by Diane Capri
“Possibly,” Gaspar said.
She imagined him crossing his long legs and getting more comfortable in his chair. “But not likely.”
“Why not?”
She replied, “For starters, Reacher doesn’t usually bother with anything so complicated. If he’d wanted to kill three people, he’d have done it directly.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely. And he wouldn’t have tried to cover it up by pretending three homicides were something else,” she said, running the scenarios in her head.
She often relied on Gaspar and gave his theories plenty of weight. Was he right? Gaspar was always her ace in the hole where Reacher was concerned. His mind worked like Reacher’s. They were the same in many ways. Close in age. Similar backgrounds.
Except Gaspar wasn’t a loner like Reacher was.
But she often wondered whether Gaspar could have taken the same path if his family life had been more like Reacher’s lone wolf existence and less like a 1950s ideal family. A man couldn’t go roaming the country and living off-the-grid with a wife and five kids at home, no matter what.
She shook her head, having reached her conclusion. “Not very likely that Reacher would do all of this, is it?”
“Okay,” Gaspar said. “But your boss might not see it that way. What if Cooper thinks Reacher is the killer?”
“Then he’d know Reacher’s got a damn good reason, too. A reason that makes sense. At least to him.” Kim paused for a quick breath. “Reacher’s a trained killer and he’s good at it. But he’s not a maniac. He doesn’t kill for the fun of it.”
“Exactly,” Gaspar replied. “Assume Cooper believes Reacher would take these three particular victims off the table. Why does he think Reacher’s the one?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the mayor can help me with that,” she noticed the time. She’d intended to tell him about her trip to the midnight train and Brannan’s and the screaming and her pre-dawn activities on Main Street, but all of that would have to wait. “I need to get going. Send me everything you’ve found. And keep looking, okay?”
“Copy that. I’m also sending you some help. That’s the third thing I called to tell you.”
The last time, he’d sent one of the most capable operatives she’d ever worked with. “What? Flint again?”
“He’s already there. And I didn’t exactly send him.”
She wanted to get going. She hated being late. “What are you talking about?”
“Name’s Major Lincoln Perry.”
“Yeah, the Boss mentioned him. You know the guy?”
“I’ve run into him before. I told him to look you up. You can trust him.” Gaspar gave her a quick rundown. “The army sent him in, undercover. Because of the autopsy report on Bonnie Nightingale. They’re worried she was killed by a Ranger from Kelham. He’s the outside guy.”
“Okay, thanks,” she replied.
“Hold your horses.” Gaspar’s grin was obvious in his tone, “Army also has an inside guy on the base. His name is Hulk Hammer, in case you run across him.”
She almost spit out her coffee. “Seriously? Hulk Hammer? What kind of name is that?”
Gaspar laughed. “His real name is Eugene Hammer. But I guess he doesn’t like the Eugene. He was a wrestler in college. Goes by Hulk.”
“Oh, brother,” she deadpanned and then cleared her throat. “Check out another local for me. Name’s Luke Price. I met him last night in Brannan’s. We didn’t hit it off well.”
“What do you mean?”
“He made a pass at me and I laid him out.”
Gaspar chuckled. “Guess he won’t try that again.”
“Right.” She saw the time and headed toward the bathroom for her shower. “And Gaspar?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the help.”
“Just stay alive, Sunshine. That’s all the thanks I need.”
“Your wish is my command. And if you have the time, I need to know what’s going on over at Kelham.”
“Such as?”
She replied, “The Boss said they’re about to shut the place down. Target date is Friday the 13th. They’re phasing out. If it is a Ranger we’re looking for, it could help to know whatever we can about the situation out there.”
“I’ll look into it,” Gaspar said before he hung up.
She tossed the phone onto the desk. She’d fill him in about the early morning screamer later.
In the bathroom, she closed the door, flipped on the lights, and turned the heater dial to maximum. Then she did the same for the hot water in the shower.
While she waited for everything to warm up, she brushed her chattering teeth and thought about what Mayor Elizabeth Deveraux might have to say about Reacher.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Thursday, May 12
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
9:00 a.m.
General Alec Murphy, CO, had showered, shaved, dressed, and made it to his office at Kelham before his scheduled meeting with the ridiculously named Major Eugene “Hulk” Hammer. Murphy was tired. He’d only had a few hours’ sleep and the dark circles under his eyes reflected it. But he outranked Hammer, so he didn’t expect to get any flak about his appearance or anything else from the guy.
Murphy was seated behind his desk with his never-ending mug of black coffee.
He closed the laptop and looked up when his sergeant escorted Hammer into the room. Hammer turned sideways to walk through the door. He was almost as wide as he was tall. Not because he lacked physical stature, but because he was a huge, hulking man.
“Good morning, sir,” Hammer said, offering a regulation salute to a superior officer. The oak leaves on his collar confirmed his rank, had there been any question about it. Fine lines around his eyes confirmed that he wasn’t born yesterday.
“Have a seat, Hammer. No need for formality out here in the back of beyond. We’re closing this place down and I’m on my way out, anyway. Haven’t you heard?”
Hammer pulled one of the heavy wooden chairs away from the desk and settled his bulk into it, which was somewhat comical. He looked like he’d joined a ten-year-old’s tea party. “Yes, sir. I heard you were retiring. After many years of distinguished service.”
“Right,” Murphy replied with more than a touch of sarcasm. “So cut to it, Major. Why are you here? Some of my guys get rowdy in town again? Mess up Brannan’s?”
“Not exactly, sir.”
Murphy put his pen down on the desktop, folded his hands, and stared straight into Hammer’s oversized face. Everything about the guy was uncomfortably huge. He must have spent every spare moment inside a gym. “So what, exactly, is your purpose here, Major? I’m all ears.”
“You know I’m with the 110th Special Investigations Unit. It’s never good news when I show up on base.” Hammer stared straight back. “I’m afraid we have a civilian situation. Death of a Carter’s Crossing resident. A Native American named Bonnie Nightingale.”
Murphy nodded easily and took a swig of the hot coffee. “I heard about her. Damn shame. Hit by the midnight train, wasn’t she?”
“That’s the public story, sir. That she committed suicide by train, yes.” Hammer replied. “But that’s not true.”
“No?” Murphy cocked his head. “So what’s the real story, then?”
“Looks like Nightingale was killed before her body was dumped in front of the train. Her throat was cut.” Hammer paused. “Local sheriff thinks the homicide could have been done by one of the soldiers here at Kelham.”
“That so?” Murphy said, frowning, allowing his tone to be as icy as his steely stare. “The US Army is taking orders from a civilian sheriff now, are we? A small-town sheriff who used to be a jarhead and couldn’t get a job with a real department in a big city somewhere?”
“Sheriff Greyson was a Marine, yes, sir. In this case, it makes him more reliable instead of less.” Hammer cleared his throat. “We’re taking a look.”
“And why is that?�
�� Murphy held his temper on a short leash, but it wasn’t easy. He had plenty to keep him occupied over the next few days before he retired and Kelham emptied out. He didn’t have time for nonsense.
“I’m afraid the autopsy report lends some credence to the sheriff’s concerns,” Hammer replied.
“And let me guess. Instead of bringing it to me, to let me handle it through regular channels, some five-star sitting at a big desk in the Pentagon sent you down here to sort this thing out,” he said flatly. “The army is leaving Carter’s Crossing. Nobody wants a mess on our hands as we bail out of this town and leave everybody in it twisting in the wind. Do I have that right?”
“That’s about the size of it, sir. PR being what it is these days, nobody wants an incident that could be avoided by a bit of handling on the front end. Shouldn’t take long to figure this thing out. I’ve already issued an order to lock the base down until I can get to the bottom of it,” Hammer said.
“What?” Murphy punched his chin forward in outrage. “Lock Kelham down? You don’t have the authority to do that, soldier.”
Hammer reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his orders. He passed the envelope across the desk.
Murphy removed the orders from the envelope, unfolded the document, and read the briefly stated contents. They were signed by that same five-star general at the Pentagon, the one who was way farther up the chain of command from Murphy. He then refolded the document and tossed it back.
“We’ve got a lot to do here to get this base closed on time, Hammer. How long is this nonsense with the Nightingale woman going to take?” Murphy demanded.
“Not long, sir. I hope. We don’t have a full house of personnel here now because of the impending closure. It shouldn’t take much time to get alibis from everybody on base for the time of death,” Hammer said. “After that, we can lift the lockdown and let you all go about your business.”
Murphy narrowed his icy blue eyes. “When, exactly, did the woman die?”
“Four days ago, sir. Sunday. May eight,” Hammer replied. “Sometime before midnight.”
“You know this how?”
“They found her body on the morning of Monday, May nine. Coroner says she’d been hit by the train the night before.”
“And how does he know that?”
“Forensics and deduction. The train only comes through once every twenty-four hours. And the body was fairly fresh when it was discovered. Some, uh, parts were still on the tracks. If the train had run over her twice…” he paused to clear his throat again, “…well, it would have been obvious from her condition. So we’ve got a twenty-four-hour window we’re working with.”
“I take it Sheriff Greyson tracked her activities before the midnight train came through on Sunday?” Murphy asked.
“Yes, sir. Witnesses confirm she was alive until at least nine o’clock that night,” Hammer replied.
“Sunday night. Between nine and midnight,” Murphy said, as he thought about the timeline for a few seconds. “We’ve got a lot of guys living off base. Sunday is a slow day around here, too. Even slower since we’ve been packing up. Some of our soldiers have already been deployed elsewhere. At least half the ones we have left would have been off the base on Sunday night.”
“Which means it might take me longer than I’d hoped to interview everyone. Establish alibis. Examine motives. And all that.” Hammer took a deep breath, lifting his barrel chest to enormous proportions. After the exhale, he said, “I’d better get started. Do you have an office I can use? And someone to round up the personnel?”
“My sergeant will show you to your quarters and get you set up,” Murphy replied, punching the intercom that rang at the sergeant’s desk. “And before you have to ask, I was out at the casino Sunday night. Got there about eight and left when the tournament ended. About two in the morning. Big poker tournament. Drew a few hundred spectators. Several of our guys were out there, too.”
“I see,” Hammer replied. “Was Nightingale there? At the casino?”
“Could have been.” Murphy shrugged and raised the coffee cup to his mouth. “They’ve got CCTV. They’ll let you look at it. You can see for yourself.”
Hammer nodded and lifted his bulk from the creaking chair. “I’ll get settled and then start right in if it’s okay with you.”
Hammer offered another salute and left. Murphy said nothing as he watched the giant walk through the door and close it behind him.
Murphy waited a few moments before he turned to his computer to check his emails.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Thursday, May 12
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
10:00 a.m.
Kim had finished her shower and dressed in a black suit. She anchored her hair in a chignon at the nape of her neck and applied a dab of makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes. When she stepped back to examine the total effect in the mirror, she looked less like a sleepless raccoon and more like a solid FBI agent.
“Okay. That’s good enough,” she said aloud.
Her room was still frigid inside, but a nice warm breeze wafted through the open window overlooking Main Street. She heard cars and pedestrians bustling about outside. She wouldn’t need her overcoat out there today.
There was a safe in the room, but she slung her laptop case over her shoulder. She’d lock them in the rented SUV on the way. Everything on her laptop was well encrypted. Hackers couldn’t do much damage even if they tried.
On her way out, she stopped at the front desk to give Janine the all-clear for maintenance on her air-conditioning, as promised.
Kim finally stepped into the warm sunshine and locked her laptop in the rental. The heat promised to rise to oppressively humid levels later in the day, but for now, walking seemed like a better idea than driving.
She strolled north along Main Street, enjoying the quaint town at a pleasant pace. The shops were inviting, and the pedestrians she passed gave her a wave and a smile.
Except for the appalling recent death rate, Carter’s Crossing seemed like a friendly American town, same as a thousand others she’d visited over the years. Not all that different, in fact, from the Michigan town where she grew up or the Wisconsin town where her extended family lived.
Three blocks north, on the opposite side of Main Street from the Toussaint Hotel, she spied her destination.
The majestic Carter County Courthouse occupied the entire city block. It was surrounded by magnificent trees and gardens. Statues, monuments, and flags were strategically placed about the grounds.
According to Kim’s brief research, the brick and terra cotta courthouse building had been designed by Mississippi’s beloved architect, Noah Webster Overstreet, more than a hundred years ago. The architect and the age of the building made it venerable enough to earn its place on the National Register of Historic Places.
Constructed on the site of the previous courthouse, which had burned down, this one had been hastily commissioned. Finished less than a year, its design was rather basic. A three-story center block was flanked on either side by a two-story block. The main block projected forward from the two wings.
Perhaps as an apology for the plainness of the building, the façade was adorned with windows and cornices and columns and arches galore. Clocks, an attic portico, and a full basement completed the ambitious spectacle.
Folklore had it that Elvis Presley played concerts in the large courtroom twice back in 1955, which was often used for assemblies and performances even now.
All told, the building and its grounds were the most impressive sights on the town’s Main Street, to be sure. It had loads more character than the newer County Sheriff’s office at the south end of Main Street.
Mayor Elizabeth Deveraux’s office and Carter’s Crossing Town Hall were located on the main floor of the courthouse building’s south flank.
When Kim reached the courthouse, she was tempted to explore the building and the grounds for a while, but one of the big clocks rang
the hour in demandingly sonorous tones. No time for sightseeing. Her appointment with Deveraux was scheduled to begin that very moment.
She climbed the front steps of the courthouse, taking the opportunity for a glance up and down Main Street in the daylight from her elevated position.
Pedestrians strolled the sidewalks, entering and emerging from the shops. Libby’s Diner seemed busy in the distance as a steady stream of customers went through. Traffic on Main Street was light but steady.
The entire tableau was a slice of Americana two centuries in the making. Kim admired the preservation effort. None of the anachronisms, like the casino and the budget hotel chains and fast-food franchises, marred the Norman Rockwell illusion on Main Street.
Carter’s Crossing was reminiscent of a more innocent time for the country, and for her. As a child, she’d wanted to live in such a town for the rest of her life.
She shook off the melancholy memories, turned, and hustled up the steps to the center entrance. She turned left and made her way toward the mayor’s office. She pulled the heavy wooden door and stepped into the reception area.
The open floorplan inside was bright and cheerfully decorated. A nicely dressed woman greeted Kim from her seat behind a refinished desk as old as the building itself.
She took Kim’s business card and headed down the corridor.
When she came back to her desk, she gestured vaguely behind her. “Mayor Deveraux is expecting you. Down the hall. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” Kim walked along a narrow corridor parallel to the exterior windows facing Main Street.
On her right, a series of closed doors were smaller offices for city workers. Halfway down the corridor was a heavy wooden door, its center brandishing the town seal, and Mayor Elizabeth Deveraux painted above it in bright gold letters.
Kim rapped her knuckles on the door and waited.
“Come in,” the mayor called out. The kind of easy command that probably came from being a sheriff’s daughter and a Marine and a sheriff herself. Mayor Deveraux was as close as it came to royalty in Carter’s Crossing.