“There’s a problem here,” he said. “The daughter-in-law is getting smacked around by her husband. It’s an ongoing situation. He just got out of prison today.”
“She made a complaint?”
“She’s scared to. The sheriff’s a good old boy and she’s a Hispanic woman from California.”
“Nothing we can do without a complaint.”
Reacher glanced the other way at the trooper, who just shrugged.
“Like the man told you,” he said. “Nothing we can do without we hear about it.”
“You’re hearing about it now,” Reacher said. “I’m telling you.”
The trooper shook his head. “Needs to come from the victim.”
“Get in the car,” the sergeant said.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, we do.”
“I need to be here. For the woman’s sake.”
“Listen, pal, we were informed you’re trespassing. So all we got is a question of whether you’re wanted here, or whether you’re not. And apparently, you’re not.”
“The woman wants me here. Like her bodyguard.”
“Is she the property owner?”
“No, she isn’t.”
“Are you employed by her? Like officially?”
Reacher shrugged. “More or less.”
“She paying you? You got a contract we can see?”
Reacher said nothing.
“So get in the car.”
“She’s in danger.”
“We get a call, we’ll come running.”
“She can’t call. Or if she does, the sheriff won’t pass it on.”
“Then there’s nothing we can do. Now get in the car.”
Reacher said nothing. The sergeant opened the rear door. Then he paused.
“You could come back tomorrow,” he said, quietly. “No law says a man can’t try to get himself rehired.”
Reacher took a second look at the shotgun. It was a big handsome Ithaca with a muzzle wide enough to stick his thumb in. He took a second look at the sergeant’s handgun. It was a Glock, secured into an oiled leather holster by a strap that would take about half a second to unfasten.
“But right now, get in the car.”
Checkmate.
“O.K.,” Reacher said. “But I’m not happy.”
“Very few of our passengers are,” the sergeant said back.
He used his hand on the top of Reacher’s head and folded him into the back seat. It was cold in there. There was a heavy wire barrier in front of him. Either side, the door handles and the window winders had been removed. Small squares of aluminum had been riveted over the holes in the trim. The seat was vinyl. There was a smell of disinfectant and a heavy stink from an air freshener shaped
like a pine tree hanging from the mirror in front. There was a radar device built up on top of the dash and quiet radio chatter coming from a unit underneath it. The sergeant and the trooper swung in together in front and drove him up to the house. All the Greers except Ellie were on the porch to see him go. They were standing in a line at the rail, first Rusty, then Bobby, then Sloop and Carmen. They were all smiling. All except Carmen. The sergeant stopped the car at the foot of the steps and buzzed his window down. “This guy says you owe him wages,” he called. There was silence for a second. Just the sound of the insects. “So tell him to sue us,” Bobby called back. Reacher leaned forward to the metal grille.
“Carmen!” he shouted. “Si hay un problema, llama directamente a estos hombres!”
The sergeant turned his head. “What?” “Nothing.”
“So what do you want to do?” the sergeant asked. “About your money?” “Forget about it,” Reacher said.
The sergeant buzzed his window up again and pulled out toward the gate. Reacher craned his neck and saw them all turn to watch him go, all except for Carmen, who stood absolutely still and stared rigidly ahead at the spot where the car had just been. The sergeant made a right onto the road and Reacher turned his head the other way and saw them all filing back into the house. Then the sergeant accelerated hard and they were lost to sight. “What was that you called out to them?” he asked. Reacher said nothing. The trooper answered for him. “It was Spanish,” he said. “For the woman. It meant ‘Carmen, if there’s trouble, call these guys direct.’ Terrible accent.” Reacher said nothing.