‘You are. You’re walling up.’
I said nothing.
‘Your morn died, and you’re hurting, and you’re closing in on
yourself. But you shouldn’t. You can’t do this alone, Reacher.
You can’t live your whole life alone.’
I shook my head.
‘It’s not that,’ I said. ‘It’s that I’m only guessing here. I’m
holding my breath all the time. One long shot after another.
And I don’t want to fall flat on my face. Not right in front of you.
You wouldn’t respect me any more.’
She said nothing.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘You already don’t respect me because you saw me naked.’
She paused. Then she smiled.
‘But you need to get used to that,’ I said. ‘Because it’s going
to happen again. Right now, in fact. We’re taking the rest of the
day off.’
The bed was awful. The mattress dipped in the middle and the
sheets were damp. Maybe worse than damp. A place like that, if
the room hadn’t been rented since Kramer died, I was pretty
sure the bed wouldn’t have been changed, either. Kramer had
never actually gotten into it, but he had died right on top of it.
He had probably leaked all kinds of bodily fluids. Summer
didn’t seem to mind. But she hadn’t seen him there, all grey and
white and inert.
But then I figured, what do you want for fifteen bucks? And Summer took my mind off the sheets. She distracted me big
time. We were plenty tired, but not too tired. We did well,
second time around. The second time is often the best. That’s
been my experience. You’re looking forward to it, and you’re
not bored with it yet.
Afterwards, we slept like babies. The heater finally put some
34O
temperature into the room. The sheets warmed up. The traffic
sounds on the highway were soothing. Like white noise. We
were safe. Nobody would think of looking for us there. Kramer
had chosen well. It was a hideaway. We rolled down into the
mattress dip together and held each other tight. I ended up
thinking it was the best bed I had ever been in.
We woke up much later, very hungry. It was after six o’clock in
the evening. Already dark outside the window. The January
days were spooling by one after the other, and we weren’t
paying much attention to them. We showered and dressed and
headed across the street to eat. I took the army phone directory
with me.
We went for the most calories for the fewest dollars but still
ended up blowing more than eight bucks between us. I got my
own back with the coffee. The diner had a bottomless cup
policy and I exploited it ruthlessly. Then I camped out near the
register and used the phone on the wall. Checked the number
in the army book and called Sanchez down at Jackson.
‘I hear you’re in the shit,’ he said.
‘Temporarily,’ I said. ‘You heard anything more about
Brubaker?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like, did they find his car yet?’
‘Yes, they did. And it was a long way from Columbia.’
‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘Somewhere more than an hour due
north of Fort Bird, and maybe east and a little south of Raleigh.
How about Smithfield, North Carolina?’
‘How the hell did you know that?’
‘Just a feeling,’ I said. ‘Had to be close to where 1-95 meets
U.S.70. Right on a main drag. Do they think that’s where he was
killed?’
‘No question about it. Killed right there in his car. Someone
shot him from the back seat. The windshield was blown out in
front of the driver’s position and what was left of the glass was
all covered in blood and brains. And there were spatters on the
steering wheel that hadn’t been smudged. Therefore nobody
drove the car after he died. Therefore that’s where he was
killed. Right there in his car. Smithfield, North Carolina.’
341
‘Did they find shell cases?’
‘No shell cases. No significant trace evidence either, apart
from the kind of normal shit they would expect to find.’
‘Have they got a narrative theory?’
‘It was an industrial unit parking lot. Big place, like a local