So they got back in Sorenson’s car, and she dialled the department’s switchboard number on her cell. The woman behind the counter answered, and Sorenson broke the news. The woman cried. Sorenson clicked off and they waited, wet, cold, and tired, staring ahead through the windshield, not seeing much, and not saying anything.
Next on scene was a very large thirty-five-year-old man in a deputy’s car. He was fair-haired and bulky and red-faced, and he was wearing a padded nylon jacket open over a uniform. The jacket had a sergeant’s stripes on the sleeves. The guy came to Sorenson’s window and bent down. The jacket fell open and Reacher saw a black plate with the name
Reacher noticed the rain had stopped.
A long moment later the guy named Puller straightened up a little and stared out over the open land. He was green in the face. Not sentimental about the old man, but upset by the sight of a corpse. Reacher got out of the car. The road was still streaming, but the air felt suddenly fresh and dry. Sorenson got out on her side. The guy named Puller started back towards them and they all met as a threesome in the space between the cars.
Sorenson asked, ‘Are you the department’s second in command?’
Puller said, ‘I guess so.’
‘Then you guess wrong. As of now you’re the chief. Acting chief, anyway. And you’ve got things to do. You need to bring us up to speed, for instance.’
‘With what?’
‘There’s a missing kid here.’
‘I didn’t really keep up with that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I do traffic mostly. To and from the Interstate. Up beyond Sin City. You know, with the radar gun.’
‘Were you briefed on what happened here last night?’
‘We all were.’
‘But you didn’t keep up with it?’
‘I do traffic mostly.’
‘Didn’t Sheriff Goodman take you off your normal duties?’
‘He took us all off.’
‘So why didn’t you pay attention?’
‘He didn’t really tell me what to do.’
Reacher asked, ‘Were you dropped on the head as a baby?’
The guy named Puller didn’t answer.
Sorenson said, ‘Call your dispatcher and arrange for an ambulance to take the body away.’
‘OK.’
‘Then call Sheriff Goodman’s family.’
‘OK.’
‘Then call the funeral home.’
‘From where?’
‘From a telephone. Any telephone. Just make sure it’s nowhere near me.’
The guy named Puller walked back to his cruiser and Reacher and Sorenson walked up Delfuenso’s neighbour’s driveway.
Delfuenso’s neighbour was a woman not much more than thirty. Her daughter was a ten-year-old version of the same person, still straight and slender and unlined. Her name was Paula. She was camped out in the back room. No view of the road. No view of anything, except mud. She had an electronic box hooked up to the TV. All kinds of things were happening on the screen. Explosions, mostly. Tiny cartoon figures were getting vaporized in sudden puffs of smoke smaller than golf balls.
The neighbour said, ‘I had to go to work. I’m sorry.’
Sorenson said, ‘I understand,’ like she meant it. Reacher understood too. He read the papers. He heard people talking. He knew jobs were easy to lose, and hard to get back.
The neighbour said, ‘I told them not to answer the door.’
Sorenson looked at the kid and asked, ‘Paula, why did you?’
The kid said, ‘I didn’t.’
‘Why did Lucy?’
‘Because the man called her name.’
‘He called Lucy’s name?’
‘Yes. He said, Lucy, Lucy.’
‘What else did he say?’
‘I didn’t hear.’
‘Are you sure? You must have heard something.’
The kid didn’t answer.
Sorenson waited.
The kid asked, ‘Am I in trouble?’
Sorenson hesitated.
Reacher said, ‘Yes, kid, you are. Quite a lot of trouble, to be honest. But you can get out of all of it if you tell us everything you heard and everything you saw this morning. You do that, and you’ll be completely free and clear.’
A plea bargain. An incentive. A stick and a carrot. A time-honoured system. Reacher had gone that route many times, back in the day. A ten-year stretch reduced to a three-to-five, probation instead of jail time, charges dropped in exchange for information. The system worked with twenty-year-olds and thirty-year-olds. It worked just fine. Reacher saw no reason why it wouldn’t work just as well with a ten-year-old.
The kid said nothing.
Reacher said, ‘And I’ll give you a dollar for candy, and my friend will give you a kiss on the head.’
Bribery worked, too.
The kid said, ‘The man said he knew where Lucy’s mom was.’
‘Did he?’
The kid nodded, earnestly. ‘He said he would take Lucy to her mom.’
‘What did the man look like?’
The kid was squeezing her fingers, like she could wring the answer out of her hands.
She said, ‘I don’t know.’
‘But you peeked a little bit, right?’
The kid nodded again.
Reacher asked, ‘How many men did you see at the door?’
‘Two.’
‘What did they look like?’
‘Like you see on the TV.’
‘Did you see their car?’
‘It was big and low.’
‘A regular car? Not a pick-up truck or a four wheel drive?’
‘Regular.’
‘Was it muddy?’
‘No, it was shiny.’
‘What colour was it?’
The kid was wringing her hands again.
She said, ‘I don’t know.’
