All were agreed that Bouton had been an exceptionally good looking woman. Words quoted included gorgeous, stunning, spectacular, heart-breaking, knockout, and incredible.
All the same words applied equally to Deveraux too, of course. All were agreed on that point also. No question. The psychiatrists had concluded that therein lay the explanation. General Dyer had translated their clinical language for the casual reader. He said Deveraux couldn’t take the competition. She couldn’t stand not to be clearly and definitively the most beautiful woman on the post. So she had taken steps to make sure she was.
I read the whole thing one more time, front to back, and then I butted all the pages neatly together and closed the jacket on them, and Garber came back into the room.
Chapter
69
The first thing Garber said was, “We just heard from the Pentagon. John James Frazer was found dead in his office.”
I said, “Dead how?”
“Looks like a freak accident. Apparently he fell and hit his head on the desk. His staff got back from lunch and found him on the floor. He was doing something with a picture of Carlton Riley.”
“That’s bad.”
“Why?”
“This is not a great time to lose our Senate Liaison.”
“Did you read the file?”
I said, “Yes, I did.”
“Then you know we don’t need to worry about the Senate anymore. Whoever replaces Frazer will have plenty of time to learn the job before the next thing comes along.”
“Is that going to be the official line?”
“It’s the truth. She was a Marine, Reacher. Sixteen years in. She knew all about cutting throats. She knew how to do it, and she knew how to pretend she didn’t. And the car alone proves it. Right there, what more is there to say? She wrecks Paul Evers’s car, and she wrecks Reed Riley’s. Same MO. Same exact reason. Except this time she’s only one of four beautiful women. And Munro says Riley dates her and then dumps her for the other three in succession. So this time she’s three times as mad. This time she goes beyond breaking arms. This time she has her own private deer trestle behind an empty house.”
“Is that going to be the official line?”
“It’s what happened.”
“So what next?”
“It’s purely a Mississippi matter now. We have no dog in the fight, and we have no way of knowing what will happen. Most likely nothing will happen. My guess is she won’t arrest herself, and she won’t give the State Police any reason to either.”
“So we’re going to walk away?”
“All three of them were civilians. They’re nothing to do with us.”
“So the mission is terminated?”
“As of this morning.”
“Is Kelham open again?”
“As of this morning.”
“She denies dating Riley, you know.”
“She would, wouldn’t she?”
“Do we know anything about General Dyer?”
“He died two years ago after a long and exemplary career. He never put a foot wrong. The man was stainless.”
“OK,” I said. “I’ll take steps.”
“Toward what?”
“Toward wrapping up my involvement.”
“Your involvement is already wrapped up. As of this morning.”
“I have private property to recover.”
“You left something there?”
“I thought I was heading right back.”
“What did you leave?”
“My toothbrush.”
“That’s not important.”
“Will the DoD reimburse me?”
“For a toothbrush? Of course not.”
“Then I have a right to recover it. They can’t have it both ways.”
He said, “Reacher, if you draw one iota more attention to this thing there won’t be anything I can do to help you. Right now some very senior people are holding their breath. We’re one inch away from news stories about a senator’s son dating a three-time killer. Except neither one of them can afford to say anything about it. Not him, for one reason, and not her, for another. So we’ll probably get away with it. But we don’t know yet. Not for sure. Right now it’s still in the balance.”
I said nothing.
He said, “You know she’s good for it, Reacher. A man with your instincts? She was only pretending to investigate. I mean, did she get anywhere with it? And she was playing you like a violin. First she was trying to get rid of you, and when you wouldn’t go, she switched to keeping you close. So she could monitor your progress. Or the lack of it. Why else would she even talk to you?”
I said nothing.
He said, “The bus is long gone, anyway. To Memphis. You’d have to wait until tomorrow now. And you’ll see things differently tomorrow.”
I asked, “Is Neagley still on the post?”
He said, “Yes, she is. I just made a date to have a drink with her.”
“Tell her she’s taking the bus home. Tell her I’m taking the company car.”
He asked, “Do you have a bank account?”
I said, “How else would I get paid?”
“Where is it?”
“New York. From when I was at West Point.”
“Move it to somewhere nearer the Pentagon.”
“Why?”
“Involuntary separation money comes through quicker if you bank in Virginia.”
“You think it will come to that?”
“The Joint Chiefs think war is over. They’re singing along with Yoko Ono. There are big cuts coming. Most of them will fall on the army. Because the Marines have better PR, and because the Navy and the Air Force are a whole different thing altogether. So the people right above us are making lists, and they’re making them right now.”
“Am I on those lists?”
“You will be. And there will be nothing I can do to stop it.”
“You could order me not to go back to Mississippi.”
“I could, but I won’t. Not you. I trust you to do the right thing.”
Chapter
70
I met Stan Lowrey on my way off the post. My old friend. He was locking his car just as I was unlocking the Buick.
I said, “Goodbye, old pal.”
He said, “That sounds final.”
“You may never see me again.”
“Why? Are you in trouble?”
“Me?” I said. “No, I’m fine. But I heard your job is vulnerable. You might be gone when I get back.”
He just shook his head and smiled and walked on.
The Buick was an old lady’s car. If my grandfather had had a sister, she would have been my great aunt, and she would have driven a Buick Park Avenue. But she would have driven it slower than me. The thing was as soft as a marshmallow and twice as buttery inside, but it had a big motor. And government plates. So it was useful on the highway. And I got on the highway as soon as I could. On I-65, to be precise. Heading south, down the eastern edge of a notional corridor, not down the western edge through Memphis. I would be approaching from a side I had never seen before, but it was a straighter shot. And therefore faster. Five hours, I figured. Maybe five and a half. I would be in Carter Crossing by ten-thirty at the latest.* * *
I went south all the way through Kentucky in the last of the daylight, and then it got dark pretty quickly as I drove through Tennessee. I hunted around for a mile and found the switch and turned on my headlights. The broad road took me through the bright neon of Nashville, fast and above the fray, and then it took me onward through open country, where it was dark and lonely again. I drove like I was hypnotized, automatically, not thinking anything, not noticing anything, surprised every time I came to by the hundred-mile bites I had been taking out of the journey.
I crossed the line into Alabama and stopped at the second place I saw, for gas and a map. I knew I would need to head west off an early Alabama exit and I needed a map with local details to show me where. Not the kind of large-scale plan you can buy ahead of time. The sheet I bought unfolded neatly and showed me every farm track in the state. But it showed me nothing more than that. Mississippi was just a blank white space on the edge of the paper. I narrowed down my target area and found a choice of four east–west routes. Any one of them might have been the road that led onward past Kelham’s gate to Carter Crossing. Or none of them might. There could have been all kinds of dog-leg turns waiting for me on the other side of the line. A regular maze. No way of knowing.