Jed Starmer stood at the edge of the sidewalk and pulled a handful of change out of his pocket. He had three quarters plus a bunch of smaller coins. They added up to more than two dollars. But Jed didn’t care about the total. What counted was that he could make a call. He could get himself out of the mess he had landed in. Or at least try.
Jed figured there would be some payphones at the Greyhound station so he turned and started to make his way back there. He moved quickly at first, then slowed down and started to look around. He had been so focused on chasing the cab that the guy who had stolen his backpack had taken, he hadn’t paid any attention to his surroundings. The street he was on was long and flat. The Greyhound station was far ahead, on the right. Closer, opposite him on his left, there was a weird-looking building. It was pale yellow with smooth, rounded walls. It was tall. It had no windows and its top was cut off at a steep angle. The high side was nearest him and the roof fell away sharply toward the back. It made him think of a cake, or a hat a bishop might wear in a sci-fi movie.
Around the base of the building there was a ring of sculptures. They were made of steel, all curved interlocking shapes, gleaming in the sunshine like flames. Or scimitar blades. They reminded Jed of a place back in L.A. Some kind of a fancy concert hall. He’d never been inside it but the exterior fascinated him. It was made of shiny metal, too, and the whole surface was twisted and warped like it was melting. Like a localized apocalypse was taking place. Or a scene from a fever dream. Or a sign he was going crazy. He had always found it a little menacing. Like so much in his hometown.
If L.A. still was his hometown.
A set of steps ran up to a concourse that separated the round building from a similar, shorter, wider one. Jed climbed up. He paused at the top then walked around to the far side. There was a low wall, presumably to stop pedestrians from falling down onto the street below. Jed perched on the edge. He lined up his coins on the rough concrete surface. Then he took away all of them except the quarters. Three metal circles. Dull with age. Scuffed from use. Innocuous, everyday items. But with the power to shape his future.
Jed had to decide. He could put the coins back in his pocket. Or he could feed them into a phone.
He could go forward. Or back.
Grab a new life. Or settle for his old one.
At the same time Jed was wondering what to do with the quarters a police car pulled onto the forecourt at the side of the Greyhound station. Two officers climbed out. They both had a copy of a photograph in their hands. One officer made her way inside the terminal building. She covered the whole area, showing the picture to all the passengers who were eating or loitering around or returning from the restrooms. The other officer stayed outside. He focused on the line of buses. He was looking for one vehicle in particular. The one that had recently come in from L.A.
At the same time the officers were arriving at the Greyhound station in El Paso, Texas, a car was rolling to a halt at the side of the street next to Wiles Park in Gerrardsville, Colorado. A poverty-spec Dodge Charger. Detective Harewood set his dome light flashing on the dash, slid out, and walked across to the only bench in the square that was near a tree. He stood for a moment and looked at Reacher. Then he shifted his gaze to the two guys who were still on the ground. They were still motionless.
Harewood said, “What happened?”
Reacher drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down on the bench. “They collapsed. Spontaneously.”
“Seriously?”
“They were up to no good. The strain must have gotten too much.”
“And you just happened to be here when it did?”
Reacher took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Harewood. “They left this in Sam Roth’s mailbox.”
“You should have called me. Let me handle it.”
“I figured they could be connected to Angela St. Vrain.”
“Were they?”
“No.”
Harewood checked his watch. “Did you call them an ambulance at least?”
Reacher shook his head. “I tried for a garbage truck. No luck. Apparently it’s not trash day.”
Harewood took out his phone and speed-dialed a number. He told someone at his office to arrange for medical assistance and a uniformed escort to remain with the guys at the hospital. Then he sat down and said, “So what kind of no good were these guys up to?”
“Trying to blackmail Roth. His ex-wife said he’d been under extra stress at work recently. This explains why.”
“What did they want?”
“To get the staff rota rewritten a particular way. Probably to help them smuggle stuff into the prison they worked at. Possibly to help break someone out.”
“Damn. What did they have on Roth?”
“Nothing real. Just some trumped-up nonsense. They admitted that. But enough to cause trouble for Roth. If he’d stayed alive.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“I’ll make sense of it one way or another, but level with me. Are you telling the truth?”
“About what?”
“Did you really think these guys had something to do with Angela? Or did you just find the note and come over here looking for trouble? Because I don’t see the connection.”
“Turned out there wasn’t a connection. Their scheme was local. Completely separate. But here’s what I was thinking. The fact is, Angela wasn’t linked to Roth romantically. He was her former boss. She’d gone to him for help.”
“With what?”
“Some accounting thing at her work. They’d been communicating via email. That’s another fact. Now for the speculation. I think Angela came to Gerrardsville to show Roth something. Some evidence relating to whatever kind of wrongdoing she had uncovered. I think whoever had her killed found this out, but only after she had left Mississippi. Hence staging her accident here. Where they knew she would be. And when.”
“That would account for the timing and location.” Harewood pointed to the ground on either side. “But not why you thought these guys could be involved.”
“Stopping Angela from showing the evidence to Roth wasn’t enough. They needed to recover it. Whatever it was. Hence stealing Angela’s purse.”
“How could they be sure the evidence was in Angela’s purse?”
Reacher didn’t answer.
A frown spread across Harewood’s face. “They could have thought Angela mailed it to Roth before she left home.”
“That would have been the smart move. A package is safer in the US mail than in a purse. Especially when you have a couple of killers on your tail.”
“And you thought that was the proof demanded in the note?”
“I hoped it was. Because then we could have captured a couple of foot soldiers. Worked our way up the food chain. And it would have meant that Roth’s death was an accident.”
Harewood was silent for a moment. “You only try to blackmail someone you think is still alive. Not someone you know you already killed. I guess even without the evidence Angela was bringing, Roth knew too much.”
“That’s how I see it.”
“I’ll get on to the ME. Ask her to run tests for everything known to man that can induce a heart attack.”
“Send some computer guys to Roth’s apartment as well. Someone wiped all the emails between him and Angela off his laptop. The real ones. The ones Angela’s employer found were fake.”
“Will do.”
“And check the area behind Roth’s building for tire tracks. His ex-wife thinks she saw a car waiting there on Monday night, before he died.”
Harewood shook his head.
“What? You don’t believe her?”
“It’s not that. I’m just thinking, my lieutenant was pissed about me wanting to investigate one death as a homicide. Now I’ll have to tell him we have two.”
“Here’s something to soften the blow. You can tell him I’m leaving town.”
“You are? When?”
Reacher stood up. “Right now.”
“Why? Are you done?”
Reacher smiled. “I’m just getting started.”
Jed Starmer had sat on the wall long enough for the sun to move and cast the three quarters next to him into deep shadow. He checked his watch. The bus was due to leave in ten minutes. He couldn’t delay any longer. It was decision time.
Forward? Or back?
Get on board? Or make a call?
Jed didn’t know which he should do. Panic rose in his throat. He felt it choking him. He couldn’t breathe. But only for a moment. He swallowed the fear back down. He had already come a long way. On his own. Without needing any stuff. If he kept going he would only be alone for another couple of days. Not even another forty-eight hours. He could manage that long without a change of clothes. Losing his backpack was a setback. But it wasn’t a catastrophe. It was no reason to give up. He still had his toothbrush. And he still had $300.
Jed stood up. He snatched up the coins and dropped them into his pocket. The only thing he didn’t have was time. He had been planning to buy some food. He was starving, but his meal was going to have to wait. Which in a way he could take as a bonus. He could conserve his cash for a little longer. Until he reached Dallas. He could last until then without eating. He was used to being hungry. That was one thing he could thank his foster mother for.
Jed hurried down the steps and ran the rest of the way back to the Greyhound station. He scurried through the terminal building, weaving his way around the knots of slow-moving passengers, but he stopped before he reached the exit to the concourse. He had spotted a vending machine. It was by the far wall. Next to the payphones. The day was hot. Hotter than he was used to. He had been rushing around in the sun. And the machine was full of all kinds of drinks.
Going without food was one thing. But water was different. He had read that not having enough could mess up your health. Damage your internal organs. Cause lasting harm. He didn’t want to start his new life all weak and sickly. But neither did he want to miss the bus. The doors closed a little before departure time. He had seen that happen in L.A., a hundred years ago. Or actually yesterday. He checked his watch. Decided it was worth the risk. Pulled the handful of change out of his pocket. Jammed the coins into the slot, one after another, and watched the total on the digital display creep up to the required amount. Then he grabbed the bottle from the delivery chute and raced to the bus.
Jed dashed up the stairs and the bus’s door hissed closed before he was three feet along the aisle. He took the same seat as before. Leaned against the window. And suddenly felt exposed without his backpack. Vulnerable. He craved the way it had felt on his lap. He would have given anything to hug it tight just then. Whether it made him look like a kid or not.
“Hey, buddy!”
Jed jumped. Someone had flopped into the seat next to him. A guy, a little scruffy, maybe eighteen. Jed recognized him. He had been on board all the way from L.A. Sitting near the back. Jed had thought he was part of a group. Now he wasn’t sure.
The guy said, “So. What’s happening?”
Jed said, “Nothing.”
The guy leaned in close. “You in trouble?”
“Me? No. Why?”
“Are the police looking for you?”
Jed felt like a steel belt had closed around his chest. His heart started to race. “The police? Of course not. Why would they be?”
“It’s OK. You can tell me. It’s why you didn’t get back on until the last moment, right? You were waiting for them to leave.”
“The police were here? On the bus?”
The guy nodded.
“I didn’t know that. I was just…slow.”
“Right.” The guy winked. “Slow. I’m with you.”
“OK, maybe they were here. But they’re not looking for me.”
“Are you sure? Because the cop had a photo. It was old. Four or five years, at least. But it sure looked like you. I guess no one else twigged. They just switched the driver and I bet all these old biddies are half-blind, but I could see it.”
Jed swallowed hard. “What did you say?”
“Don’t worry.” The guy slapped Jed’s shoulder. “I said I hadn’t seen you.”
“Thank you.” Jed could finally let out a breath.
“No problem.” The guy paused. “Hey, I have an idea. Maybe you could buy me breakfast? When we get to Dallas?”
“Buy you breakfast?” Jed thought about his cash supply. He was in no rush to spend any more than absolutely necessary. Then he thought about how easy it would be for the guy to dial 911. He probably had a cellphone. And even if he didn’t there were seven more stops before they would reach Dallas. In places where there would be payphones. He forced a smile and said, “Sure. I’d be happy to.”
“Cool.” The guy swung back into the aisle and headed for his own seat. “Traveling for hours makes me hungry. See you later…”