like that, I’m afraid. And I guess this old Mr Hobie
won’t look any different. So what were they up to
together that people are getting killed over it?’
They got into the Bravada together and she leaned over from the passenger seat and unhooked her car phone. Reacher started the motor to run the air. She dialled information. The Hobies lived north of Garrison, up past Brighton, the next town on the railroad. She wrote their number in pencil on a scrap of paper from her pocketbook and then dialled it immediately. It rang for a long time, and then a woman’s voice answered.
‘Yes?’ the voice said, hesitantly. ‘Mrs Hobie?’ Jodie asked.
‘Yes?’ the voice said again, wavering. Jodie pictured her, an old, infirm woman, grey, thin, probably wearing a flowery housecoat, gripping an ancient
receiver in an old dark house smelling of stale food and furniture wax.
‘Mrs Hobie, I’m Jodie Garber, Leon Garber’s daughter.’
‘Yes?’ the woman said again.
‘He died, I’m afraid, five days ago.’
‘Yes, I know,’ the old woman said. She sounded sad about it. ‘Dr McBannerman’s receptionist told us at yesterday’s appointment. I was very sorry to hear about it. He was a good man. He was very nice to us. He was helping us. And he told us about you. You’re a lawyer. I’m very sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ Jodie said. ‘But can you tell me about whatever it was he was helping you with?’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?’
‘Doesn’t it? Why not?’
‘Well, because your father died,’ the woman said. ‘You see, I’m afraid he was really our last hope.’
The way she said it, it sounded like she meant it. Her voice was low. There was a resigned fall at the end of the sentence, a sort of tragic cadence, like she’d given up on something long cherished and anticipated. Jodie pictured her, a bony hand holding the phone up to her face, a wet tear on a thin, pale cheek.
‘Maybe he wasn’t,’ she said. ‘Maybe I could help you.’
There was a silence on the line. Just a faint hiss.
‘Well, I don’t think so,’ the woman said. ‘I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing a lawyer would normally deal with, you see.’
‘What kind of thing is it?’
‘I don’t think it matters now,’ the woman said again.
‘Can’t you give me some idea?’ ‘No, I think it’s all over now,’ the woman said, like her old heart was breaking.
Then there was silence again. Jodie glanced out through the windshield at McBannerman’s office. ‘But how was my father able to help you? Was it something he especially knew about? Was it because he was in the Army? Is that what it was? Something connected with the Army?’
‘Well, yes it was. That’s why I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to help us, as a lawyer. We’ve tried lawyers, you see. We need somebody connected with the Army, I think. But thank you very much for offering. It was very generous of you.’
‘There’s somebody else here,’ Jodie said. ‘He’s with me, right now. He used to work with my father, in the Army. He’d be willing to help you out, if he can.’
There was silence on the line again. Just the same faint hiss, and breathing. Like the old woman was thinking. Like she needed time to adjust to some new considerations.
‘His name is Major Reacher,’ Jodie said into the silence. ‘Maybe my father mentioned him? They served together for a long time. My father sent for him, when he realized he wouldn’t be able to carry on any longer.’
‘He sent for him?’ the woman repeated.
‘Yes, I think he thought he would be able to come and take over for him, you know, keep on with helping you out.’
‘Was this new person in the military police, too?’ ‘Yes, he was. Is that important?’ ‘I’m really not sure,’ the woman said.
She went quiet again. She was breathing close to the phone.
‘Can he come here to our house?’ she asked suddenly.
‘We’ll both come,’ Jodie said. ‘Would you like us to come right away?’
There was silence again. Breathing, thinking.