One Shot (32 page)

'But you do care that a quarter-million veterans don't
get their reputations trashed. The scandal would taint all
of them. And they were good people.'

Reacher said nothing.

'It's easy enough,' Hutton said. 'If James Barr doesn't
have many friends, you don't have a very big pool to
search through. One of them has to be the guy.'

Reacher said nothing.

Two birds with one stone,' Hutton said. 'You get to the
puppet master and the army gets to relax.' 'So why
doesn't the army do it for me?'

'We can't afford to draw attention.'

'I've got operational problems,' Reacher said.

'No jurisdiction?'

'Worse than that. I'm about to get arrested.'

'For what?'

'For killing that girl behind the hotel.'

'What?'

'The puppet master doesn't like me being here. He
already tried something on Monday night, with that
same girl as bait. So I went to see her yesterday, twice.

And now they killed her and I'm sure I'm her last
unexplained contact.'

'Have you got an alibi?'

'Depends on the exact timing, but probably not. I'm
sure the cops are already looking for me.' 'Problem,'

Hutton said.

'Only temporary,' Reacher said. 'Science is on my side.

If her neck was broken by a single blow to her right
temple, then her head rotated a little, counterclockwise,
which means the punch was thrown by a left-hander.

And I'm right-handed. If I had hit her in the right temple I
would have knocked her out for sure, but I wouldn't
have broken her neck. I would have had to do that
separately, afterwards.' 'You sure?'

Reacher nodded. 'I used to do this stuff for a living,
remember.' 'But will they believe you? Or will they figure
you're big enough to have done it with your weak
hand?' 'I'm not going to risk finding out'

You're going to run?'

'No, I'm going to stick around. But I'm going to have to
stay out of their way. Which will slow me down some. A
lot, in fact. Which is why I said I've got operational
problems.' 'Can I help?'

Reacher smiled.

'It's good to see you, Hutton,' he said. 'It really is.'

'How can I help?'

'My guess is there'll be a cop called Emerson waiting
for you after you're done with your deposition. He'll ask
you about me. Just play dumb. Just say I never showed
up, you didn't see me, you don't know where I am, all
that kind of stuff.' She was quiet for a spell.

'You're upset,' she said. 'I can tell.'

He nodded. Rubbed his face, like he was washing
without water.

'I don't care much about James Barr,' he said. 'If
someone wanted to set him up so he took the
punishment he should have taken fourteen years ago,
that was OK with me. But this thing with the girl is
different. It's way out of line.

She was just a sweet dumb kid. She meant no harm.'

Hutton was quiet for a moment longer.

'Are you sure about the threat to Barr's sister?' she
asked.

'I don't see any other leverage.'

'But there's no sign of a threat. As a prosecutor I
couldn't see entering it as a separate charge.' Why else
would Barr have done what he did?'

Hutton didn't answer.

'Will I see you later?' she asked.

'I've got a room not far away,' he said. 'I'll be around.'

'OK,' she said.

'Unless I'm already in jail.'

The waitress came back and they ordered dessert.

Reacher asked for more coffee and Hutton got more tea.

They kept on talking. Random subjects, random
questions. They had fourteen years to catch up on.

Helen Rodin searched through the six cartons of
evidence and found a crisp photocopy of a sheet of
paper that had been found next to James Barr's
telephone. It was as close as he had got to a personal
phone book. It had three numbers on it, written in neat
and careful handwriting. Two were for his sister
Rosemary, one at her condo and the other at work. The
third number was for Mike. The neighbourhood guy.

Nothing for anyone called Charlie. Helen dialled Mike's
number. It rang six times and cut to an answering
machine. She left her office number and asked for a
return call on a matter of great importance.

Emerson spent an hour with a sketch artist and came
up with a pretty good likeness of Jack Reacher's face.

The drawing was then scanned into a computer and
colourized. Dirty-blond hair, ice blue eyes, medium-to-dark tan. Emerson then typed the name, and estimated
the height at six-five, the weight at two-fifty, the age
between thirty-five and forty-five. He put the police
department's phone number on the bottom line. Then
he e-mailed it all over the place and set the printer to
churn out two hundred colour copies. He told every
prowl car driver to take a sheaf and give one to every
hotel clerk and barman in town. Then he added: every
restaurant, diner, lunch counter and sandwich shop,
too.

James Barr's friend Mike called Helen Rodin back at
three o'clock in the afternoon. She asked for his
address and got him to agree to a face-to-face interview.

He said he was home for the rest of the day. So she
called a cab and headed out. Mike lived on James Barr's
street, twenty minutes from downtown. Barr's house
was visible from Mike's front yard. Both houses were
similar. All the houses on the street were similar. They
were 1950s ranches, long and low. Helen guessed they
had all started out identical. But a half-century's worth
of adding on and reroofing and re-siding and ongoing
landscaping had made them diverge in appearance.

Some looked upmarket and some still looked basic.

Barr's place looked worn. Mike's place looked
manicured.

Mike himself was a tired fifty-something who worked
the morning shift at a paint wholesaler. His wife arrived
home while Helen was still introducing herself. She was
also a tired fifty something. Her name was Tammy,
which didn't suit her. She was a part-time dental nurse.

She worked two mornings a week for a downtown
dentist. She ushered Helen and Mike into the living
room and then went away to make coffee. Helen and
Mike sat down and started out with an awkward initial
silence that lasted minutes.

'So what can I tell you?' Mike asked, eventually.

'You were Mr Barr's friend,' Helen said.

Mike glanced at the living room door. It was open.

'Just a neighbour,' he said.

'His sister called you a friend.'

'We were neighbourly. Some folks might call that
friendly.' 'Did you spend time together?'

'We would chat a little if he walked by with his dog.'

'About what kind of thing?'

'Our yards,' Mike said. 'If he was decorating he would
ask me about paint. I asked him who fixed his driveway.

Things like that.' 'Baseball?'

Mike nodded. We would talk about that.'

Tammy came in with three cups of coffee on a tray.

There was cream and sugar and a small plate of cookies
with them, and three paper napkins. She put the tray on
a low table and sat down next to her husband. 'Help
yourself,' she said.

'Thank you,' Helen said. 'Thank you very much.'

They all served themselves and there was silence in
the room. Were you ever in Mr Barr's house?' Helen
asked.

Mike glanced at his wife.

'Once or twice,' he said.

'They weren't friends,' Tammy said.

Was it a surprise?' Helen asked. 'That he did what he
did?' 'Yes,' Tammy said. 'It was.'

'So you don't need to feel bad about mixing with him
before. It wasn't something that anyone could have
predicted. These things are always a surprise.

Neighbours never know.' You're trying to get him off.'

'Actually I'm not,' Helen said. 'But there's a new theory
that he didn't act alone. I'm just trying to make sure that
the other man gets punished too.'

'It wasn't Mike,' Tammy said.

'I don't think it was,' Helen said. 'Really. Not for a
moment. Not now that I've met him. But whoever the
other man is, you or Mike might know him or have heard
about him or even seen him coming and going.'

'Barr didn't really have friends,' Mike said.

'Nobody?'

'Not that he spoke about to me. He lived with his sister
until she moved out.

I guess that was enough for him.' 'Does the name
Charlie mean anything to you?'

Mike just shook his head.

'What did Mr Barr do when he had a job?'

'I don't know,' Mike said. 'He hasn't worked for years.'

'I've seen a man over there,' Tammy said.

'When?'

'Now and then. Occasionally. He comes and goes. All
times of the day and night, like a friend would.' 'For how
long?'

'Ever since we moved here. I spend more time at home
than Mike does. So I notice more.' 'When was the last
time you saw this man?'

'Last week, I think. A couple of times.'

'Friday?'

'No, earlier. Tuesday and Wednesday, maybe.'

'What does he look like?'

'He's small. He's got funny hair. Black, like hog
bristles.'

Charlie, Helen thought.

Eileen Hutton walked three fast blocks south from the
Marriott and arrived at the courthouse at one minute to
four exactly. Alex Rodin's secretary came down to
escort her up to the third floor. Depositions were taken
in a large conference room because most witnesses
brought their own lawyers and court reporters with
them. But Hutton was on her own. She sat down alone
on one long side of a large table and smiled as a
microphone was placed in front of her and a video
camera was focused on her face. Then Rodin came in
and introduced himself. He brought a small team with
him. An assistant, his secretary, a court reporter with her
machine. 'Would you state your full name and title for
the record?' he asked. Hutton looked at the camera.

'Eileen Ann Hutton,' she said. 'Brigadier General,
Judge Advocate General's Corps, United States Army.'

'I hope this won't take long,' Rodin said.

'It won't,' Hutton said.

And it didn't. Rodin was trawling in a sea he hadn't
charted. He was like a man in a darkened room. All he
could do was dart around randomly and hope he
bumped into something. After six questions he realized
he was never going to.

He asked, 'How would you characterize James Barr's
military service?'

'Exemplary without being exceptional,' Hutton said.

He asked, 'Was he ever in trouble?'

'Not to my knowledge,' Hutton said.

He asked, 'Did he ever commit a crime?'

'Not to my knowledge,' Hutton said.

He asked, 'Are you aware of recent events in this city?'

'Yes, I am,' Hutton said.

He asked, 'Is there anything in James Barr's past that
might shed light on the likelihood or otherwise of his
having been involved in those events?' 'Not to my
knowledge,' Hutton said.

Finally he asked, 'Is there any reason why the
Pentagon might be more aware of James Barr than any
other veteran?' 'Not to my knowledge,' Hutton said.