‘You trust me, because you trusted Joe and Joe trusted me,
therefore that loop is closed. Now you want to know if I trust
Neagley, so you can close that loop also, and the answer is yes,
I trust her absolutely, therefore you can too.’
‘OK,’ Froelich said. ‘I guess that was the question.’
‘So take your jacket off and make yourself at home. You want
more coffee?’
Froelich slipped out-of her jacket and dumped it on the bed.
Stepped over to the table and laid the envelope down.
‘More coffee would be fine,’ she said.
Reacher dialled room service and asked for a large pot and
three cups, three saucers, and absolutely nothing else.
‘I only told you half the truth before,’ Froelich said.
‘I guessed,’ Reacher said.
Froelich nodded apologetically and picked up the envelope.
Opened the flap and pulled out a clear vinyl page protector.
There was something in it.
‘This is a copy of something that came in the mail,’ she said.
She dropped it on the table and Reacher and Neagley inched
their chairs closer to take a look. The page protector was a
standard office product. The thing inside it was an eight-by-ten
colour photograph of a single sheet of white paper. It was
shown lying on a wooden surface and had a wooden office ruler
laid alongside it to indicate scale. It looked like a normal letter
sized sheet. Centred left-to-right on it, an inch or so above the
middle, were five words: You are going to die. The words were
crisp and bold, obviously printed from a computer.
The room stayed quiet.
‘When did it come?’ Reacher asked.
70
q’he Monday after the election,’ Froelich said. ‘First class
mail.’
‘Addressed to Armstrong?’
Froelich nodded. ‘At the Senate. But he hasn’t seen it yet. We
open all public mail addressed to protectees. We pass on whatever
is appropriate. We didn’t think this was appropriate. What
do you think of it?’
q’wo things, I guess. Firstly, it’s true.’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘You discovered the secret of immortality? Everybody’s going
to die, Froelich. I am, you are. Maybe when we’re a hundred,
but we aren’t going to live for ever. So technically it’s a statement
of fact. An accurate prediction, as much as a threat.’
‘Which raises a question,’ Neagley said. ‘Is the sender smart
enough to have phrased it that way on purpose?’
‘What would be the purpose?’
q’o avoid prosecution if you find him? Or her? To be able to
say, hey, it wasn’t a threat, it was a statement of fact? Anything
we can infer from the forensics about the sender’s intelligence?’
Froelich looked at her in surprise. And with a measure of
respect.
‘We’ll get to that,’ she said. ‘And we’re pretty sure it’s a him,
not a her.’
‘Why?’
‘We’ll get to that,’ Froelich said again.
‘But why are you worrying about it?’ Reacher asked, q’hat’s
my second reaction. Surely those guys get sackloads of threats
in the mail.’
Froelich nodded. ‘Several thousand a year, typically. But
most of them are sent to the President. It’s fairly unusual to get
one directed specifically at the Vice President. And most of
them are on old scraps of paper, written in crayon, bad spelling,
crossings out. Defective, in some way. And this one isn’t defective.
This one stood out from the start. So we looked at it pretty
hard.’
‘Where was it mailed?’
‘Las Vegas,’ Froelich said. ‘Which doesn’t really help us. In
terms of Americans travelling inside America, Vegas has the
biggest transient population there is.’
71
‘You’re sure an American sent it?’
‘It’s a percentage game. We’ve never had a written threat
from a foreigner.’
‘And you don’t think he’s a Vegas resident?’
‘Very unlikely. We think he travelled there to mail it.’
‘Because?’ Neagley asked.
‘Because of the forensics,’ Froelich said. °They’re spectacular.
They indicate a very careful and cautious guy.’
‘Details?’
‘Were you a specialist? In the military police?’
‘She was a specialist in breaking people’s necks,’ Reacher said.
‘But I guess she took an intelligent interest in the other stuff.’
‘Ignore him,’ Neagley said. ‘I spent six months training in the
FBI labs.’
Froelich nodded. ‘We sent this to the FBI. Their facilities are