Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (23 page)

“Before what?”

“Before she grew boobs.”

“And she was late coming home tonight?”

Roscoe sighed again, as if she carried Atlas-sized burdens on a frame much too small. She folded both hands together and brought them to her chin, leaned her head forward, rubbed lower lip with one knuckle. She said, “The sneaking out started three nights ago.”

Which had been the night before Harry Black’s murder. Timing might not be everything, but opportunity leads to crimes and suspects. No wonder the momma hen was so upset about her chick. “You’re worried that Jack is somehow connected to the Black case?”

Roscoe seemed relieved that Kim had finally caught up. “I know Jack had nothing to do with what happened out at Harry’s place Sunday night.”

“How sure are you about that?” Kim’s gut said Roscoe wasn’t as certain as she’d like to be. Worried cop, terrified mom. Simple equation.

“Very sure,” Roscoe said. “I checked. Personally.”

“Gaspar thinks Harry and Sylvia were into porn. He thinks that’s how they collected and laundered the Kliners. You think Jack’s been participating in that?”

Instant alarm widened Roscoe’s eyes. “No! Of course not!”

“You think she helped Sylvia cover up the murder and escape?”

“No.”

Less volume, but more worry. Getting closer.

“You think she’s been out with Jack Reacher for the past three nights?”

Roscoe took a breath and held it. Her hands fell limp into her lap.

Bingo?

But then Roscoe relaxed. She grinned. “Of all the possibilities I considered when Jack didn’t come home the night my sergeant was murdered, Agent Otto, I never once worried that my daughter was cavorting until the wee hours with Jack Reacher.”

Kim thought Roscoe was telling the truth.

Too bad.

She asked, “How do you know?”

Roscoe actually giggled. Maybe it was the whiskey. “Honey, you are so far off the mark you can’t even
see
the bulls-eye.”

Kim sat straighter in her chair. “OK, I get it. You don’t think Reacher’s involved in the Sylvia Black case at all. At least tell me straight out. Why not?”

“To begin with, if Reacher was in town, I’d know it. He’d have contacted me, or someone would have seen him. He’s a big guy. He’s obviously not from around here. He’d stand out. That’s how he got arrested fifteen years ago. He couldn’t sneak in and out of Margrave without someone knowing.”

Wishful thinking. The guy was a ghost. He’d slipped into and out of tighter places without any trouble, whenever he wanted to. “And?”

Roscoe took a big gulp of liquid courage. “When you mentioned the possibility that Reacher was involved with Sylvia, I’ll admit, you threw me.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“And rescuing women like Sylvia is exactly the kind of thing he might do. So I checked your theory out. And it wasn’t him.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” Roscoe said, sounding like her daughter.

“You’re clairvoyant? You have a crystal ball? Tarot cards?”

“Have you learned nothing about the man, hot shot? Reacher wouldn’t do any of it.”

“Really? You’re saying Reacher wouldn’t kill anyone? Because twelve people died when he was here fifteen years ago and I’m thinking that was no coincidence.” Kim knew she should have stopped right there even as she barreled on. “Don’t try to sell me that line of bull, Beverly. Makes you look like Bonnie to his Clyde.” Brief pause.
Oh, what the hell.
“Again.”

Roscoe said, “You know, Kim, even Reacher would hurt you for that remark.”

“Because it’s true?”

“Because it isn’t. You don’t know Jack. At all.”

“So enlighten me.”

“His brother Joe died because of that money. Jack would never profit from Joe’s death like that. He wouldn’t shoot a sleeping enemy instead of taking him face-on. And he’d never spend his time cleaning up like that. Not his style.”

“No?”

“Definitely not.”

“What would he have done, then?”

“If he’d killed Harry for the Kliners, which he didn’t, he’d have destroyed Harry’s place completely. He didn’t blow up the Chevy, either. So don’t even start with that idea.”

“And you know this because?”

The music changed to Chopin’s
Nocturne #2
and filled the room with discordant peace.

Roscoe seemed to reach a decision. She wiped her face again. She settled her shoulders. She said, “Reacher left here bound for Chicago back then and I’ve never heard from him since. What I wanted to tell you tonight is that it wasn’t him. On the video tape. Springing Sylvia last night. The fake Marshal Wright. Not Jack Reacher. Definitely. Not. Him.”

“Evidence? Facts?” Kim asked. “And don’t tell me you just know, Beverly.”

Roscoe stood, moved to the fireside, turned her back toward the room. “Reacher’s taller. Bigger build. Boxier shoulders. Straighter posture. Longer reach. Deeper voice. Different walk.”

“Maybe he’s changed in fifteen years,” Kim said.

Roscoe paused again, and turned to face Kim from across the room. She made her next observations in a softer tone, confirming Kim’s instincts about her relationship with Reacher in every respect. She said, “Reacher’s wrists are thicker, and his hands too broad for the gloves in the video. He’s kinder to women. He wouldn’t grab Sylvia’s arm or push her into the car like that. He displays more finesse. He’s much smarter. It radiates off of him. And he’s a very cautious guy. If he had collected Sylvia Black from our jail, no evidence would ever connect him to the escape, just as there’s no evidence he was ever here fifteen years ago. Simply put, if Reacher had been here that night, we’d have no video to analyze.”

Kim was quiet for a spell. She’d made too many assumptions. The assumptions had led to false starts and wasted time. She
didn’t
know Jack Reacher, and the not knowing frightened her more than anything else. But Roscoe had known Jack Reacher in every conceivable way back then. That was clear. So unless he’d changed more than a man is capable of changing, Roscoe was right.

Dammit.

“So who was the guy on the tape?” Kim asked.

“You tell me.”

“I would if I could,” Kim said. Then she heard Gaspar coming down the stairs.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Margrave, Georgia

November 3

2:15 a.m.

Gaspar dropped his bags on the hallway floor and stepped into the room fully dressed, wide awake, and ready to go. “Our flight leaves Atlanta in ninety-five minutes. We’ve got to run. What’s the best route outta here, chief?”

Roscoe said, “You can’t leave. GHP wants to talk to you.”

“They can send me an e-mail. Or kiss my ass. My badge is shinier than theirs.” He moved into the kitchen, located the coffee pot, loaded grounds and water. He pulled out mugs and rooted around for sugar and milk as if he was competing for speed records. Way too much energy. Kim closed her eyes.

“Hey there, Sunshine,” he called. “You might want to put some clothes on. It’s a little chilly out there for pajamas.”

When she didn’t move, he said, “Get in the shower. Wake up. I’ll pop a coffee in for you when it’s finished. Come on. Shake and bake. Hubba hubba. Got to move it.” Talking a mile a minute. Maybe he had located more amphetamines.

He said, “Before we leave, Chief Roscoe, I need you to answer a couple of questions about bringing down the Kliner Foundation. I read the transcripts. Several times. Couple open issues in my head.”

“Such as?”

“Your testimony covered the highlights. I need to know the things you left out. Reacher was the heavy lifter, but how, exactly, did he do it? Forewarned and forearmed and all that. And tell me what happened after. Especially after old man Teale died. The mayor now is what? His kid?”

Kim believed in preparation. It had saved her life more than once. She tried to concentrate.

Roscoe said, “We answered everything relevant back then. Testimony took weeks. Every state and federal agency you can imagine got involved, and even a couple of foreign governments.”

Kim didn’t believe she’d answered everything; Gaspar wouldn’t either.

“And afterward?” Gaspar asked.

“Nothing afterward. By the time the whole mess was sorted out, Reacher was long gone. I ran for mayor and lost to Junior Teale. He never forgave me. We all went back to the way we’d lived before.” She shrugged. “The human condition, I guess. Hard to break the bonds of inertia.”

“Not everybody went back, obviously,” Gaspar said. “Otherwise, Harry Black couldn’t have accumulated those Kliners.”

The coffee was done. He poured a big mug of strong black energy sufficient to run a small train and carried it across the room. Waved it under Kim’s nose like smelling salts. She reached up; he pulled away like pulling a puppet string.

Enticed to her feet, he rewarded her with the mug, pointed her toward the guest bath and lightly shoved between her shoulder blades. “Get going. You don’t want me to come in there with you, but I will if that’s what it takes.”

She wrinkled her nose at him and moved slowly out of reach. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Batista. Just try it. See what happens.”

He grinned, nodded. “That’s the spirit. I’m leaving in fifteen minutes. If you’re not ready, I’ll come in there and get you.”

“You and what army?”

As if she’d dashed away at his request, he simply picked up with Roscoe where he’d left off while he mixed coffee for himself “Lotta cops killed during the Kliner fiasco, too. Nobody prosecuted. No way to make that happen unless deals were made, even if Reacher was long gone.”

Roscoe said, “Above my pay grade.”

Liar,
Kim figured as she walked away. Roscoe was too far down the chain of command to have been involved, but she’d have known what happened. Everybody would.

Gaspar let it go. “Was Harry working with Margrave PD during the Kliner days? Could he have been on the inside, gotten hold of the fakes back then?”

Roscoe said, “He was a cadet over in Calhoon county.”

“But?” Kim called from the hallway.

Roscoe’s thoughts seemed years away. “Reacher said at the time, the only safe thing is to assume everybody is involved.”

Gaspar had said almost the same words to Kim a few hours ago. About Roscoe. And Finlay. And the boss, too. She suddenly understood she had a secret weapon. Which was Gaspar.
Reacher thinks just like Gaspar.
Men. Cops. Veterans. Same foundation. Same training. Same experience. Same prism.

Instantly Kim knew why she’d been chosen. And understood how she would win.

Simple yet profoundly easy:
Reacher doesn’t think like me.

Kim turned to face the kitchen.

Gaspar had poured a mound of sugar and a river of milk into his mug, then added a dash of coffee, took a swig, smacked his lips, carried his mug over and settled into the seat Kim had just vacated.

Roscoe said, “I thought I knew Harry and Sylvia. Clearly, I didn’t. I went to school with Harry. Sylvia worked for me. I’d have sworn they were both as honest as the day is long.”

Kim was still in the hallway.

Gaspar looked up and said, “Ten minutes. And I’m not kidding.”

“All right, already, I’m going.” From inside the guest bathroom, she couldn’t hear the remainder of their conversation.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Margrave, Georgia

November 3

2:40 a.m.

A huge harvest moon showed Kim the buildings growing smaller in the side mirror along the county road through Margrave, the post office, the police station, and finally Eno’s diner. She watched them slide behind her without regret.

Roscoe had advised them to travel through the peanut farms, to stay away from the highway cloverleaf, which would still be lousy with government agents from many different jurisdictions. The advice suited Kim just fine.

Gaspar turned west on a wandering road that led toward some place called Warburton. It took them through miles of arable land. They passed bumpy side tracks that looped around and led back to the road again, suitable for dropping farm equipment and workers. Otherwise, nothing but uninterrupted middle-of-nowhere.