the screen and saw that four other rooms were occupied. His, under the name John Austin. Presumably the name Vidic had used when he checked in. And three other rooms. They were all under the names of apparent individuals. No way to tell if they were legitimate. Or what the clients were using the rooms for. He experimented with the mouse until he figured out how to make the display go back to the previous week. He saw the same company name—Automotive Factors—with the same 312 phone number, but this time registered against room 4. The other three individuals all had the same rooms. He went back another week. Automotive Factors was booked into room 6. The individuals had the same rooms. The week before Automotive Factors had room 2.

Mary reappeared after three minutes. She said, "Got what you need?"

Reacher clicked random parts of the screen with the mouse until the display changed to a high-level menu. He said, "I don't know. We'll see."