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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