Running Blind

“I doubt it.”

“OK.”

They were at the door.

“Put these on your feet,” Blake said. He pulled a roll of large-sized food bags from his coat pocket. They put a bag over each shoe and tucked the plastic edges down inside the leather.

“She opened up, second knock,” Harper said. “I showed her my badge in the spyhole.”

“She was pretty uptight,” Reacher said. “Told us Julia had been warning her.”

Blake nodded sourly and nudged the door with his bagged foot. The door swung back with the same creak of old hinges Reacher remembered from before.

“We all paused here in the hallway,” Harper said. “Then she offered us coffee and we all went through to the kitchen to get it.”

“Anything different in here?” Blake asked.

Reacher looked around. The pine walls, the pine floors, the yellow gingham curtains, the old sofas, the converted oil lamps.

“Nothing different,” he said.

“OK, kitchen,” Blake said.

They filed into the kitchen. The floor was still waxed to a shine. The cabinets were the same, the range was cold and empty, the machines under the counter were the same, the gadgets sitting out were undisturbed. There were dishes in the sink and one of the silverware drawers was open an inch.

“The view is different,” Harper said. She was standing at the window. “Much grayer today.”

“Dishes in the sink,” Reacher said. “And that drawer was closed.”

They crowded the sink. There was a single plate, a water glass, a mug, a knife and a fork. Smears of egg and toast crumbs on the plate, coffee mud in the mug.

“Breakfast?” Blake said.

“Or dinner,” Harper answered. “An egg on toast, that could be dinner for a single woman.”

Blake pulled the drawer with the tip of his finger. There was a bunch of cheap flatware in there, and a random assortment of household tools, small screwdrivers, wire strippers, electrical tape, fuse wire.

“OK, then what?” Blake asked.

“I stayed here with her,” Harper said. “Reacher looked around.”

“Show me,” Blake said.

He followed Reacher back to the hallway.

“I checked the parlor and the living room,” Reacher said. “Looked at the windows. I figured they were secure. ”

Blake nodded. “Guy didn’t come in the windows.”

“Then I went outside, checked the grounds and the barn.”

“We’ll do the upstairs first,” Blake said.

“OK.”

Reacher led the way. He was very conscious of where he was going. Very conscious that maybe thirty hours ago the guy had followed the same path.

“I checked the bedrooms. Went into the master suite last.”

“Let’s do it,” Blake said.

They walked the length of the master bedroom. Paused at the bathroom door.

“Let’s do it,” Blake said again.

They looked inside. The place was immaculate. No sign that anything had ever happened there, except for the tub. It was seven-eighths full of green paint, with the shape of a small muscular woman floating just below the surface, which had skinned over into a slick plastic layer, delineating her body and trapping it there. Every contour was visible. The thighs, the stomach, the breasts. The head, tilted backward. The chin, the forehead. The mouth, held slightly open, the lips drawn back in a tiny grimace.

“Shit,” Reacher said.

“Yeah, shit,” Blake said back.

Reacher stood there and tried to read the signs. Tried to find the signs. But there were none there. The bathroom was exactly the same as it had been before.

“Anything?” Blake asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

“OK, we’ll do the outside.”

They trooped down the stairs, silent. Harper was waiting in the hallway. She looked up at Blake, expectant. Blake just shook his head, like he was saying nothing there. Maybe he was saying don’t go up there. Reacher led him out through the back door into the yard.

“I checked the windows from outside,” he said.

“Guy didn’t come in the damn window,” Blake said for the second time. “He came in the door.”

“But how the hell?” Reacher said. “When we were here, you’d called her ahead on the phone, and Harper was flashing her badge and shouting FBI, FBI, and she still practically hid out in there. And then she was shaking like a leaf when she eventually opened up. So how did this guy get her to do it?”

Blake shrugged. “Like I told you right at the beginning, these women know this character. They trust him. He’s some kind of an old friend or something. He knocks on the door, they check him out in the spyhole, they get a big smile on their faces, and they open their doors right up.”

The cellar door was undisturbed. The big padlock through the handles was intact. The garage door in the side of the barn was closed but not locked. Reacher led Blake inside and stood in the gloom. The new Jeep was there, and the stacks of cartons. The big washing machine carton was there, flaps slightly open, sealing tape trailing. The workbench was there, with the power tools neatly laid out on it. The shelves were undisturbed.

“Something’s different,” Reacher said.

“What?”

“Let me think.”

He stood there, opening and closing his eyes, comparing the scene in front of him with the memory in his head, like he was checking two photographs side by side.

“The car has moved,” he said.

Blake sighed, like he was disappointed. “It would have. She drove to the hospital after you left.”

Reacher nodded. “Something else.”

“What?”

“Let me think.”

Then he saw it.

“Shit,” he said.

“What?”

“I missed it. I’m sorry, Blake, but I missed it.”

“Missed what?”

“That washing machine carton. She already had a washing machine. Looked brand-new. It’s in the kitchen, under the counter.”

“So? It must have come right out of that carton. Whenever it was installed.”

Reacher shook his head. “No. Two days ago that carton was new and sealed up. Now it’s been opened.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Same carton, exact same place. But it was sealed up then and it’s open now.”

Blake stepped toward the carton. Took a pen from his pocket and used the plastic barrel to raise the flap. Stared down at what he saw.

“This carton was here already?”

Reacher nodded. “Sealed up.”

“Like it had been shipped?”

“Yes.”

“OK,” Blake said. “Now we know how he transports the paint. He delivers it ahead of time in washing machine