Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (13 page)

Kim pinched her nostrils between thumb and forefinger.

Gaspar said, “No kidding,” and pulled out to pass on the left.

Gramps didn’t want to be passed, though. When Gaspar got alongside him, Gramps sped up and kept pace for half a mile or so. At the higher speed the truck’s random weaving was forcing Gaspar toward the median.

“Oh, for cripe sakes, Gramps, slow down,” Gaspar said. “You’re going to splatter that bacon all over the asphalt.”

“He can’t hear you, you know,” Kim said.

“Sorry, bad habit. Lot of crazy drivers in Miami. Griping at them is better than shooting at them.”

“Sometimes,” Kim said.

“Crazy old fool,” Gaspar said, but he returned the Crown Vic to a more reasonable cruising speed once Gramps was too far behind to catch up again. They ran along in the fast lane for a mile or so. Kim saw muddy fields and billboards advertising outlet malls, carpet discounts, and pecans farther down the road. Every now and then, an abandoned vehicle on the shoulder or in the median. Typical Interstate. Nothing more or less. Traffic cams mounted high enough to catch traffic scenes made her feel more secure, as always.

Gaspar asked, “Should we make some calls? On the court order? Easy enough to chase that down before we get to Margrave.”

“Not necessary,” Kim said. “Roscoe will have done all that by the time we get there. But she won’t find anything.”

“Because?”

“Because there’s nothing to find. There was no order. No U.S. Marshal would show up with a private lawyer in tow, or the other way around. If any part of that story was legitimate, they would have coordinated with Roscoe, at least.”

“The whole thing sounds like government work, doesn’t it? There are national security courts that issue secret orders. Inmates do get picked up from local jails these days. Crime doesn’t happen only during business hours, either.”

Kim sighed. The sun had come out and it was hurting her eyes. She didn’t know where she’d put her sunglasses. “We’re talking about Sylvia Black here. Not a terrorist or a spy.”

“Good point. But whoever she is, Sylvia did not belong in Harry Black’s house. That’s for sure.”

“She didn’t belong anywhere in Margrave. But what reason would a national security court have to move Sylvia to federal custody? She’d have to be a fugitive or in need of protection.” Kim closed her eyes against the sun’s glare.

“Witness protection?”

“Unlikely. Sylvia didn’t strike me as valuable enough to be living under witness protection. Even if she had been, a single U.S. Marshal wouldn’t show up with a private lawyer in the middle of the night and grab her after she murdered her husband.”

Traffic was backing up ahead. Gaspar lifted his foot off the accelerator and the big sedan slowed to a crawl. Kim said, “But whatever, Sylvia Black is not our case and not our problem. We’re building the Reacher file, remember?”

He gave her a level stare. “Who knew you Germans were so gullible?”

He braked to a full stop. A worker with a flag was holding traffic in the fast lane to let four trucks enter the highway. Gaspar tried to move over into the right lane because traffic was still moving there, albeit slowly. Kim checked her side mirror and saw Gramps coming up in his panel truck on the right. Gramps waved and grinned as he and his pigs passed them by. She noticed he had a dog in the passenger seat, too. Some kind of taupe colored hound with floppy ears and expressive eyes. Huge. Probably weighed as much as Kim did.

She said, “Slow and steady wins the race, I guess.”

Gaspar laughed. Gramps continued traveling below the speed limit down the road in the slow lane, while the big Crown Vic waited for the heavy trucks to get out of the way.

“You should call Roscoe and tell her we’ve been delayed,” Gaspar said.

Kim shook her head. “And give her another chance to bitch me out? No thanks. I’ll wait. Let her get it out of her system all at once.”

“Are you sure you don’t have kids? That’s the kind of logic I get from my teenagers.”

“Forget Roscoe,” she said.

“Good plan.” His tone was grim.

“What did you find out about Joe Reacher’s final case?”

He said, “A lot. None of it good.”

“How so?”

“It must have been about money, obviously. And lots of it, judging by the mayhem. If we count from the day Joe Reacher was killed, until six government agencies swarmed into Margrave to sort it all out, it was twelve days. In those twelve days, at least twelve people died, maybe more.”

Kim stared at him. “Twelve people?”

“Or more. Including Joe Reacher and Police Chief Morrison. And there were two big explosions, followed by raging fires. Several buildings were destroyed, including the firehouse, the police station, and those old warehouses.”

“No wonder Finlay said we didn’t have time to get the details last night.”

Gaspar gave her the raised eyebrow again. “If you say so. Still think the boss didn’t know about this?”

She didn’t answer his question because the answer was obvious. “I saw those burned warehouses on the way in yesterday. Big area to be burned out like that. But it does explain why there are no records of Jack Reacher’s arrest. They’d have been in the burned police station, right?”

Gaspar said, “That’s what Roscoe claimed.”

“You don’t believe her?”

Gaspar took a deep breath, as if to fortify himself before he spoke. “If Roscoe and Finlay didn’t know about a crime spree like that at the time it happened, then they’re idiots.”

“Which they’re not.”

“So they knew what was happening when everything went down.” He looked at her to see if she was following his logic. “Agreed?”

Kim said, “You think that’s what this is about? Dirty cops?”

“It’s looking that way,” he said. “I don’t trust her. She’s in this up to her neck. That’s one of the reasons she’s acting so odd. Not like any cop I’ve ever known, or you either, I’m betting. I’m telling her nothing.”

Kim considered the facts. Roscoe’s behavior was off, just as Gaspar said. But dirty cops didn’t feel like the right answer, exactly. “Which makes me think that’s not why we’re here.”

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,” he said.

They followed the four heavy trucks for six miles until the work area ended. Gaspar dumped his lead foot on the accelerator. Kim looked at her watch. They had lost thirty minutes. Roscoe would be thirty minutes more annoyed. Kim wasn’t sure she cared.

Gaspar said, “There are only two possible answers here. Either Roscoe and Finlay participated in those killings or they covered up for the killer, who had to be Jack Reacher.”

“I know,” Kim said, too quietly.

“You know why it had to be Reacher, right?” Gaspar asked, when she’d had enough time to work it through.

“Yes.”

“Are you gonna say it out loud?”

“No.”

“Me, neither,” Gaspar said.

But the logic was as clear as spring water. The boss knew all. He knew about Roscoe and Finlay, about the murders, the explosions, the fires, about Jack and Joe Reacher. He knew everything. He’d known yesterday when he sent them to Margrave, and he’d known for years. And let it slide. Maybe even helped with the cover-up. Why would he do that? And why change course now? And why lead them here but not tell them anything? Did he have money to burn in his covert budget like that? What was he up to?

Kim needed to work it out. The wrong move could end her world as she knew it, and Gaspar’s too. She’d worked too hard to throw everything away. She wouldn’t have Gaspar’s career on her conscience, either. If she screwed this up, if she made accusations that weren’t true, or pulled the trigger on suspicions too soon, Finlay and Roscoe would lose their careers, at least. They could go to prison. She’d need to be absolutely, stone cold, deadly certain before going down that road. The blowback would be deadly.

Gaspar said, “Live by the sword, die by the sword, as they told us at Quantico, Gretel.”

“Yeah, well, what they meant was that FBI agents live in a world where kill or be killed is a daily possibility. I’m fine with that, because I’ve got a good chance of being on the winning end of the battle. But I’m not going to commit suicide by cop. And as long as I’m Number One on this job, you’re not, either. Got it?”

Gaspar looked away and shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

“Exactly. For now, we’ll play everything as it happens. Just like we have been. No sharing with Roscoe. Treat her like a potential suspect. I’ll let you know if that plan changes.”

“And when that time comes? What will we do then, Lady Boss?”

She didn’t answer, because she didn’t know what to say.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

They reached the exit for Margrave. Somehow the livestock-toting grandpa was ahead of them again, still traveling below the speed limit, still weaving all over the road, still mostly in the right lane and on the shoulder. Gaspar had to slow down and get behind the smelly pigs. Then, Gramps exited at the cloverleaf, too.

The truck leaned too far all the way around the curve, and Gramps overcorrected, sending the squealing pigs slamming into the panel on the truck’s opposite side, and causing more weaving. Then the truck stopped askew at the bottom of the ramp. Stalled out. Gramps sat there without restarting for much too long.

Another old truck was abandoned on the right shoulder, blocking Gaspar’s escape route. “Doesn’t anybody tow these heaps outta here?” Gaspar griped. He began tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Come on, Gramps. Time to turn. Only two choices. Right or left. Pick one. This is not brain surgery.”

Eventually Grandpa leaned over and opened the passenger door. His big blue dog leapt out and ran around the back of the truck, right in front of the Crown Vic. When they saw the dog, the squealing pigs ratcheted up the volume to ear-splitting levels.

“Oh, man, Gramps, what are you doing?” Gaspar said.

Kim said, “Have a little patience, Speedy Gonzales. The dog had to take care of business. He’ll be right back. Gramps will move along. That truck has carted a lot of pork in its day.”

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” Gaspar said.

Kim felt the transmission shift into park and heard him unlatch his seat belt and open his door. He left the keys in the ignition, which caused the alarm bell to
chime, chime, chime
.

After the fourth annoying reminder, she opened her eyes.

Chime.

“What are you doing?”

Chime.

She saw that Gramps had exited the truck on the driver’s side. Chime. He stood on the exit ramp’s narrow shoulder, truck door standing open, and called to the dog.

Chime.

“Where are you going?”

Chime.

“To help the old guy find the dog so we can get on the road. If somebody comes down that ramp in a hurry, we could be slammed.”
Chime.
“You might want to get out.”

She watched him walk toward Gramps until the truck blocked her view. Then from the corner of her eye she saw a car, maybe fifty yards away, up above ground level. An old green Chevy, parked off the shoulder on the median weeds between the highway’s fast lanes, pointing north. In the no-man’s land between the southbound exit ramp and the northbound entrance ramp at the other side of the cloverleaf. The hood was up. It looked like it had been there a while. She didn’t remember seeing it before. Not surprising. Old cars off the road were so commonplace they were practically invisible. She’d noticed at least ten on the drive from Atlanta. Probably more she hadn’t seen.

The old man’s dog had found the Chevy. The crazy hound was bouncing around like he wanted to play. With what? A car? Kim didn’t know much about dogs. She knew some liked to chase cars. But what did they do when they caught one?

She called out, “Gaspar? The dog is over by that green car. I can see him from here.”

If Gaspar answered, the squealing pigs drowned him out. Where was he? She got out of the Crown Vic and walked down to the truck, holding her nose because of the pigs. She saw Gramps standing with one foot on the rusted runner, the other on the ground, leaning on the open door, looking across the truck’s hood toward the Chevy.

She followed his gaze and saw Gaspar up there, bent over, looking into the disabled Chevy’s dim interior. The dog jumped up and down, ran around in circles, acting crazy. He barked a few times for good measure.

Kim hurried a few feet upwind from the pigs, released the grip on her nose, pulled her phone out and dialed Gaspar’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Is this Roscoe’s turf?”

Kim glanced around, didn’t see any city limit signs on either side of the ramp. What was it? Maybe fifteen miles into town?

“We’re a long way from the Margrave station. Why?”

Gaspar stood up and faced her across the distance. Vehicles passed between them on the southbound lanes, fast noisy blurs of color.

Gaspar said, “There’s a dead man in this car.”