Never Go Back

of the house. OK?’

‘Agreed,’ Reacher said.

They turned into the first elbow, and they drove past the grocery, and past the car with no wheels, and they turned left, and then right, and then they were in her street, which stretched ahead long and straight and normal, a narrow metallic lane through nose-to-tail cars, both sides, all parked, all winking in the morning sun.

Turner said, ‘FBI ahead on the right. Purple Dodge Charger.’

‘Got it,’ Reacher said.

‘Plus the last car on the lot ahead on the left. The MP special.’

‘Got it,’ Reacher said again.

‘The house looks normal.’

Which it did. It looked solid and settled, and still, as if there were sleeping people inside. The front door was closed, and all the windows were closed. The old red coupe had not moved.

They rolled on.

Turner said, ‘So far every other vehicle is empty. No sign of Shrago. It was a head fake.’

They kept on going, at a slow and constant speed, all the way to the end of the street, and they saw nothing at all to worry about.

‘Let’s go get breakfast,’ Reacher said.

Romeo called Juliet and said, ‘They rented another car. A white Ford, at the Burbank airport.’

Juliet said, ‘Why? Surely they know they can’t hide from us.’

‘They’re hiding from the FBI and the MPs. Changing cars is a sound tactic.’

‘A white Ford? I’ll tell Shrago immediately.’

‘Is he making progress?’

‘I haven’t heard from him.’

Romeo said, ‘Hold on a minute.’

‘What’s up?’

‘More activity on Baldacci’s card. The gentleman in Long Beach just took a second day’s rental on the Range Rover. Which means they haven’t changed cars. What they’ve done is added a car. Which means they’ve split up, and they’re moving separately. Which is smart. They’re two against one. They’re pressing their advantage. Make sure Shrago knows.’

They looped south of the neighbourhood and came back north on Vineland as far as the coach diner. The white Ford was doing its job. It was turning no heads. It was unremarkable and anonymous and invisible, like a hole in the air. Ideal, except for its transparent windows.

The diner was doing good business, at that time of the morning all of it serious and no-nonsense, with early workers fuelling up ahead of long days of labour. There were no ironic hipsters present. The girl wasn’t there, either. Which wasn’t a surprise, because even though she was pretty much a regular, who ate practically every meal there, it was still very early. Reacher knew almost nothing about fourteen-year-old girls, but he imagined early rising was not among their top ten lifestyle preferences. The guy named Arthur was behind his counter, and the brunette waitress was rushing around. A swing shift, maybe, late night and early morning. The blonde wasn’t there. Maybe she worked peak hours only, starting just before lunch, and finishing just after dinner.

They took the last booth on the right, directly behind the girl’s empty stool. A busboy gave them water, and the brunette gave them coffee. Turner ordered an omelette, and Reacher ordered pancakes. They ate, and enjoyed it, and lingered, and waited. The girl didn’t show. The rest of the clientele changed with the passage of time, office workers and retail workers replacing the labourers, their orders a little more delicate and a little less calorific, their table manners a little less like throwing coal in a furnace. Reacher got four refills of coffee. Turner got toast. The girl didn’t show.

Reacher got up and stepped over and sat down again on the girl’s empty stool. The guy named Arthur tracked the move, like a good counter man should, and he nodded, as if to say I’ll be right with you. Reacher waited, and Arthur served coffee, and orange juice, and he bussed a plate, and he took an order, and then he came over. Reacher asked him, ‘Does Samantha get breakfast here?’

The guy said, ‘Most days.’

‘What time does she come in?’

The guy asked, ‘Would I be wrong if I said you’ll never see forty again?’

‘Generous, not wrong.’

‘Some people say it’s the times we live in, but I think it’s never been any different, which is that when a man in his forties starts asking an unhealthy amount of questions about a girl of fourteen, then most people are going to notice, and some of them might even do something, such as ask questions back.’

‘As they should,’ Reacher said. ‘But who died and made you chairman of the board?’

‘It was me you asked.’

‘I enjoyed talking to her, and I’d like to talk to her again.’

‘Not reassuring.’

‘She’s curious about a law enforcement situation, which is not a good combination.’

‘The thing on her street?’