Then I locked up the Buick and left it. Popped the Bentley’s trunk. Pulled out the bag with my old clothes in. My new gear was covered in red mud and streaked with the dead guys’ blood. I put the old things back on. Balled up the muddy bloodstained stuff and shoved it in the bag. Threw the bag in the Bentley’s trunk and closed the lid on it. Last thing I did was use a tree branch to sweep away all the footprints I could see.
I drove the Bentley slowly back east to Margrave and used the time to calm down. A straightforward ambush, no technical difficulty, no real danger. I had thirteen years of hard time behind me. I should be able to walk through a one-on-two against amateurs in my sleep. But my heart was thumping harder than it should have been and a cold blast of adrenalin was shaking me up. It was the sight of Spivey lying there with his legs folded sideways that had done it. I breathed hard and got myself under control. My right arm was sore. Like somebody had hit my palm with a hammer. It jarred all the way up to the shoulder. That Desert Eagle had a hell of a recoil. And it made a hell of a noise. My ears were still ringing from the twin explosions. But I felt good. It had been a job well done. Two tough guys had followed me out there. They weren’t following me back.
I parked up in the station house lot, furthest slot from the door. Put my gun back in the glove compartment and got out of the car. It was getting late. The evening gloom was gathering. The huge Georgia sky was darkening. Turning a deep inky shade. The moon was coming up.
Roscoe was at her desk. She got up when she saw me and walked over. We went back out
through the door. Walked a few paces. Kissed. `Anything from the car rental people?’ I asked her.
She shook her head.
`Tomorrow,’ she said. `Picard’s dealing with it. He’s doing his best.’
`OK,’ I said. `What hotels you got up at the airport?’
She reeled off a list of hotels. Pretty much the same list you got at any airport. I picked the first name she’d listed. Then I told her what had happened with the two Florida boys. Last week, she’d have arrested me for it. Sent me to the chair. Now, her reaction was different. Those four men who had padded through her place in their rubber shoes had changed her mind about a lot of things. So she just nodded and smiled a tight grim smile of satisfaction.
`Two down,’ she said. `Good work, Reacher. Were they the ones?’
`From last night?’ I said. `No. They weren’t local. We can’t count them in Hubble’s ten. They were hired help from outside.’
`Were they any good?’ she asked.
I shrugged at her. Rocked my hand from side to side, equivocally.
`Not really,’ I said. `Not good enough, anyway.’
Then I told her what I had found in the Buick’s trunk. She shivered again.
`So is he one of the ten?’ she asked. `Spivey?’
I shook my head.
`No,’ I said. `I can’t see it. He was outside help, too. Nobody would have a slug like that on the inside.’
She nodded. I opened up the Bentley and got the gun out of the glove box. It was too big to go
in my pocket. I put it back in the old file box with the bullets. Roscoe put the whole thing in the trunk of her Chevy. I got the carrier bag of stained clothes out. Locked the Bentley up and left it there in the police lot.
`I’m going to call Molly again,’ I said. `I’m getting in pretty deep. I need some background. There are things I don’t understand.’
The place was quiet so I used the rosewood office. I dialled the Washington number and got Molly on the second ring.
`Can you talk?’ I asked her.
She told me to wait, and I heard her get up and close her office door.