“Are you doctors?” she said.
“No,” they answered.
“Are you my new family?”
“No,” they said. “You’ll go to your new family soon.”
“When?”
“A few days, O.K.? But right now you stay with us.”
She thought they all looked very busy.
The bus rolled in more or less on time. It was a big Greyhound, dirty from the road, wrapped in a diesel cloud, with heat shimmering visibly from its air conditioner grilles. It stopped twenty feet from him and the driver held the engine at a loud shuddering idle. The door opened and three people got off. Reacher stood up and walked over and got on. He was the only departing passenger. The driver took his ticket.
“Two minutes, O.K.?” the guy said. “I need a comfort stop.”
Reacher nodded and said nothing. Just shuffled down the aisle and found a double seat empty. It was on the left, which would face the evening sun all the way after they turned north at Abilene. But the windows were tinted dark blue and the air was cold, so he figured he’d be O.K. He sat down sideways. Stretched out and rested his head against the glass. The eight spent shells in his pocket were uncomfortable against the muscle of his thigh. He hitched up and moved them through the cotton. Then he took them out and held them in his palm. Rolled them together like dice. They were warm, and they made dull metallic sounds.
Abilene, he thought.
The driver climbed back in and hung off the step and looked both ways, like an old railroad guy. Then he slid into his seat and the door wheezed shut behind him.
“Wait,” Reacher called.
He stood up and shuffled forward again, all the way down the aisle.
“I changed my mind,” he said. “I’m getting off.”
“I already canceled your ticket,” the driver said. “You want a refund, you’ll have to mail a claim.”
“I don’t want a refund,” Reacher said. “Just let me out, O.K.?”
The driver looked blank, but he operated the mechanism anyway and the doors wheezed open again. Reacher stepped down into the heat and walked away. He heard the bus leave behind him. It turned right where he had turned left and he heard its noise fade and die into the distance. He walked on to the law office. Working hours elsewhere were over and it was crowded again with groups of quiet worried people, some of them talking to lawyers, some of them waiting to. Alice was at her desk in back, talking to a woman with a baby on her knee. She looked up, surprised.
“Bus didn’t come?” she asked.
“I need to ask you a legal question,” he said.
“Is it quick?”
He nodded. “Civilian law, if some guy tells an attorney about a crime, how far can the cops press the attorney for the details?”
“It would be privileged information,” Alice said. “Between lawyer and client. The cops couldn’t press at all.”
“Can I use your phone?”
She paused a moment, puzzled. Then she shrugged.
“Sure,” she said. “Squeeze in.”
He took a spare client chair and put it next to hers, behind the desk.
“Got phone books for Abilene?” he asked.
“Bottom drawer,” she said. “All of Texas.”
She turned back to the woman with the baby and restarted their discussion in Spanish. He opened the drawer and found the right book. There was an information page near the front, with all the emergency services laid out in big letters. He dialed the state police, Abilene office. A woman answered and asked how she could help him.
“I have information,” he said. “About a crime.”
The woman put him on hold. Maybe thirty seconds later the call was picked up elsewhere. Sounded like a squad room. Other phones were ringing in the background and there was faint people noise all around.
“Sergeant Rodriguez,” a voice said.
“I have information about a crime,” Reacher said again.
“Your name, sir?”
“Chester A. Arthur,” Reacher said. “I’m a lawyer in Pecos County.”
“O.K., Mr. Arthur, go ahead.”
“You guys found an abandoned automobile south of Abilene on Friday. A Mercedes Benz belonging to a lawyer called Al Eugene. He’s currently listed as a missing person.”