Part 27 (1/2)

'Unless the siren goes off again.'

'You say it won't.'

Reacher said, 'An educated guess is still a guess. Just remember, this is the time to start worrying, not to stop.'

Holland said, 'You see me relaxing, I hereby give you permission to kick my b.u.t.t. We may have our problems, and we may not be the U.S. Army, but we've struggled along so far. You should remember that.'

Reacher nodded. 'I know. I'm sorry. Not your fault. It's the mayor's fault. Who would sign off on a plan like that?'

'Anyone would,' Holland said. 'Those are jobs that can't be s.h.i.+pped overseas. Which is the name of the game right now.'

The room went quiet for a moment.

Peterson said, 'The motels are all full.'

Reacher said, 'I know that.'

'So where is the bad guy sleeping?'

'In his car. Or in the next county.'

'Where is he eating?'

'Same answer.'

'So should we use roadblocks? There are only three ways in.'

'No,' Holland said. 'False premise. We set up a static perimeter, he might be already behind us. We have to stay mobile.' Then he went quiet again, as if he was running through a mental agenda and checking that all the items on it had been covered. Which they must have been, because his next move was to stand up and walk out of the room without another word. Reacher heard the slap of his boot soles against the linoleum and then the slam of a door. His office, presumably. Work to do.

Peterson said, 'We should get lunch. You could come back to the house. You could be company for Kim. She would like that.'

'Because she's lonely?'

'Yes.'

'Then you and I shouldn't be the only human specimens she sees all day. Go pick her up and we'll have lunch in town, the three of us.'

'Hard to get a table.'

'I'll wait on line while you're on the road.'

'Where?'

'The coffee shop where you found me yesterday. Across the square.'

Peterson said, 'But,' and then nothing more.

'I know,' Reacher said. 'I can see the police station from there. I can see when the bus is ready to leave.'

The walk across the square to the coffee shop was short, but it was straight into the wind. The blowing ice hurt for the first few steps, like tiny needles, but then Reacher's face went numb and he didn't feel them any more. The line for a table was out the door. Reacher took his place behind a woman and a child wrapped in comforters that were probably borrowed from their motel beds. A guy commits a federal crime in Florida or Arizona, ends up in prison in South Dakota, the family has to follow. For the first year or two, anyway. After that, maybe not. A lot to lose.

The line moved slowly but steadily and Reacher got level with the steamed window. Inside he could see vague shapes bustling about. Two waitresses. Steady wages, maybe not much in tips. Families of prisoners didn't have much money. If they did, they weren't families of prisoners. Or, worst case, their guy was in a Club Fed somewhere, doing woodwork for a year, or reading books.

The mother and child squeezed their motel comforters in through the door. Reacher waited his turn on the sidewalk. He was pressed up against the building and out of the wind. Then a woman with three kids straggled out and Reacher ducked in. He waited at the register until a waitress glanced at him. He mouthed the word three three and held up three fingers. The waitress nodded and swiped a rag across a table and beckoned him over. He dumped his coat on the back of a chair and peeled off his hat and gloves. He sat down and saw Peterson's car stop outside on the kerb, a long black and white shape through the fog on the gla.s.s. He saw Peterson cross the sidewalk. His wife wasn't with him. Peterson cut to the head of the line and stepped in through the door. No one complained. Peterson was in uniform. and held up three fingers. The waitress nodded and swiped a rag across a table and beckoned him over. He dumped his coat on the back of a chair and peeled off his hat and gloves. He sat down and saw Peterson's car stop outside on the kerb, a long black and white shape through the fog on the gla.s.s. He saw Peterson cross the sidewalk. His wife wasn't with him. Peterson cut to the head of the line and stepped in through the door. No one complained. Peterson was in uniform.

Reacher stayed in his seat and Peterson shed his coat and sat down to an awkward silence that was broken only by the arrival of the waitress with an order pad in her hand. Not the kind of place that offered extra minutes for study of the menu. Peterson ordered a hamburger and water and Reacher got grilled cheese and coffee. Reacher was facing the window, and Peterson turned around to look at it, and then turned back with a satisfied smile.

'I know,' Reacher said. 'It's all steamed up. But a bus is a pretty big thing. I'll be able to make it out.'

'You won't leave.'

'I haven't decided yet.'

'Kim didn't want to come. She doesn't care much for crowds, either.'

'Crowds, or this kind of crowd?'

'Both.'

They were two people at a table for four, and the line was still out the door, but n.o.body wanted to sit with them. People came in, glanced over, maybe took half a step, and then stopped and looked away. The world was divided into two halves, people who liked cops and people who didn't. The military had been exactly the same. Reacher had eaten next to empty chairs, many, many times.

Peterson asked, 'What would you do, if you were me?'

'About what?'

'The department.'

'It's not yours.'

'I'm next in line.'

'I would start some serious training. Then I would renegotiate the deal with the prison. Their crisis plan is completely unsustainable.'

'It worked OK last night, apart from the thing with Mrs Salter.'

'That's the point. That's like saying it worked OK, except it didn't. You have to plan for the contingencies.'

'I'm not much of a politician.'

'Please tell me there's a review period built in.'

'There is. But they'll say it's rare that our help is needed. And if we get through this month with Mrs Salter we won't have any negatives to show them.'

There was no more conversation. Peterson kept quiet, and Reacher had nothing more to say. Without Kim there, the whole thing was a bust. But the food was OK. The coffee was fresh. No real alternative, given the turnover of customers. There were three flasks behind the counter and all three of them were constantly dripping and emptying. The sandwich was nicely fried, and Reacher was ready for the calories. Like throwing coal into a furnace. Being cold was like being on a diet. He understood why all the locals he met looked basically the same, all lean and fair and slender. Fair, because of their genetic inheritance. Lean and slender, because they were freezing their a.s.ses off for half the year.