CHAPTER TEN

They crowded around Weston’s hospital bed in a large, open recovery room that had been cleared of all patients except Weston and his wife. She was obviously still out cold, but Weston was at least approaching consciousness—quietly moaning, eyelids fluttering. A blanket covered him from the waist down, obscuring the state of reconstruction done to both legs. His shoulder was bandaged, but not casted. Gaspar guessed the repairs were done on the inside.

Unless he perked up pretty markedly, they weren’t going to get much of a statement from him. And even if they did and he said something worthwhile, it wouldn’t carry much weight later, given the amount of drugs in his system. Undeterred, Natalie Chernow, the court reporter, had set up her machine near the head of the bed to be sure she accurately heard and recorded anything he might babble. She also activated a tape recorder. Belt and suspenders, Gaspar supposed.

Judge Carson stood at the foot of the bed, the better to see and hear everything as it happened, should anything happen.

Lane said she would act as Weston’s representative for the purpose of the statement so they didn’t have to call in another lawyer, which wasn’t exactly kosher. But nothing about the situation was normal and it wasn’t Gaspar’s case, so he wasn’t going to object. Even though he’d like to whip that “I told you so” smirk off Crane’s face.

Lane stood next to the court reporter, Crane and his crony Bartos stood across the bed from Gaspar and Otto, and Kimball pressed herself into position beside them.

“Wait,” Lane said to her. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“First Amendment and Florida’s Sunshine law. Press would be allowed in a courtroom for the statement,” Kimball pointed out, “so I can’t be excluded just because proceedings are in a hospital.”

Lane appealed to Judge Carson, who ruled that Kimball could stay. Gaspar and Otto, too. Carson offered no explanation for her ruling.

Gaspar didn’t expect to learn much, especially since Weston had so far only managed the occasional groan, though it made sense to play things out just in case he got chatty. You never knew. It was just barely possible he might cough up a lead on Reacher that he and Otto could follow up later. Mainly they stayed because it would have looked odd to leave at that point.

And then Weston opened his eyes. When he saw Gaspar, his mouth opened in a wide, drugged, silly smile. His pupils were dilated and his speech slurred when he gleefully asked, “Did my guys get him?”

“What?” Otto asked, leaning in.

Weston’s voice was weak, whispery, hard to hear. But unmistakably cheerful. “Reacher. Shot me. Did my guys kill him? Is he dead?”

Otto asked, “You lured Reacher to the memorial so your bodyguards could kill him?”

Crane glared at Otto, but she didn’t see him. Crane spoke up. “Colonel Weston, the shooter was Michael Vernon. He was killed at the scene. You knew him, right? He served under you in Iraq for two years. Hit by an IED, remember? Two buddies died. Vernon survived. Blamed you for the whole thing, would be my guess.”

Weston sank into his pillows and closed his eyes again. His breathing became more ragged. Steven Kent must have noticed something irregular on the monitors because he came into the room and checked the machines.

“Ten minutes. No more,” he said to Crane. “Otherwise, he won’t survive the night.”

“You said his injuries weren’t life threatening,” Crane said.

Kent stood his ground, “I said normally not life threatening. We need to keep it that way, don’t you think?”

Crane didn’t like it, but he backed off. Gaspar figured Crane’s restraint wouldn’t last long.

But it was true that Weston looked bad. When he found out his plan to kill Reacher failed, his fragile strength seemed to evaporate. Gaspar wondered how many times Weston’s vendetta against Reacher had failed before. Weston’s reach was extensive, inside the government and out. Another possible explanation for Reacher’s hiding so far off the grid that not even a bloodhound could find him. At least until Reacher could take care of Weston or something else got Weston first. Which didn’t seem so paranoid right at the moment.

The court reporter announced she was ready.

Judge Carson started the proceedings by opening the record and covering all the legal necessities. She said she’d granted an emergency motion for a recorded statement from Mr. and Mrs. Weston because the FBI represented to her that the statement was essential to an ongoing criminal investigation likely to be harmed if Mr. and Mrs. Weston became incapacitated.

And because Weston’s counsel consented.

Jennifer Lane made a short statement about the limited nature of her legal representation and her clients’ consent. Observers said nothing.

Finally, Crane began his questions. He could have spent the ten minutes he’d been allotted following up on Weston’s plan to kill Reacher, which was the only thing Gaspar was interested in hearing about, but instead his questions focused on Weston’s private security company operating in Iraq. Each question was accusatory and belligerent, Gaspar thought. Maybe a little desperate. But it didn’t matter. Crane was destined to get nowhere.

Weston had exhausted his available energy on Reacher. Now, he was mostly non-responsive. He grunted a couple of times to signal yes or no. He moaned. He seemed to be almost unconscious. Ms. Chernow’s transcript would be mostly a list of questions followed by empty spaces.

After the promised ten minutes, Steven Kent returned to check his patient. “I’m sorry, but that’s it. Colonel Weston isn’t able to continue.”

Crane’s annoyance was on full display. “But we’re not finished.”

Kent replied, “For now you are. You can come back in a couple hours and try again if you want. Or you can call me if you don’t want to make an unnecessary trip.”

Crane opened his mouth to argue again, but Judge Carson said, “Thank you, Mr. Kent. We’ll close the record at this time and resume later this evening or as soon as Colonel Weston is capable.”

Crane said, “Let’s question Mrs. Weston now, then.”

Samantha Weston was in the room’s only remaining bed. A curtain separated her bed from her husband’s. Kent pulled the curtain back and checked her health indicators. He shook his head. “Mrs. Weston is still sedated. She’s not able to communicate at this time, either, I’m afraid.”

Crane’s mouth was set in a hard line. Gaspar watched him fight to control his anger. He was a pouter, this guy. Too soft. When he didn’t get his way, he was whinier than Gaspar’s ten-year-old daughter. The thought made Gaspar smile and Crane glared back as if he might start a fistfight. Gaspar struggled not to laugh. He caught Otto’s eye and saw her reaction was the same as his.

Judge Carson saw the lay of the land. She did what judges do. She wrapped it up. “Is there anything else anyone wants to put on the record at this time?”

No one raised anything. She closed the record and everyone left the room except Ms. Chernow, who stayed to pack up her equipment.

In the corridor, Crane seized the initiative again. “Judge, we’d like to continue in two hours. We’re worried that these witnesses won’t survive the night. If they don’t, our case will be irreparably harmed—”

Judge Carson headed him off before he could get too amped up. “Fine. Ms. Chernow exists on nuts and dried fruit she carries in her purse. On that diet, I’d be dead in a week, and I’m hungry. Anyone want to join me for dinner at George’s Place? No need to change clothes. We can grab a quick bite in the Sunset Bar.”

Because refusing a dinner invitation from the judge on your case wasn’t a smart move, everyone officially interested in Weston should have accepted.

But Crane said, “I need to review my file to streamline my questions. I’ll just grab something from a vending machine.”

Agent Bartos, probably figuring it would be a bad career move to contradict his boss, pulled out his wallet and left for the nearest sandwich.

Jennifer Lane seemed torn by indecision. If she stayed, she could keep an eye on Agents Crane and Bartos, but she’d have to stop watching Gaspar and Otto. Not to mention ticking off the Judge on her case. If she went to dinner, though, Crane and Bartos would remain unsupervised and who knows what mischief they’d get up to without her to restrain them.

Gaspar stifled his smirk and glanced over toward Otto, who pretended to yawn, probably to cover amusement.

“I’m in,” Jess Kimball announced.

Otto said, “Me, too.” Who knew why? Her motives were usually a mystery to Gaspar.

No mystery at all regarding Gaspar’s motivation for accepting Judge Carson’s invitation. She’d offered to buy and he was hungry. Simple as that.