LEE CHILD. KILLING FLOOR

`And that means they’re counterfeit?’ Finlay said. `Why?

‘Think about it,’ I said. `Kliner needs operating cash, why should he use real money? I bet he paid Hubble in counterfeit money. And I bet he gave those Jacksonville boys counterfeit money for their operating expenses, too.’

Finlay held the two hundreds right up to the bright light in the window. Roscoe and I crowded him for a look.

`Are you sure?’ Roscoe said. `They look real to me.’

`They’re fakes,’ I said. `Got to be. Stands to reason, right? Hundreds are what fakers like to print. Anything bigger is hard to pass, anything smaller isn’t worth the effort. And why should they spend real bucks when they’ve got truckloads of forgeries available?’

We took a good look at them. Peered at them, felt them, smelled them, rubbed them between our fingers. Finlay opened up his billfold and pulled out a hundred of his own. We compared the three notes. Passed them back and forth. Couldn’t see any difference at all.

`If these are fakes, they’re damn good,’ Finlay said. `But what you said makes sense. Probably the whole of the Kliner Foundation is funded with fakes. Millions every year.’

He put his own hundred back in his billfold. Slid the fakes into his pocket.

`I’m going back to the station house,’ he said. `You two come in tomorrow, about noon. Teale will be gone for lunch. We’ll take it from there.’

Roscoe and I drove fifty miles south, to Macon. I wanted to keep on the move. It’s a basic rule for safety. Keep moving around. We chose an anonymous motel on the southeastern fringe. As far from Margrave as you can get in Macon, with the city sprawl between us and our enemies. Old Mayor Teale had said a motel in Macon would suit me. Tonight, he was right.

We showered in cold water and fell into bed. Fell

into a restless sleep. The room was warm. We tossed around fitfully most of the night. Gave it up and got up again with the dawn. Stood there yawning in the half-light. Thursday morning. Felt like we hadn’t slept at all. We groped around and got dressed in the dark. Roscoe put her uniform on. I put my old things on. I figured I’d need to buy some new stuff soon. I’d do it with Kliner’s forgeries.

`What are we going to do?’ Roscoe said.

I didn’t answer. I was thinking about something else.

`Reacher?’ she said. What are we going to do about all this?’

`What did Gray do about it?’ I said. `He hung himself,’ she said.

I thought some more.

`Did he?’ I asked her.

There was a silence.

`Oh God,’ Roscoe said. `You think there’s some doubt about that?’

`Maybe,’ I said. `Think about it. Suppose he confronted one of them? Suppose he was found poking around somewhere he shouldn’t have been?’

`You think they killed him?’ she asked. There was panic in her voice.

`Maybe,’ I said again. `I think they killed Joe and Stoller and the Morrisons and Hubble and Molly Beth Gordon. I think they tried to kill you and me. If somebody is a threat, they kill him. That’s how Kliner operates.’

Roscoe was quiet for a while. Thinking about her old colleague. Gray, the dour and patient detective. Twenty-five years of meticulous work. A guy like that was a threat. A guy who took thirty-two patient

days to cross-check a suspicion was a threat. Roscoe looked up and nodded.

`He must have made a wrong move,’ she said.

I nodded gently at her.

`They lynched him,’ I said. `Made it look like suicide.’

`I can’t believe it,’ she said.

`Was there an autopsy?’ I asked her.

`Guess so,’ she said.

`Then we’ll check it out,’ I said. `We’ll have to speak to that doctor again. Down in Yellow Springs.’

`But he’d have said, right?’ she asked me. `If he’d had doubts, wouldn’t he have raised them at the time?’

`He’d have raised them with Morrison,’ I said. `Morrison would have ignored them. Because his people had caused them in the first place. We’ll have to check it out for ourselves.’

Roscoe shuddered.