by Diane Capri
“Okay if I fill my thermos before I hit the road?” he asked the young woman behind the counter.
“Sure thing,” she smiled and waved toward the small breakfast nook.
She seemed friendly enough, so he asked her another question. “Any place near here where a guy with a big appetite can get some reasonably priced eggs and bacon?”
“Not really.” She shook her head and waved her hand in the right direction. “But if you get on the interstate going toward Buffalo, you’ll find some breakfast places the long-haul truckers like not too far down the road. Shouldn’t be too expensive.”
He nodded. “Got it. Thanks.”
When he stepped outside he noticed the blizzard had ended. The sun was already up and rising in one of the bluest skies he’d seen for days. But the temperature was still below freezing so he didn’t stand around to admire the weather.
He hurried toward the Jeep, stowed his gear, found his thermos, and returned to fill it before he got going again. He had plenty of gas for now. While the Jeep was warming up, he took a quick look at the map on his phone. Five hours to Cleveland if he took the interstate and seven hours if he didn’t. He had plenty of time, but he was hungry. Food first. Then he could enjoy the scenery.
He pulled out of the hotel parking lot and followed the signs to I-90 west. Two and a half hours to Buffalo. He glanced at the clock. Yep, it was almost eight o’clock. Surely, he’d find a truck stop with a decent diner before he reached Buffalo.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Saturday, February 26
7:59 a.m.
Laconia, New Hampshire
Kim had finished her texts to Gaspar and was almost back to the inn when Smithers called. The sun had finally peeked over the horizon, bathing the snow with pink as if a child had spilled her watercolors everywhere.
“Are you running late?” she asked and picked up the pace as much as possible, given the snowy sidewalk.
“I came down a few minutes early to start the SUV and get some heat going in here. I’ll pick you up at the front door in three minutes,” he replied.
“Perfect.” She disconnected and trotted the remaining distance to The Laconia Inn where she stood reading the historic marker out front.
The marker touted the inn as one of the finest early Federal period houses in the state. Originally built by Thomas Finch, the town’s most prominent citizen, the inn was both modernized and virtually unchanged. The description said it was a two-story structure, with a hip roof, large central chimney, clapboard siding, and a rubblestone foundation capped by dressed fieldstones. The Laconia Inn had remained in the Finch family and was now owned and operated by Theron Finch.
By the time she’d finished reading, her toes were numb, her nose was red, and Smithers had pulled the SUV to a stop at the curb. Kim hustled around the front of the vehicle, placed her laptop case on the floor, and climbed inside. He handed her a cup of hot coffee before he rolled the big vehicle into the travel lane.
She grinned. “You’re a good partner, you know that?”
He nodded and turned the wheel to make a right. “That’s what they all say.”
She held the cup in both hands for warmth and sipped. “Tell me about Laconia P.D. Detectives Shaw and Amos. How much cooperation will we get?”
He shot her a quizzical look. “Whaddaya mean? They’re cops. We’re cops. Of course they’ll cooperate. We’re all on the same team. Good guys against the bad guys, right?”
Kim hesitated and gave a quick nod. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”
Normally, he’d be right. But nothing about the Reacher assignment had ever been normal. She’d been tasked to interview local cops in several jurisdictions while she was collecting background data on Reacher. So far, none of the cops she’d approached had been anything close to cooperative. Not if they knew anything about Reacher, anyway.
Smithers was different. He’d never met Reacher. He had nothing to hide. He’d done the job the right way from the beginning. Which was one of the reasons she was willing to pair up with him now.
But Smithers wasn’t her partner. He hadn’t been read in on the Reacher file. And he wasn’t likely to be. So she changed her approach.
“Any clue how or when Shaw and Amos had dealings with Reacher?”
Smithers shook his head. “I didn’t even know Reacher was a question to ask until I heard you were coming. I haven’t spoken to either Shaw or Amos since I found out. How about you clue me in.”
“I would if I could.”
Smithers scowled. “You want my help, don’t you think you owe me some honesty?”
“I don’t make the rules,” she shrugged.
“No, you just pick and choose which rules you’re going to follow,” he said angrily. “I’m volunteering here, Otto. My assignment is not Reacher. I’ve got plenty to do out at the motel. You want my help, you owe me the intel I need to do the job.”
She cocked her head as if she was thinking about it. He wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t, either. If she told him any intel at all, the Boss wouldn’t like it. Not even a little. “You’ve got a valid point. I’ll ask. For now, just tell me about Shaw and Amos.”
He breathed heavily for a bit before he relented. “Both seem pretty solid. Exactly the kind of locals the FBI wants these days. They called us in because the motel scene was way over their heads.”
Kim said, “It’s a good sign that they recognized they lacked the right stuff to do the job.”
“They didn’t have the manpower or the budget or the expertise.” Smithers stopped for a traffic light and rolled through when it turned green. “Helped us set up. Answered questions. Gave us some desk space and a secure internet connection.”
“That’s it?” Kim asked.
“That’s all we needed.” Smithers parked the SUV out in front of another historic building not too far from the hotel. The sign out front said Laconia Police Department.
Kim unfastened her seat belt and reached for the door latch. “Since I have the appointment, let me take the lead.”
“Works for me,” Smithers replied curtly.
She pulled up the hood on her parka and walked quickly. Smithers followed behind her along the sidewalk and inside the building.
The public lobby was tall, tiled, and formal. The mahogany reception desk was manned by a civilian. Kim pulled her badge wallet from her inside pocket and showed it to the woman. “We have an appointment with Detectives Shaw and Amos,” she said politely.
The woman picked up the phone and waved them toward a couple of chairs. They didn’t wait long. The two detectives pushed through the double doors to the right of the desk. Both looked like the profiles of solid professionals she’d studied from the Boss’s file.
The man nodded toward Smithers and extended his hand toward Kim. “I’m Laconia P.D. Chief of Detectives Jim Shaw, this is Detective Brenda Amos.”
Shaw was mid-fifties, red hair, and heavier than he should have been for his five-ten height. His Irish face was pleasant enough. He looked like exactly what he was. A cop, through and through.
Amos wore her experience well enough. The Boss’s file placed her mid-forties, which looked about right. She was blonde, slender, and seven inches taller than Kim. Most people were taller than Kim, so she didn’t hold that against the detective.
What struck Kim immediately, and not in a good way, was how Amos was Reacher’s type. Early on, Gaspar had noticed that Reacher’s women were always about the same height, same build. Often blonde, but a few she’d met were dark-haired. And always cops of one kind or another. Gaspar said Reacher had a fetish or something.
It was possible that Amos and Reacher had been lovers. If true, the assignment would be a lot more difficult. For some reason, Reacher’s women were abnormally suspicious and tight-lipped where Reacher was concerned. Kim chalked the reticence up to a desire to both protect Reacher and to hide Reacher’s illegal activity. Which made little sense unless the woman was also involved in that illegal activity. After all,
Reacher certainly didn’t need anyone else’s protection from physical threats.
Shaw said, “Let’s get into a conference room where we can talk. This way.”
He led them back through an open area staffed with plainclothes people milling around. The desks were paired, back to back, but only half a dozen were being used. It was Saturday and winter, which probably meant a skeleton crew. Like every cop shop everywhere, the desks were cluttered with computers, files, papers, and phones.
Kim followed Shaw into a conference room at the end of a long corridor with offices on either side. An oval table ringed by leather chairs on wheels filled the room. A mahogany cabinet topped with a coffee service and a tray of pastries filled one corner.
Smithers walked in behind Kim and Amos brought up the rear. When she came inside, she closed the door.
“Coffee?” Shaw said, as he moved toward the aromatic corner.
Kim said, “Sure.”
He offered her two cups, one of which she gave to Smithers. They took seats across the table. When everyone was comfortable, Shaw folded his hands in his lap, leaned back in the chair, looked at Smithers and asked, “What kind of progress are you making out there at the motel?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. We’re still processing the scene. We’ve expedited the autopsies and we hope to have some of our forensic results next week,” Smithers replied.
“Still nine bodies?” Amos asked. Her accent was slightly southern, but the rounded tones were well sanded. Probably by her military service.
Her file said U.S. Army, Military Police, like Reacher. Which meant she’d have even more loyalty to him, Kim figured.
Smithers said, “Yep. Nine bodies so far. Are you expecting us to find more?”
“Hard to say.” Amos took a deep breath and shook her head. “We’ve looked at our missing persons reports. We have three still unaccounted for. All males. We sent the files to you guys yesterday.”
“That’ll help,” Smithers said.
Kim waited to talk until after the chatter died. “Speaking of missing persons, we’re looking for one. We’re hoping you can help.”
Shaw raised his eyebrows along with his coffee cup. “Happy to do it. What’s the name?”
“Reacher,” Kim said.
Amos replied, “There are a few Reachers around here. Which one are you trying to find?”
Kim cocked her head. “Jack Reacher.”
“You think he’s involved in that business out at the motel?” Shaw asked.
“We don’t have any evidence to support that idea. Right now, we need to find him. Then we can ask. First things first,” Kim replied.
Shaw did what most people did when Kim asked about Reacher the first time. He stalled.
He rolled his chair toward the coffee, picked up the pot and rolled back to the table. He held the coffee out invitingly. Kim offered her empty cup and so did the others. Shaw rolled his chair back to the server, replaced the almost empty pot, and returned to his spot across the table.
During the stalling process, Shaw had made a decision. He turned to Amos. “A guy by that name came through the year before last looking for his family, didn’t he?”
Amos nodded. “He said his father had been born here. But we didn’t find any record of the birth. We did find an old police report suggesting that his father had been a witness to an assault and battery here in Laconia. But no arrests were made and there was no follow up in the files.”
Her delivery was straightforward. No facial tics or obvious efforts to obfuscate the truth. If Amos was lying, she was damn good at it. Kim figured she’d told the truth, or most of it, anyway. It was curious that Amos and Shaw remembered Reacher after all this time.
Interrogating cops was a tricky business under the best of circumstances. Cops had good training so they knew all the interrogation tricks. And they were good at avoiding the questions they didn’t want to answer truthfully.
Kim would have bet fifty dollars that Amos knew a lot more than she was saying. But Shaw was her boss. Whatever Amos and Reacher had been involved in, she might not want Shaw to know about it. Especially if a few laws had been twisted or broken.
Kim had been through the same dance with Reacher’s contacts several times before. Reacher did whatever the hell he wanted, regardless of the law. The local cops joined in for unknown reasons. But cops couldn’t join up with Reacher's illegal activities and expect to keep their jobs. At least, in theory.
“What did Reacher do with that intel?” Kim asked.
“Hard to do something with nothing,” Amos replied.
Uh huh. Kim cocked her head. “So after you came up empty searching the old files for his family, Reacher just quit and walked away?”
“I didn’t have him followed or anything. How would I know?” Amos said, a little too sharply.
“He comes all the way out here, looking for something, and then he just gives up? Because you told him there was nothing in the files? And you never saw Reacher again?” Kim paused to let the absurdity settle. “I have to tell you, that doesn’t sound like Reacher at all. I’d say that’s downright unlikely.”
“Unlikely in what way?” Amos raised her chin and lowered her voice, as if she might be offended by the implications. Offended enough to fight about it.
Kim ignored the question and directed her gaze to Shaw. “Reacher get into any kind of trouble while he was here?”
Shaw said, “Why do you ask?”
“Wherever he goes, trouble finds him. And usually local law enforcement knows about it,” Kim replied.
Shaw refused to meet her steady gaze when he said, “It was a year and a half ago. We’ve had a lot of people through here since then. But as far as I know, we didn’t get any complaints about him and he wasn’t arrested. He must have solved his problems on his own.”
Kim said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d check your files. I’d like to know whether any complaints were made about Reacher while he was here.”
Shaw nodded. “We can do that. But I think one of us would remember complaints if we’d had any.”
Kim paused for a bit, as if she was thinking things over. Then she glanced at Smithers. “Anything you’d like to know?”
He shook his head and grinned. “Nope. I’m good to go.”
They thanked Shaw and Amos and stood to leave.
Shaw said, “Come back again if you need anything else.”
Amos said, “I’ll walk you out.”
They headed through the corridor and back to the open area where the skeleton crew was still working. Things were quiet in the room and probably in the town, given how freaking cold it was outside. Cold was a deterrent to crime everywhere, according to FBI statistics.
At the door before she walked through, Kim turned and said, “You were an Army MP. Reacher was an Army MP. You’re not protecting him out of some sort of misplaced bothers-in-arms loyalty, are you?”
Amos replied, “No.”
“Did you find him attractive?” Kim asked to shake her up.
Amos’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “You mean were we dating or something? Absolutely not.”
If true, that was far from Reacher’s usual MO, but Amos played it so straight that Kim actually believed her in the moment.
“Okay,” Kim said, offering her hand. “We’ll call you if we need anything else.”
“You do that,” Amos said curtly. The clear implication was that it would be a hot day in Laconia in February before Amos would help Kim Otto with anything.
Smithers stepped in to smooth the ruffled feathers. “I’ll get those autopsy reports to you as soon as we have them, Detective Amos.”
She nodded and turned her back and stomped away without another word.
“That went well. You make friends wherever you go, don’t you? Always a good idea to piss off the local cops,” Smithers said, a heavy load of irony in his tone.
Kim said nothing as she bundled up and marched toward the SUV. Smithers followed.
When she was settled in the passenger seat, Smithers pulled away from the curb as he asked, “Now what?
She briefly considered telling him the truth. She might have done so on the spot if they hadn’t been sitting in a bureau vehicle that was fully wired. Instead, she said, “I’m starving. Is there any place in this town to get a decent breakfast?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saturday, February 26
11:15 a.m.
Manchester, New Hampshire
Trevor had spent yesterday afternoon and evening arranging the mission. They boarded his private jet in Atlanta and landed at the executive airport in Boston, where Owen had rented a battered SUV. Less than an hour’s drive put them in the back parking lot at a Day’s Inn in Manchester, where a second rental awaited.
The five-year-old Chevy Suburban with the dirty New Hampshire license plate looked like it had battled an eighteen-wheeler in a road rally and barely survived. Most witnesses wouldn’t even notice the filthy white giant on the snow-covered roads, which suited Trevor’s needs perfectly.
“Okay. Let’s hit the road,” he said as he moved into the passenger seat.
Owen took the wheel while Oscar lifted the hatch and stowed the bags, and then sat behind Trevor in the back seat.
Owen and Oscar had previously examined the air field where Trevor’s partner, Lange, was last seen before he disappeared months ago. Trevor wanted to see it for himself. He didn’t explain his reasons. They worked for him. He owed them no explanations.
He had made some calls last night before he finalized his plans. The air field wasn’t on any kind of map. Which meant that Lange had to have known about it in advance. Otherwise, he’d never have found the place.
The field was too remote and private to qualify for executive aviation. It was a hobby field at best. No tower, no log, no reporting requirements of any kind. The sort of landing strip where pilots might set down and passengers deplane and no one would see it happen.