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‘Like Bannon’s duck test,’ Reacher said. ‘They look like cops,
they walk like cops, they talk like cops.’
‘And it would explain how they knew about DNA on
envelopes, and the NCIC computer thing. Cops would know
that the FBI networks all that information.’
‘And the weapons. They might filter through to second-tier
SWAT teams or State Police specialists. Especially refurbished
items with non-standard scopes.’
‘But we know they aren’t cops. You went through ninety-four
mug shots.’
‘We know they aren’t Bismarck cops,’ Reacher said. ‘Maybe
they’re cops from somewhere else.’
Swain was still waiting for them. He looked unhappy. Not
necessarily with the waiting. He looked like a man with bad news to hear, and bad news to give. He looked a question at
Reacher, and Reacher nodded, once.
‘His name was Andretti,’ he said. ‘Same situation as Nendick,
basically. He’s holding up better, but he’s not going to talk,
either.’
Swain said nothing.
‘Your score,’ Reacher said. ‘You made the connection. And
the rifle was a Vaime with a Hensoldt Scope where a Bushnell
should be.’
‘I don’t specialize in firearms,’ Swain said.
‘You need to tell us what you know about the campaign. Who
got mad at Armstrong?’
There was a short silence. Then Swain looked away.
‘Nobody,’ he said. ‘What I said in there wasn’t true. Thing is, I
finished the analysis days ago. He upset people, for sure. But
nobody very significant. Nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘So why say it?’
‘I wanted to get the FBI off their track, was all. I don’t think it
was one of us. I don’t like to see our agency getting abused that
way.’
Reacher said nothing.
‘It was for Froelich and Crosetti,’ Swain said. I’hey deserve
better than that.’
‘So you’ve got a feeling and we’ve got a hyphen,’ Reacher
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said. ‘Most cases I ever dealt with had stronger foundations
than that.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘We look somewhere else,’ Neagley said. ‘If it’s not political it
must be personal.’
‘I’m not sure if I can show you that stuff,’ Swain said. ‘It’s
supposed to be confidential.’
‘Is there anything bad in it?’
‘No, or you’d have heard about it during the campaign.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘Is he faithful to his wife?’ Reacher asked.
‘Yes,’ Swain said.
‘Is she faithful to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he kosher financially?’
/es.’
‘So everything else is deep background. How can it hurt to let
us take a look?’
‘I guess it can’t.’
‘So let’s go.’
They headed through the back corridors towards the library,
but when they got there the phone was ringing. Swain picked it
up and then handed it to Reacher.
‘Stuyvesant, for you,’ he said.
Reacher listened for a minute and then put the phone down.
‘Armstrong’s coming in,’ he said. ‘He’s upset and restless
and wants to talk to everybody he can find who was there
today.’
They left Swain in the library and walked back to the conference
room. Stuyvesant came in a minute later. He was still in
his golf clothes. He still had Froelich’s blood on his shoes. It
was splashed up on the welts, black and dry. He looked close
to exhaustion. And mentally shattered: Reacher had seen it
before. A guy goes twenty-five years, and it all falls apart in
one terrible day. A suicide bombing will do it, or a helicopter
crash or a secrets leak or a furlough rampage. Then the retributive
machinery clanks into action and a flawless career spent
garnering nothing but praise is trashed at the stroke of a pen,
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because it all has to be somebody’s fault. Shit happens, but
never in an official inquiry commission’s final report.
‘We’re going to be thin on the ground,’ Stuyvesant said. ‘I
gave most people twenty-four hours and I’m not dragging them
back in just because the protectee can’t sleep.’
Two more guys came in five minutes later. Reacher recognized
one of them as a rooftop sharpshooter and the other as
one of the agent screen around the food line. They nodded tired
greetings and turned round and went and got coffee. Came back
in with a plastic cup for everybody.
Armstrong’s security preceded him like the edge of an