Child, Lee – Without Fail

hear the words.

He pressed stop and a night-time car chase resumed. He

stepped back into the kitchen. Nendick was still shaking and

188

rocking. He still had his hands trapped up under his arms. He

still wasn’t saying anything. Reacher glanced again at the dirty

dishes and the dead flowers.

‘We can get her back for you,’ he said.

Nendick said nothing.

‘Just tell us who, and we’ll go get her right now.’

No reply.

‘Sooner the better,’ Reacher said. ‘Thing like this, we don’t

want to have her wait any longer than she has to, do we?’

Nendick stared at the far wall with total oncentration.

‘When did they come for her?’ Reacher asked. ‘Couple of

weeks ago?’

Nendick said nothing. Made no sound at all. Neagley came in

from the hallway. Drifted away into the half of the kitchen that

was set up as a family room. There was a matching set of heavy

furniture grouped along one wall, bookcase, credenza, bookcase.

‘We can help you,’ Reacher said. ‘But we need to know where

to start.’

Nendick said nothing in reply. Nothing at all. Just stared and

shook and rocked and hugged himself tight.

‘Reacher,’ Neagley called. Soft voice, with some kind of strain

in it. He stepped away from Nendick and joined her at the

credenza. She handed him something. It was an envelope.

There was a Polaroid photograph in it. The photograph showed

a woman sitting on a chair. Her, face was white and panicked.

Her eyes were wide. Her hair was dirty. It was Nendick’s

wife, looking about a hundred years older than the pictures

in the living room. She was holding up a copy of USA Today. The masthead was right under her chin. Neagley passed him

another envelope. Another Polaroid in it. Same woman. Same

pose. Same paper, but a different day.

‘Proofs of life,’ Reacher said.

Neagley nodded. ‘But look at this. What’s this proof of?’

She passed him another envelope. A padded brown mailer.

Something soft and white in it. Underwear. One pair. Dis

coloured. Slightly grimy.

‘Great,’ he said. Then she passed him a fourth envelope.

Another padded brown mailer. Smaller. There was a box in it.

189

It was a tiny neat cardboard thing such as a jeweller might

put a pair of earrings in. There was a pad of cotton wool in

it. The cotton wool was browned with old blood, because lying

on top of it was a fingertip. It had been clipped off at the first

knuckle by something hard and sharp. Garden shears, maybe.

It was probably from the little finger of the left hand, judging

by the size and the curve. There was still paint on the nail.

Reacher looked at it for a long moment. Nodded and handed

it back to Neagley. Walked round and faced Nendick head

on across the breakfast bar. Looked straight into his eyes.

Gambled.

‘Stuyvesant,’ he called. ‘And Froelich. Go wait in the hallway.’

They stood still for a second, surprised. He glared hard at

them. They shuffled obediently out of the room.

‘Neagley,’ he called. ‘Come over here with me.’

She walked round and stood quiet at his side. He leaned

down and put his elbows on the counter. Put his face level with

Nendick’s. Spoke softly.

‘OK, they’re gone,’ he said. ‘It’s just us now. And we’re not

Secret Service. You know that, right? You never saw us before

the other day. So you can trust us. We won’t screw up like they

will. We come from a place where you’re not allowed to screw

up. And we come from a place where they don’t have rules. So

we can get her back. We know how to do this. We’ll get the bad

guys and we’ll bring her back. Safe. Without fail, OK? That’s a

promise. Me to you.’

Nendick leaned his head back and opened his mouth. His lips

were dry. They were flecked with sticky foam. Then he closed

his mouth. Tight. Clamped his jaw hard. So hard his lips were

compressed into a bloodless thin line. He brought one shaking

hand out from under his arm and put the thumb and forefinger

together like he was holding something small. He drew the

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