He tailed off again. We got more coffee. It was a sad story. Stories about wrecked dreams always are.
`So obviously, we got divorced,’ he said. `Nothing else to do. She demanded it. It was terrible. I was totally out of it. Then in my last month in the department I started reading the union vacancy lists again. Saw this job down here. I called an old buddy in Atlanta FBI and asked him
about it. He warned me off. He said forget it. He said it was a Mickey Mouse department in a town that wasn’t even on the map. The job was called the chief of detectives, but there was only one detective. The previous guy was a weirdo who hung himself. The department was run by a fat moron. The town was run by some old Georgia type who couldn’t remember slavery had been abolished. My friend up in Atlanta said forget it. But I was so screwed up I wanted it. I thought I could bury myself down here as a punishment, you know? A kind of penance. Also, I needed the money. They were offering top dollar and I was looking at alimony and lawyer bills, you know? So I applied for it and came down. It was Mayor Teale and Morrison who saw me. I was a basket case, Reacher. I was a wreck. I couldn’t string two words together. It had to be the worst job application in the history of the world. I must have come across as an idiot. But they gave me the job. I guess they needed a black guy to look good. I’m the first black cop in Margrave’s history.’
I turned on the stool and looked straight at him. `So you figure you’re just a token?’ I said. `That’s why Teale won’t make you chief?’
`It’s obvious, I guess,’ he said. `He’s got me marked down as a token and an idiot. Not to be promoted further. Makes sense in a way. Can’t believe they gave me the job in the first place, token or not.’
I waved to the counter guy for the check. I was happy with Finlay’s story. He wasn’t going to be chief. So I trusted him. And I trusted Roscoe. It was going to be the three of us, against whoever. I shook my head at him in the mirror.
`You’re wrong,’ I said. `That’s not the real
reason. You’re not going to be chief because you’re not a criminal.’
I paid the check with a ten and got all quarters for change. The guy still had no dollar bills. Then I told Finlay I needed to see the Morrison place. Told him I needed all the details. He just shrugged and led me outside. We turned and walked south. Passed by the village green and put the town behind us.
`I was the first one there,’ he said. `About ten this morning. I hadn’t seen Morrison since Friday and I needed to update the guy, but I couldn’t get him on the phone. It was middle of the morning on a Monday and we hadn’t done anything worth a damn about a double homicide from last Thursday night. We needed to get our asses in gear. So I went up to his house to start looking for him.’
He went quiet and walked on. Revisiting in his mind the scene he’d found.
`Front door was standing open,’ he said. `Maybe a half-inch. It had a bad feel. I went in, found them upstairs in the master bedroom. It was like a butcher’s shop. Blood everywhere. He was nailed to the wall, sort of hanging off. Both of them sliced up, him and his wife. It was terrible. About twentyfour hours of decomposition. Warm weather. Very unpleasant. So I called in the whole crew and we went over every inch and pieced it all together. Literally, I’m afraid.’
He tailed off again. Just went quiet.
`So it happened Sunday morning?’ I said.
He nodded.
`Sunday papers on the kitchen table,’ he said. `Couple of sections opened out and the rest untouched. Breakfast things on the table. Medical
examiner says about ten o’clock Sunday morning.’ `Any physical evidence left behind?’ I asked him. He nodded again. Grimly.