with a Q-tip soaked in solvent. The maker’s name was embossed near the heel, an overcomplicated and rather amateur graphic featuring a large letter G surrounding the rest of the word. It was easy to see the G merely as an outline, and therefore to overlook it. At first glance the name appeared to be LOCK. There was dirt over the whole thing. The man soaked the Q-tip again and started work and had it clean a minute later.
Peterson’s den was a small, dark, square, masculine space. It was in the back corner of the house and had two outside walls with two windows. The drapes were made of thick plaid material and were drawn back, open. The other two walls had three doors in them. The door back to the family room, plus maybe a closet and a small bathroom. The remainder of the wall space was lined with yard-sale cabinets and an old wooden desk with a small refrigerator on it. On top of the refrigerator was an old-fashioned alarm clock with a loud tick and two metal bells. Out in the body of the room there was a low-slung leather chair that looked Scandinavian, and a two-seat sofa that had been pulled out and made up into a narrow bed.
Reacher sat down on the bed. Peterson took two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and twisted the tops off and pitched the caps into a trash basket and handed one of the bottles to Reacher. Then he lowered himself into the leather chair.
He said, ‘We have a situation here.’
Reacher said, ‘I know.’
‘How much do you know?’
‘I know you’re pussyfooting around a bunch of meth-using bikers. Like you’re scared of them.’
‘We’re not scared of them.’
‘So why pussyfoot around?’
‘We’ll get to that. What else do you know?’
‘I know you’ve got a pretty big police station.’
‘OK.’
‘Which implies a pretty big police department.’
‘Sixty officers.’
‘And you were working at full capacity all day and all evening, even to the point where the off-duty chief and the off-duty deputy chief had to respond to a citizen’s call at ten o’clock in the evening. Which seems to be because most of your guys are on roadblock duty. Basically you’ve got your whole town locked down.’
‘Because?’
‘Because you’re worried about someone coming in from the outside.’
Peterson took a long pull on his beer and asked, ‘Was the bus crash for real?’
Reacher said, ‘I’m not your guy.’
‘We know you’re not. You had no control. But maybe the driver is our guy.’
Reacher shook his head. ‘Too elaborate, surely. Could have gone wrong a thousand different ways.’
‘Was he really fighting the skid?’
‘As opposed to what?’
‘Causing it, maybe.’
‘Wouldn’t he have just killed the engine and faked a breakdown? Nearer the cloverleaf?’
‘Too obvious.’
‘I was asleep. But what I saw after I woke up looked real to me. I don’t think he’s your guy.’
‘But he could be.’
‘Anything’s possible. But if it was me, I would have come in as a prison visitor. Chief Holland told me you get plenty of them. Heads on beds, six nights a week.’
‘We know them all pretty well. Not too many short sentences out there. The faces don’t change. And we watch them. Anyone we don’t know, we call the prison to check they’re on the list. And they’re mostly women and children anyway. We’re expecting a man.’
Reacher shrugged. Took a pull from his bottle. The beer was Miller. Next to him the refrigerator started humming. Warm air had gotten in when Peterson had opened the door. Now the machinery was fighting it.
Peterson said, ‘The prison took two years to build. There were hundreds of construction workers. They built a camp for them, five miles west of us. Public land. There was an old army facility there. They added more huts and trailers. It was like a little village. Then they left.’
‘When?’
‘A year ago.’
‘And?’
‘The bikers moved in. They took the place over.’
‘How many?’
‘There are more than a
Peterson’s den was a small, dark, square, masculine space. It was in the back corner of the house and had two outside walls with two windows. The drapes were made of thick plaid material and were drawn back, open. The other two walls had three doors in them. The door back to the family room, plus maybe a closet and a small bathroom. The remainder of the wall space was lined with yard-sale cabinets and an old wooden desk with a small refrigerator on it. On top of the refrigerator was an old-fashioned alarm clock with a loud tick and two metal bells. Out in the body of the room there was a low-slung leather chair that looked Scandinavian, and a two-seat sofa that had been pulled out and made up into a narrow bed.
Reacher sat down on the bed. Peterson took two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and twisted the tops off and pitched the caps into a trash basket and handed one of the bottles to Reacher. Then he lowered himself into the leather chair.
He said, ‘We have a situation here.’
Reacher said, ‘I know.’
‘How much do you know?’
‘I know you’re pussyfooting around a bunch of meth-using bikers. Like you’re scared of them.’
‘We’re not scared of them.’
‘So why pussyfoot around?’
‘We’ll get to that. What else do you know?’
‘I know you’ve got a pretty big police station.’
‘OK.’
‘Which implies a pretty big police department.’
‘Sixty officers.’
‘And you were working at full capacity all day and all evening, even to the point where the off-duty chief and the off-duty deputy chief had to respond to a citizen’s call at ten o’clock in the evening. Which seems to be because most of your guys are on roadblock duty. Basically you’ve got your whole town locked down.’
‘Because?’
‘Because you’re worried about someone coming in from the outside.’
Peterson took a long pull on his beer and asked, ‘Was the bus crash for real?’
Reacher said, ‘I’m not your guy.’
‘We know you’re not. You had no control. But maybe the driver is our guy.’
Reacher shook his head. ‘Too elaborate, surely. Could have gone wrong a thousand different ways.’
‘Was he really fighting the skid?’
‘As opposed to what?’
‘Causing it, maybe.’
‘Wouldn’t he have just killed the engine and faked a breakdown? Nearer the cloverleaf?’
‘Too obvious.’
‘I was asleep. But what I saw after I woke up looked real to me. I don’t think he’s your guy.’
‘But he could be.’
‘Anything’s possible. But if it was me, I would have come in as a prison visitor. Chief Holland told me you get plenty of them. Heads on beds, six nights a week.’
‘We know them all pretty well. Not too many short sentences out there. The faces don’t change. And we watch them. Anyone we don’t know, we call the prison to check they’re on the list. And they’re mostly women and children anyway. We’re expecting a man.’
Reacher shrugged. Took a pull from his bottle. The beer was Miller. Next to him the refrigerator started humming. Warm air had gotten in when Peterson had opened the door. Now the machinery was fighting it.
Peterson said, ‘The prison took two years to build. There were hundreds of construction workers. They built a camp for them, five miles west of us. Public land. There was an old army facility there. They added more huts and trailers. It was like a little village. Then they left.’
‘When?’
‘A year ago.’
‘And?’
‘The bikers moved in. They took the place over.’
‘How many?’
‘There are more than a
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