fired. The bitterness component would be about the same. The
FBI can deal with all of that as a whole. We’ve got the paperwork.
They’ve got the manpower. And the balance of probability
is that they’re correct. But we’d be derelict if we didn’t also
consider the alternative. That they might not be correct. So
we’re going to spend our time looking at Reacher’s theory.
Because we’ve got to do something, for Froelich’s sake, apart
from anything else. So where do we start?’
‘With Armstrong,’ Reacher said. ‘We figure out who hates
him and why.’
Stuyvesant called a guy from the Office of Protection Research
and ordered him into the office immediately. The guy pleaded
he was eating Thanksgiving dinner with his family. Stuyvesant
relented and gave him two hours to finish up. Then he headed
back to the Hoover Building to meet with Bannon again.
Reacher and Neagley waited in reception. There was a television
in there and Reacher wanted to see if Armstrong
delivered on the early news. It was a half-hour away.
‘You OK?’ Neagley asked.
‘I feel weird,’ Reacher said. ‘Like I’m two people. She thought
it was Joe with her at the end.’
‘What would Joe have done about it?’
‘Same as I’m going to do about it, probably.’
‘So go ahead and do it,’ Neagley said. ‘You always were Joe as
far as she was concerned. You may as well square the circle for
her.’
He said nothing.
‘Close your eyes,’ Neagley said. ‘Clear your mind. You need
to concentrate on the shooter.’
Reacher shook his head. ‘I won’t get it if I concentrate.’
‘So think about something else. Use peripheral vision.
Pretend you’re looking somewhere else. The next roof along,
maybe.’
He closed his eyes. Saw the edge of the roof, harsh against
the sun. Saw the sky, bright and pale all at the same time. A
winter sky. Just a trace of uniform misty haze all over it. He
gazed at the sky. Recalled the sounds he had been hearing.
286
Nothing much from the crowd. Just the clatter of serving
spoons, and Froelich saying thanks for stopping by. Mrs
Armstrong saying enjoy, nervously, like she wasn’t quite sure
what she had gotten herself into. Then he heard the soft chunk of the first silenced bullet hitting the wall. It had been a poor
shot. It had missed Armstrong by four feet. Probably a rushed
shot. The guy comes up the stairs, stands in the rooftop doorway,
calls softly to Crosetti. And Crosetti responds. The guy
waits for Crosetti to come to him. Maybe backs away into the
stairwell. Crosetti comes on. Crosetti gets shot. The rooftop
hutch muffles the sound from the silencer. The guy steps over
the body and runs crouched straight to the lip of the roof.
Kneels and fires hastily, too soon, before he’s really settled, and
he misses by four feet. The miss craters the brick and a small
chip flies off and hits Reacher in the cheek. The guy racks the
bolt and aims more carefully for the second shot.
He opened his eyes.
‘I want you to work on how,’ he said.
‘How what, exactly?’ Neagley said.
‘How they lured Crosetti away from his post. I want to know
how they did that.’
Neagley was quiet for a moment.
‘I’m afraid Bannon’s theory fits best,’ she said. ‘Crosetti
looked up and saw somebody he recognized.’
‘Assume he didn’t,’ Reacher said. ‘How else?’
‘I’ll work on it. You work on the shooter.’
He closed his eyes again and looked at the next roof along.
Back down at the serving tables. Froelich, in the last minute of
her life. He recalled the spray of blood and his immediate
instinctive reaction. Incoming lethal fire. Point of origin? He had
glanced up and seen . . . what? The curve of a back or a
shoulder. It was moving. The shape and the movement were
somehow one and the same thing.
‘His coat,’ he said. ‘The shape of his coat over his body, and
the way it draped when he moved.’
‘Seen the coat before?’
‘Yes.’
‘Colour?’
‘I don’t know. Not sure it really had a colour.’
287
`Texture?’
‘Texture is important. Not thick, not thin.’