One Shot (25 page)

"You guys go on ahead,' he said.

You're staying here?' Helen asked.

Reacher nodded.

'I'm going to look in on my old buddy,' he said.

'Why?'

'I haven't seen him for fourteen years.'

Helen stepped away from the others and came close.

'No, why?' she asked quietly.

'Don't worry,' he said. 'I'm not going to switch his
machines off.' 'I hope you're not.'

'I can't,' he said. 'I don't have much of an alibi, do I?'

She stood still for a moment. Said nothing. Then she
stepped back and joined the others. They all left
together. Reacher watched them process out at the
security desk and as soon as they were through the
steel door and in the elevator lobby he turned round
and walked down the corridor to James Barr's door. He
didn't knock. Just paused a beat and turned the handle
and went inside.

SEVEN

THE ROOM WAS OVERHEATED. YOU COULD HAVE

ROASTED chickens in it. There was a wide window with
white Venetian blinds closed against the sun. They
glowed and filled the room with soft white light. There
was medical equipment piled everywhere. A silent
respirator, disconnected. IV stands and heart monitors.

Tubes and bags and wires.

Barr was flat on his back in a bed in the middle of the
room. No pillow. His head was clamped in a brace. His
hair was shaved and he had bandages over the holes
they had drilled in his skull. His left shoulder was
wrapped in bandages that reached to his elbow. His
right shoulder was bare and unmarked. The skin there
was pale and thin and marbled. His chest and his sides
were bandaged.

The bed sheet was folded down at his waist. His arms
were straight at his sides and his wrists were
handcuffed to the cot rails. He had IV needles taped to
the back of his left hand. There was a peg on his right
middle finger that was connected by a grey wire to a
box. There were red wires leading out from under the
bandages on his chest. They led to a machine with a
screen. The screen was showing a rolling pattern that
reminded Reacher of the cellular company's recording
of the gunshots. Sharp peaks, and long troughs. The
machine made a muted beep every time a peak hit the
screen.

'Who's there?' Barr asked.

His voice was weak and rusty, and slow. And scared.

'Who's there?' he asked again. The way his head was
clamped limited his field of vision. His eyes were
moving, left and right, up and down. Reacher stepped
closer. Leaned over the bed. Said nothing. 'You,' Barr
said.

The,' Reacher said.

Why?'

'You know why.'

Barr's right hand trembled. The motion put a ripple in
the wire from the peg.

The handcuff moved against the bed rail and made a
quiet metallic sound. 'I guess I let you down,' he said.

'I guess you did.'

Reacher watched Barr's eyes, because they were the
only part of him that could move. He was incapable of
body language. His head was immobile and most of the
rest of him was trussed up like a mummy. 'I don't
remember anything,' Barr said.

'You sure?'

'It's all blank.'

'You clear on what I'll do to you if you're bullshitting
me?' 'I can guess.'

'Triple it,' Reacher said.

'I'm not bullshitting,' Barr said. 'I just can't remember
anything.' His voice was quiet, helpless, confused. Not a
defence, not a complaint. Not an excuse.

Just a statement of fact, like a lament, or a plea, or a
cry. 'Tell me about the ballgame,' Reacher said.

'It was on the radio.'

'Not the TV?'

'I prefer the radio,' Barr said. 'For old times' sake.

That's how it always was. When I was a kid. The radio,
all the way from St Louis. All those miles.

Summer evenings, warm weather, the sound of
baseball on the radio.' He went quiet.

Toil OK?' Reacher said.

'My head hurts real bad. I think I had an operation.'

Reacher said nothing.

'I don't like baseball on the TV,' Barr said. 'I'm not here
to discuss your media preferences.' 'Do you watch
baseball on TV?'

'I don't have a TV,' Reacher said.

'Really? You should get one. You can get them for a
hundred bucks. Maybe less, for a small one. Look in the
Yellow Pages.' 'I don't have a phone. Or a house.'

Why not? You're not still in the army.' 'How would you
know?'

'Nobody's still in the army. Not from back then.' 'Some
people are,' Reacher said, thinking about Eileen Hutton.

'Officers,' Barr said. 'Nobody else.'

'I was an officer,' Reacher said. You're supposed to be
able to remember stuff like that.' 'But you weren't like
the others. That's what I meant.' 'How was I different?'

You worked for a living.'

'Tell me about the ballgame.'

Why don't you have a house? Are you doing OK?' You
worried about me now?'

'Don't like it when folks aren't doing so well.' 'I'm doing
fine,' Reacher said. 'Believe me. You're the one with the
problem.' 'Are you a cop now?

Here? I never saw you around.' Reacher shook his
head. 'I'm just a citizen.'

'From where?'

'From nowhere. Out in the world.'

Why are you here?'

Reacher didn't answer.

'Oh,' Barr said. 'To nail me.'

'Tell me about the ballgame.'

'It was the Cubs at the Cardinals,' Barr said. 'Close
game. Cards won, bottom ninth, walk-off.' 'Home run?'

'No, an error. A walk, a steal, then a groundout to
second put the runner on third, one out. Soft grounder
to short, check the runner, throw to first, but the throw
went in the dugout and the run scored on the error.

The winning run, without a hit in the inning.' 'You
remember it pretty well.'

'I follow the Cards. I always have.'

'When was this?'

'I don't even know what day it is today.'

Reacher said nothing.

'I can't believe that I did what they say,' Barr said. 'Just
can't believe it.' 'Plenty of evidence,' Reacher said.

'For real?'

'No question.'

Barr closed his eyes.

'How many people?' he asked.

'Five.'

Barr's chest started moving. Tears welled out of his
closed eyes. His mouth opened in a ragged oval. He
was crying, with his head in a vice. 'Why did I do it?' he
said.

'Why did you do it the first time?' Reacher said.

'I was crazy then,' Barr said.

Reacher said nothing.

'No excuses,' Barr said. 'I was a different person then. I
thought I'd changed. I was sure I had. I was good
afterwards. I tried real hard. Fourteen years, reformed.'

Reacher said nothing.

'I would have killed myself,' Barr said. 'You know, back
then. Afterwards. I came close, a couple of times. I was
so ashamed. Except those four guys from KC turned
out to be bad. That was my only consolation. I clung on
to it, like redemption.' "Why do you own all those guns?'

'Couldn't give them up. They were reminders. And they
keep me straight. Too easy to stay straight without
them.' 'Do you ever use them?'

'Occasionally. Not often. Now and then.'

'How?'

'At a range.'

'Where? The cops checked.'

'Not here. I go across the line to Kentucky. There's a
range there, cheap.' "You know the plaza downtown?'

'Sure. I live here.'

'Tell me how you did it.'

'I don't remember doing it'

'So tell me how you would do it. Theoretically. Like a
recon briefing.' What would the targets be?'

'Pedestrians. Coming out of the DMV building.'

Barr closed his eyes again. 'That's who I shot?'

'Five of them,' Reacher said.

Barr started crying again. Reacher moved away and
pulled a chair from against a wall. He turned it round
and sat down on it, backwards. "When?' Barr said.

'Friday afternoon.'

Barr stayed quiet for a long time.

'How did they catch me?' he asked.

"You tell the story.'

'Was it a traffic stop?'

"Why would it be?'

'I would have waited until late. Maybe just after five.

Plenty of people then.

I would have stopped on the highway behind the
library. Where it's raised. Sun in the west, behind me, no
reflection off the scope. I would have opened the
passenger window and lined it all up and emptied the
mag and hit the gas again. Only way to get caught
would be if a state trooper pulled me over for speeding
and saw the rifle. But I think I would have been aware of
that.

Wouldn't I? I think I would have hidden the rifle and
driven slow. Not fast.

Why would I have risked standing out?' Reacher said
nothing.

'What?' Barr said. 'Maybe a trooper stopped to help me
right there. Was that it? While I was parked? Maybe he
thought I had a flat. Or I was out of gas.'

'Do you own a traffic cone?' Reacher asked.

'A what?'

'A traffic cone.'

Barr started to say no, but then he stopped.

'I guess I've got one,' he said. 'Not sure if I own it,
exactly. I had my driveway blacktopped. They left a cone
on the sidewalk to stop people driving on it. I had to
leave it there three days. They never came back for it.'

'So what did you do with it?'

'I put it in the garage.'

'Is it still there?'

'I think so. I'm pretty sure.'

'When was this driveway work done?'

'Start of spring, I think. A few months ago.'

'You got receipts?'

Barr tried to shake his head. Winced at the pressure
from the clamp. 'It was a gypsy crew,' he said. 'I think
they stole the blacktop from the city.

Probably from where they were starting to fix First
Street. I paid cash, quick and dirty.' 'You got any
friends?'

'A few.'

'Who are they?'

'Just guys. One or two.'

'Any new friends?'

'I don't think so.'

'Women?'

'They don't like me.'

'Tell me about the ballgame.'

'I already did.'

Where were you? In the car? At home?'

'Home,' Barr said. 'I was eating.'

'You remember that?'

Barr blinked. 'The shrink lady said I should try to
remember the circumstances. It might bring more stuff
back. I was in the kitchen, eating chicken, cold. With
potato chips. I remember that. But that's as far as I can
get.' 'Drink? Beer, juice, coffee?'

'I don't remember. I just remember listening to the
game. I've got a Bose radio. It's in the kitchen. There's a
TV in there too, but I always listen to the game, never
watch. Like when I was a kid.'

'How did you feel?'

'Feel?'

'Happy? Sad? Normal?'

Barr went quiet again for a moment.

'The shrink lady asked the same question,' he said. 'I
told her normal, but actually I think I was feeling happy.