the details. You know what they say? Genius is in the details,
right?”
The young man swallowed and nodded.
“So get it set up,” the commander said. “Make a duty rota. Two
shifts, sixteen hours a day, OK? Constant vigilance is what we need
right now.”
The commander turned away. The young man nodded and breathed out.
Glanced instinctively back in the direction of his special tree and
blessed his feelings.
Milosevic drove Brogan north in his new truck. They detoured via the
Wilmette post office so Brogan could mail his twin alimony checks. Then
they went looking for the dead dentist’s building. There was a local
uniform waiting for them in the parking lot in back. He was
unapologetic about sitting on the report from the dentist’s wife.
Milosevic started giving him a hard time about that, like it made the
guy personally responsible for Holly Johnson’s abduction.
“Lots of husbands disappear,” the guy said. “Happens all the time.
This is Wilmette, right? Men are the same here as anywhere, only here
they got the money to make it all happen. What can I say?”
Milosevic was unsympathetic. The cop had made two other errors. First,
he had assumed that it was the murder of the dentist that had brought
the FBI out into his jurisdiction. Second, he was more uptight about
covering his own ass on the issue than he was about four killers
snatching Holly Johnson right off the street. Milosevic was out of
patience with the guy. But then the guy redeemed himself.
“What is it with people?” he said. “Burning automobiles? Some in
asshole burned a car out by the lake. We got to get it moved.
Residents are giving us noise.”
“Where exactly?” Milosevic asked him.
The cop shrugged. He was anxious to be very precise.
That turn-out on the shore,” he said. “On Sheridan Road, just this
side of Washington Park. Never saw such a thing before, not in
Wilmette.”
Milosevic and Brogan went to check it out. They followed the cop in
his shiny cruiser. He led them to the place. It wasn’t a car. It was
a pickup, a ten-year-old Dodge. No license plates. Doused with
gasoline and pretty much totally burned out.
“Happened yesterday,” the cop said. “Spotted about seven-thirty in the
morning. Commuters were calling it in, on their way to work, one after
the other.”
He circled round and looked over the wreck, carefully.
“Not local,” he said. That’s my guess.”
“Why not?” Milosevic asked him.
This is ten years old, right?” the guy said. “Around here, there are
a few pickups, but they’re toys, you know? Big V8s, lots of chrome? An
old thing like this, nobody would give it room on their driveway.”
“What about gardeners?” Brogan asked. Tool boys, something like
that?”
“Why would they burn it?” the cop said. They needed to change it,
they’d chop it in against a new one, right? Nobody burns a business
asset, right?”
Milosevic thought about it and nodded.
“OK,” he said. This is ours. Federal investigation. We’ll send a
flatbed for it soon as we can. Meanwhile, you guard it, OK? And do it
properly, for God’s sake. Don’t let anybody near it.”
“Why?” the cop asked.
Milosevic looked at him like he was a moron.
This is their truck,” he said. They dumped it here and stole the Lexus
for the actual heist.”
The Wilmette cop looked at Milosevic’s agitated face and then he looked
across at the burned truck. He wondered for a moment how four guys
could fit across the Dodge’s bench seat. But he didn’t say anything.
He didn’t want to risk more ridicule. He just nodded.
SEVENTEEN
HOLLY WAS SITTING UP ON THE MATTRESS, ONE KNEE UNDER HER chin, the
injured leg straight out. Readier was sitting up beside her, hunched
forward, worried, one hand fighting the bounce of the truck and the
other hand plunged into his hair.
“What about your mother?” he asked.
“Was your father famous?” Holly asked him back.
Reacher shook his head.
“Hardly,” he said. “Guys in his unit knew who he was, I guess.”
“So you don’t know what it’s like,” she said. “Every damn thing you