Echo burning. A Jack Reacher Novel. Lee Child

Alice was a slow reader. She came to the end a full minute after him.

“I’m sorry, Reacher,” she said.

There was silence for a moment.

“What about the election?” Reacher asked. The last hope.

Walker shrugged. “Texas code says it’s a capital crime. Murder for remuneration. We’ve got enough evidence to choke a pig. And I can’t ignore a voluntary confession, can I? So, couple hours ago I was pretty down. But then I got to thinking about it. Fact is, a voluntary confession helps me out. A confession and a guilty plea, saves the taxpayer the cost of a trial. Justifies me asking for a life sentence instead. The way I see it, with a story like that, she’s going to look very, very bad, whoever you are. So if I back off the death penalty, I’ll look magnanimous in comparison. Generous, even. The whites will fret a little, but the Mexicans will eat it up with a spoon. See what I mean? The whole thing is reversed now. She was the good guy, I was the heavy hand. But now she’s the heavy hand, and I’m the good guy. So I think I’m O.K.”

Nobody spoke for another minute. There was just the omnipresent roar of the air conditioners.

“I’ve got her property,” Alice said. “A belt and a ring.”

“Take them to storage,” Walker said. “We’ll be moving her, later.”

“Where?”

“The penitentiary. We can’t keep her here anymore.”

“No, where’s storage?”

“Same building as the morgue. Make sure you get a receipt.

Reacher walked with her over to the morgue. He wasn’t aware of taking a single step. Wasn’t aware of the heat, or the dust, or the noise, or the traffic, or the smells of the street. He felt like he was floating an inch above the sidewalk, insulated inside some kind of sensory-deprivation suit. Alice was talking to him, time to time, but he was hearing nothing that she said. All he could hear was a small voice inside his head that was saying you were wrong. Completely wrong. It was a voice he had heard before, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear again, because he had built his whole career on hearing it fewer times than the next guy. It was like a box score in his mind, and his average had just taken some serious damage. Which upset him. Not because of vanity. It upset him because he was a professional who was supposed to get things right.

“Reacher?” Alice was saying. “You’re not listening, are you?” “What?” he said.

“I asked you, do you want to get a meal?” “No,” he said. “I want to get a ride.” She stopped walking. “What now? Quadruple-check?” “No, I mean out of here. I want to go somewhere else. A long way away. I hear Antarctica is nice, this time of year.”

“The bus depot is on the way back to the office.”

“Good. I’ll take a bus. Because I’m all done hitchhiking. You never know who’s going to pick you up.”

The morgue was a low industrial shed in a paved yard behind the street. It could have been a brake shop or a tire depot. It had metal siding and a roll-up vehicle door. There was a personnel entrance at the far end of the building. It had two steps up to it, framed by handrails fabricated from steel pipe. Inside, it was very cold. There were industrial-strength air conditioners running full blast. It felt like a meat store. Which it was, in a way. To the left of the foyer was a double door that gave directly onto the morgue operation. It was standing open, and Reacher could see the autopsy tables. There was plenty of stainless steel and white tile and fluorescent light in there.

Alice put the lizard skin belt on the reception counter and dug in her pocketbook for the ring. She told the attendant they were for Texas vs. Carmen Greer. He went away and came back with the evidence box.

“No, it’s personal property,” she said. “Not evidence. I’m sorry.”

The guy gave her a why didn’t you say so look and turned around.

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