He walked back out and it went quiet again, another hour. Past two o’clock, a local agent came in with a bunch of keys. He unlocked the door.
“Time to talk,” he said.
He led him out of the cell block into a corridor. Down the corridor to a conference room. Smaller than the New York facility, but just as cheap. Same lighting, same big table. Deerfield and Blake were sitting together on one side. There was a chair positioned opposite. He walked around and sat down in it. There was silence for a long moment. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Then Blake sat forward.
“I’ve got a dead agent,” he said. “And I don’t like that.”
Reacher looked at him.
“You’ve got four dead women,” he said. “Could have been five.”
Blake shook his head. “Never was going to be five. We had the situation under control. Julia Lamarr was right there rescuing the fifth when you killed her.”
The room went silent again. Reacher nodded, slowly.
“That’s your position?” he asked.
Deerfield looked up.
“It’s a viable proposition,” he said. “Don’t you think? She makes some kind of breakthrough in her own time, she overcomes her fear of flying, she gets herself out here right on the heels of the perpetrator, she arrives in the nick of time, she’s about to start emergency medical procedures when you burst in and hit her. She’s a hero, and you go to trial for the murder of a federal agent.”
Silence again.
“Can you make the chronology work?” Reacher asked.
Blake nodded. “Sure we can. She’s at home, say, nine o’clock in the morning East Coast, she gets herself outside Portland by five, Pacific. That’s eleven hours. Plenty of time to get a brainstorm and get herself to National and get on a plane.”
“The cop see the bad guy get in the house?”
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Deerfield shrugged. “We figure the cop fell asleep. You know what these country boys are like.”
“He saw a padre come calling. He was awake then.”
Deerfield shook his head. “Army will say they never sent a padre. He must have dreamed it.”
“Did he see her get in the house?”
“Still asleep.”
“How did she get in?”
“Knocked on the door, interrupted the guy. He bolted out past her, she didn’t chase him because she wanted to check on Scimeca, because she’s a humanitarian.”
“The cop see the guy running out?”
“Still asleep.”
“And she took the time to lock the door behind her, even though she was rushing upstairs because she’s such a humanitarian?”
“Evidently.”
The room went quiet.
“Scimeca come around yet?” Reacher asked.
Deerfield nodded. “We called the hospital. She remembers nothing about anything. We assume she must be blanking it out. We’ll get a boatload of shrinks to say that’s perfectly normal.”
“Is she OK?”
“She’s fine.”
Blake smiled. “But we won’t pursue her for a description of her attacker. Our shrinks will say that would be grossly insensitive, given her circumstances.”
The room went quiet again.
“Where’s Harper?” Reacher said.
“On suspension,” Blake said.
“For not following the party line?”
“She’s unduly affected by a romantic illusion,” Blake said. “She told us some fantastic bullshit story.”
“You see your problem, right?” Deerfield said. “You hated Lamarr from the start. So you killed her for personal reasons of your own and invented a story to cover yourself. But it’s not a very good story, is it? There’s no support for it. You can’t put Lamarr anywhere near any of the scenes.”
“She never left any evidence,” Reacher said.
Blake smiled. “Ironic, isn’t it? That’s exactly what you said to us, right at the
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outset. You said all we had was we thought a person like you did it. Well, now all you got is you think Lamarr did it.”
“Where’s her car?” Readier asked. “She drove up to Scimeca’s place from the airport, where’s her car?”
“The perp stole it,” Blake said. “He must have snuck around the back on foot, originally, not knowing the cop was asleep. She surprised him, he took off in her car.”
“You going to find a rental in her real name?”
Blake nodded. “Probably. We can usually find what we need to.”