Killing Floor (Jack Reacher 1)

Roscoe and I sat looking at each other. The doctor stepped back to the cabinet and put the file away. Closed the drawer with a screech.

"OK, folks?" he said. "If you'll excuse me, I've got things to do. "

We nodded and thanked him for his time. Then we shuffled out of the cramped office. Got back out into the warm fall sunshine. Stood around blinking. We didn't speak. Roscoe was too upset. She'd just heard about her old friend getting murdered.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"A bullshit story from beginning to end," she said. "He hadn't just screwed up on a case. He never screwed up on any case. He wasn't especially depressed. And he didn't drink. Never touched a drop. So he certainly wasn't falling down drunk. And he would never socialize with Morrison. Or the damn mayor. He just wouldn't. He didn't like them. Never in a million years would he spend a social evening with them. And he had no family. So all that stuff about his family and sensitivity and dignity is total bullshit. They killed him and bullshitted the coroner so he wouldn't look too closely. "

I sat there in the car and let the rage pour out of her. Then she was quiet and still. She was figuring out how they'd done it.

"Do you think it was Morrison and Teale?" she asked me.

"And somebody else," I said. "There were three guys involved. I figure the three of them went around to his place and knocked on the door. Gray opened up and Teale pulled a gun. Morrison and the third guy grabbed him and held him by the arms. That explains the bruising. Teale maybe poured a bottle of whiskey down his throat, or at least splashed it all over his clothes. They hustled him off to the garage and strung him up. "

Roscoe started the car and eased it out of the hospital lot. She drove slowly over the speed bumps. Then she swung the wheel and blasted up the road through the countryside toward Margrave.

"They killed him," she said. Just a simple statement. "Like they killed Joe. I think I know how you must be feeling. "

I nodded.

"They'll pay for it," I said. "For both of them. "

"You bet your ass," she said.

We fell silent. Sped north for a while, then merged with the county road. A straight twelve miles up to Margrave.

"Poor old Gray," she said. "I can't believe it. He was so smart, so cautious. "

"Not smart enough," I said. "Or cautious enough. We've got to remember that. You know the rules, right? Don't be on your own. If you see somebody coming, run like hell. Or shoot the bastard. Stick with Finlay if you can, OK?"

She was concentrating on driving. She was doing a hell of a speed up the straight road. Thinking about Finlay.

"Finlay," she repeated. "You know what I can't figure?"

"What?" I said.

"There's the two of them, right?" she said. "Teale and Morrison. They run the town for Kliner. They run the police department. Between them, they run everything. Their chief of detectives is Gray. An old guy, a wise head, smart and stubborn. He's been there for twenty-five years, since well before any of this shit started up. They inherited him and they can't get rid of him. So sure enough, one day their smart and stubborn detective sniffs them out. He's found out that something is going on. And they find out that he's found out. So they put him out of the way. They murder him to keep it all safe. Then what do they do next?"

"Go on," I said.

"They hire in a replacement," she said. "Finlay, down from Boston. A guy who is even smarter and even more stubborn than Gray was. Why the hell would they do that? If Gray was a danger to them, then Finlay would be twice as dangerous. So why did they do that? Why did they hire somebody even smarter than the last guy?"

"That's easy," I said. "They thought Finlay was really dumb. "

"Dumb?" she said. "How the hell could they think that?"

So I told her the story Finlay had told me on Monday over donuts at the convenience store counter. About his divorce. About his mental state at the time. What had he said? He was a basket case. An idiot. Couldn't string two words together.

"Chief Morrison and Mayor Teale interviewed him," I told her. "He thought it was the worst job application in history. He thought he had come across as an idiot. He was totally amazed they gave him the job. Now I understand why they did. They really were looking for an idiot. "

Roscoe laughed. That made me feel better.

"God," she said. "That's ironic. They must have sat down and planned it out. Gray was a problem, they said. Better replace him with a fool, they said. Better pick the worst candidate who applies, they said. "

"Right," I said. "And they did. They picked a shell-shocked idiot from Boston. But by the time he tur

ns up to start work, he's calmed down and turned back into the cool and intelligent guy he always was. "

She smiled about that for two miles. Then we crested a slight rise and began the long sweep down into Margrave. We were tensed up. It was like entering the battle zone. We'd been out of it for a while. Sweeping back into it didn't feel good. I had expected to feel better when I had identified the opposing players. But it wasn't what I had expected. It wasn't me against them, played out against a neutral background. The background wasn't neutral. The background was the opposition. The whole town was in it. The whole place was bought and paid for. Nobody would be neutral. We were barreling down the rise at seventy miles an hour toward a dangerous mess. More dangerous than I had expected.

Roscoe slowed up at the town limit. The big Chevy glided onto Margrave's glassy blacktop. The magnolia and dogwood scrub to the left and right was replaced by velvet lawns and ornamental cherries. Those trees with smooth shiny trunks. Like the bark was buffed by hand. In Margrave, it probably was. The Kliner Foundation was probably paying somebody a handsome salary to do it.

We passed the neat blocks of stores, all of them empty and complacent, floating on an unearned thousand a week. We jinked around the village green with the statue of Caspar Teale. Wafted past the turn down to Roscoe's house with its smashed front door. Past the convenience store. Past the benches under the smart awnings. Past the parkland where the bars and rooming houses had been, back when Margrave was honest. Then up to the station house. We pulled off into the lot and parked up. Charlie Hubble's Bentley was still there where I'd left it.

Roscoe killed the motor and we sat for a minute. Didn't want to get out. We squeezed hands, her right, my left. A brief good luck gesture. We got out of the car. Into battle.

THE STATION HOUSE WAS COOL AND DESERTED EXCEPT FOR Baker at his desk and Finlay on his way out of the rosewood office in back. He saw us and hurried over.

"Teale's back in ten minutes," he said. "And we got a slight problem. "

He hustled us back to the office. We went in and he shut the door.

"Picard called," he said.

"So what's the problem?" I said.

"It's the safe house," he said. "Where Charlie and the kids are hiding out? That situation has to stay unofficial, right?"

"He told me that," I said. "He's out on a limb up there. "

"Exactly," he said. "That's the problem. He can't staff it. He needs somebody to be up there with Charlie. He's been doing duty himself. But he can't do any more. Can't take any more time out. And he feels it's not appropriate, you know, Charlie being a woman, and the little girl and all. Kid's terrified of him. "

He looked over at Roscoe. She saw where the conversation was going.

"He wants me up there?" she asked.

"Just for twenty-four hours," Finlay said. "That's what he's asking for. Will you do it for him?"

Roscoe shrugged. Smiled.

"Of course I will," she said. "No problem. I can spare a day. As long as you promise to get me back when the fun starts, OK?"

"That's automatic," Finlay said. "Fun can't start until we've got the detail, and as soon as we've got the detail, Picard goes official and he puts his own agents into the safe house. You come back here. "

"OK," Roscoe said. "When do I go?"

"Right now," Finlay said. "He'll be here any minute. "

She grinned at him.

"So you already figured I'd agree to it?" she said.

He grinned back at her.

"Like I told Reacher," he said. "You're the best we got. "

She and I went back through the squad room and out through the glass doors. Roscoe took her valise out of the Chevy and set it on the curb.

"See you tomorrow, I guess," she said.

"You going to be OK?" I asked her.

"Sure," she said. "I'm going to be fine. Can't get much safer than an FBI safe house, right? But I'm going to miss you, Reacher. I didn't figure to spend time apart just yet. "

I squeezed her hand. She kissed me on the cheek. Just stretched up for a quick peck. Finlay pushed the station house door open. I heard the suck of the rubber seal. He stuck his head out and called over to Roscoe.

"You better give Picard an update, OK?" he said.

Roscoe nodded to him. Then we stood waiting in the sun. Didn't have to wait long. Picard's blue sedan squealed into the lot within a couple of minutes. Bounced to a stop right next to us. The big guy folded himself out of the seat and stood up. Just about blotted out the sun.

"I appreciate this, Roscoe," he said to her. "You're really helping me out. "

"No problem," she said. "You're helping us out, right? Where is this place I'm going?"

Picard grinned a harassed grin. Nodded toward me.

"I can't say where it is," he told her. "Not in front of civilians, right? I'm way out of line already. And I'm going to have to ask you not to tell him afterward, OK? And Reacher, don't you press her about it, or Charlie, OK?"

"OK," I said. I wouldn't press her about it. She'd tell me anyway.

"Good," Picard said.

He nodded a busy good-bye and picked up Roscoe's bag. Threw it onto his rear seat. Then the two of them got into the blue sedan and drove off. Nosed out of the lot and headed north. I waved after them. Then the car was lost to sight.