exact day Alison died, in and out inside about two hours.”
“They got a name?” Harper asked.
Blake shook his head. “Their computer’s down. They’re working on it.”
“Don’t the desk people remember?”
“Are you kidding? Lucky if those people remember their
“So when will we get it?”
“Tomorrow, I guess. Morning, with a bit of luck. Otherwise the afternoon.”
“Three-hour time difference. It’ll be the afternoon for us.”
“Probably.”
“So does Reacher still go?”
Blake paused and Reacher nodded.
“I still go,” he said “The name will be phony, for sure. And the UPS thing will lead nowhere. This guy’s way too smart for basic paper-trail errors.”
Everybody waited. Then Blake nodded.
“I guess I agree,” he said. “So Reacher still goes.”
THEY GOT A ride in a plain Bureau Chevrolet and were at the airport in D.C. before dark. They lined up for the United shuttle with the lawyers and the lobbyists. Reacher was the only person on the line not wearing a business suit, male or female. The cabin crew seemed to know most of the passengers and greeted them at the airplane door like regulars. Harper walked all the way down the aisle and chose seats right at the back.
“No rush to get off,” she said. “You’re not seeing Cozo until tomorrow.”
Reacher said nothing.
“And Jodie won’t be home yet,” she said. “Lawyers work hard, right? Especially the ones fixing to be partner. ”
He nodded. He’d just gotten around to figuring the same thing.
“So we’ll sit here,” she said. “It’s quieter.”
“The engines are right back here,” he said.
“But the guys in the suits aren’t.”
He smiled and took the window seat and buckled up.
“And we can talk back here,” she said. “I don’t like people listening.”
“We should sleep,” he said. “We’re going to be busy.”
“I know, but talk first. Five minutes, OK?”
“Talk about what?”
“The scratches on her face,” she said. “I need to understand what that’s about.”
He glanced across at her. “Why? You figuring to crack this all on your own?”
She nodded. “I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to make the arrest.”
“Ambitious?”
She made a face. “Competitive, I guess.”
He smiled again. “Lisa Harper against the pointy-heads. ”
“Damn right,” she said. “Plain-vanilla agents, they treat us like shit.”
The engines wound up to a scream and the plane rolled backward from the gate. Swung its nose around and lumbered toward the runway.
“So what about the marks on her face?” Harper asked.
“I think it proves my point,” Reacher said. “I think it’s the single most valuable piece of evidence we’ve gotten so far.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “It was so halfhearted, wasn’t it? So tentative? I think it proves the guy is hiding behind appearances. It proves he’s pretending. Like there’s me, looking at the cases, and I’m thinking where’s the violence? Where’s the anger? And simultaneously somewhere the guy is reviewing his progress, and he’s thinking
Harper nodded. “Not even enough to make her flinch, according to Stavely.”
“Bloodless,” Reacher said. “Almost literally. Like a technical exercise, which it was, because this whole thing is a technical exercise, some cast-iron down-to-earth motive hiding behind a psycho masquerade.”
“He made her do it to herself.”
“I think so.”
“But why would he?”
“Worried about fingerprints? About revealing if he’s left-handed or right-handed? Demonstrating his control? ”
“It’s a lot of control, don’t you think? But it explains why it was so halfhearted. She wouldn’t really hurt herself.”
“I guess not,” he said, sleepily.
“Why Alison, though? Why did he wait until number four?”
“Ceaseless quest for perfection, I suppose. A guy like this, he’s thinking and refining all the time.”
“Does it make her special in some way? Significant? ”
Reacher shrugged. “That’s pointy-head stuff. If they thought so, I’m sure they’d have said.”
“Maybe he knew her better than the others. Worked with her more closely.”
“Maybe. But don’t stray into their territory. Keep your feet on the ground. You’re plain-vanilla, remember? ”
Harper nodded. “And the plain-vanilla motive is money.”
“Has to be,” Reacher said. “Always love or money. And it can’t be love, because love makes you crazy, and this guy isn’t crazy.”
The plane turned and stopped hard against its brakes at the head of the runway. Paused for a second and jumped forward and accelerated. Unstuck itself and lifted heavily into the air. The lights of D.C. spun past the window.
“Why did he change the interval?” Harper asked over the noise of the climb.
Reacher shrugged. “Maybe he just wanted to.”
“Wanted to?”
“Maybe he just did it for fun. Nothing more disruptive for you guys than a pattern that changes.”
“Will it change again?”
The plane rocked and tilted and leveled, and the engine noise fell away to a cruise.
“It’s over,” Reacher said. “The women are guarded, and you’ll be making the arrest pretty soon.”
“You’re that confident?”
Reacher shrugged again. “No point going in expecting to lose.”
He yawned and jammed his head between the seatback and the plastic bulkhead. Closed his eyes.
“Wake me when we get there,” he said.
BUT THE THUMP and whine of the wheels coming down woke him, three thousand feet above and three miles east of La Guardia in New York. He looked at his watch and saw he’d slept fifty minutes. His mouth tasted tired.
“You want to get some dinner?” Harper asked him.
He blinked and checked his watch again. He had at least an hour to kill before Jodie’s earliest possible ETA. Probably two hours. Maybe three.
“You got somewhere in mind?” he asked back.
“I don’t know New York too well,” she said. “I’m an Aspen girl.”
“I know a good Italian,” he said.
“They put me in a hotel on Park and Thirty-sixth,” she said. “I assume you’re staying at Jodie’s.”
He nodded. “I assume I am, too.”
“So is the restaurant near Park and Thirty-sixth?”
He shook his head. “Cab ride. This is a big town.”
