Hannah crossed the street without saying a word. She climbed back into the VW, rested her elbows on the steering wheel, and held her head in her hands. Reacher decided to take a look around. He didn’t expect to find much. The fire hadn’t left much trace of anything, but old habits die hard. He was curious. And he wanted to give Hannah some time to herself.
There had been a lawn between the house and the street but the grass had been torn up by the firefighters’ boots and jagged channels had been cut through the dirt by runoff from the water they’d used to extinguish the flames. They couldn’t have gotten there very quickly, Reacher thought. There was so little of the structure left. It was like someone had judged things very carefully. Too late to save any of Danny Peel’s house. But in time to stop the flames from spreading to anyone else’s. He picked his way across the rough ground until he was close to what would have been the outer wall. He wondered where the door had been. The kitchen. The bedroom. He could believe the fire had started there. And maybe that a cigarette had been involved. But not that it was an accident. He’d been around the block too many times to swallow that kind of a story.
Reacher looked inside the mailbox. There were four envelopes. All junk. Presumably delivered before the fire. Then he moved on to the garage. It had two roll-up vehicle doors leading to the side street and a personnel door that would have faced the house. He tried the handle. It was locked. The door didn’t seem too stout so he leaned his shoulder against it and shoved. The tongue of the lock gouged a little strip out of the frame and it opened easily. Reacher stepped inside. There was a car in each bay. Both were Chevrolets. The closer one was a sedan, probably less than five years old. It was small and white and practical. The other was a Corvette, maybe from the 1960s. It was long and green and—presumably, if you were a car guy—fun. A wooden workbench stretched the whole width of the garage, against the far wall. Above it there were Peg-Boards that were covered with tools. Domestic ones to the left, like chisels and mallets and saws. Things for working on cars to the right, like spanners and wrenches and hammers. There was also a journal hanging from a hook, and a pen on a chain like they used to have in banks. Reacher looked in the journal. It was full of entries going back five years, neatly written in blue ink, giving details of all the jobs Danny had completed on the Stingray. He had done work on the brakes. Rust in the subframe. Water leaks. Electrical problems. A whole bunch of things, some large, some small, all faithfully recorded. He had been a meticulous guy. That was clear.
Reacher got back into the VW’s passenger seat. Hannah lifted her head and looked at him. Her eyes were red.
She said, “So, what now?”
Reacher picked up the envelope he’d found in the van at the Riverside Lodge and held it out to her. “We open this. It might throw some light on what happened to Danny. And Sam. And Angela. I doubt the Minerva guys had it by chance.”
Hannah was silent for a moment. “OK. I guess. But I can’t. You do it.”
Reacher tore open the envelope. There was a note inside, handwritten in neat tidy script, on a piece of paper with a company letterhead. The company was a firm of accountants called Moon, Douglas, and Flynn in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. The note was short. It read:
Danny,
I have what you asked for. What you have seen so far is just the tip of the iceberg. I can give you enough to sink the whole ship. Meet me at 11:30 a.m., this Friday, Coal Creek Coffee, corner table, downtown Hattiesburg.
Alan
PS—pls call to confirm you’re coming. I have arrangements to make. Use my cell, not the office number. 399-307-1968.
Reacher handed the page to Hannah. She read it then dropped the paper onto the dashboard in front of her.
She said, “I don’t get it. Is this the same thing Angela went to Sam about? The accounting thing? I can’t see the connection. But it would be weird if there were two separate things going on at the same time.”
Reacher said, “It’s the same thing. Remember the information I told you about from Angela’s purse? About Begovic’s release? It was in an envelope addressed to Danny.”
“How did she come to have it?”
“I was planning on asking Danny that.”
“So Danny was corresponding with some Deep Throat–type person. He must have gotten Angela involved. Which got her killed. And indirectly got Sam killed. Oh, boy. Poor Danny. He would have been devastated.”
“It wasn’t Danny’s fault. He uncovered a crime, apparently. He didn’t commit one.”
“Someone did. Someone at Minerva. The same people who set all those goons on us. We need to sink their ship. We need this blockbuster evidence. Whatever it is. Assuming this Alan guy checks out.”
Hannah pulled out her phone and started tapping and swiping. A couple of minutes later she held it up so that Reacher could see the screen.
She said, “OK. Well, the company’s real. It exists. The address, website, social media, logo, everything matches. There’s a list of partners. There’s one called Alan. Alan McInnes. And get this. They mention Minerva as one of their top clients. What do you think?”
Reacher said, “Dial the number.”
Hannah entered the digits and hit Call plus the button for the speaker. A man answered after three rings.
He said, “McInnes. Who’s this?”
Reacher said, “Danny Peel. I got your note. I’ll see you at Coal Creek, 11:30.”
“Wait. I’m not sure it’s safe.”
“Want to pick another venue? Name it.”
“Not the venue. You. How do I know you’re Danny?”
“How else would I know your number?”
“I don’t know. OK. What’s your middle name?”
Reacher looked at Hannah. She shook her head. He said, “I don’t have one.”
“Where did you live before you moved to Winson?”
“Gerrardsville, Colorado.”
“Name of your last boss before you went to work at Minerva?”
“Sam Roth.”
“OK.” There was a moment’s silence. “I’ll meet you. But come alone. And don’t be late.”
Bruno Hix ended the call. He was sitting in his kitchen, in his pajamas. He didn’t like to be at the prison too early on release days. There was always some kind of last minute logistical snafu and he couldn’t risk encountering anything that would put him in a bad mood before his speech. He took a sip of coffee, switched to his regular phone, and called Brockman.
“No Plan B,” he said. “It’s confirmed. Reacher will be nowhere near the ceremony.”
Brockman said, “Fantastic news. But, Bruno—you’re sure?”
“Positive. I got it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Hannah tried to pull a U-turn in the street but the old VW’s steering was so heavy and slow to respond she bumped up onto the opposite sidewalk and almost clipped Danny Peel’s mailbox. She backed up a couple of yards, hauled on the wheel with all her strength, dropped down onto the street, and started to build a little speed. The bus mustered all the acceleration of a slug.
Reacher looked back at the mailbox. He said, “Stop.”
Hannah coasted to the side of the road. Reacher climbed out, walked back, and opened the mailbox lid. The junk was still there. Four envelopes, all loose. Also in the box was an elastic band. The kind mail carriers use to hold all the correspondence for the same address together. Someone had removed it and set the separate letters free.
Reacher cut across the muddy lot toward the garage. He let himself in and picked up the maintenance log Danny had kept for the Stingray. He flicked through until he found a number of specific characters. Two capitals. The rest lower case. Then he walked back to the VW, climbed in, and said, “We’re not going to Hattiesburg.”