A Wanted Man (27 page)

“Call later,” Reacher said. “Not yet.” He looped around the wet grass and started up Delfuenso’s driveway, with the door key in his hand.

Sorenson asked, “What do you expect to find in there?”

“Beds,” Reacher said. “Or sofas, at least. We need to take naps. Right now we’re no good to anyone. And we don’t want to end up like Goodman.”

Chapter 49

Delfuenso’s house was identical to her neighbor’s in practically
every respect. Same exact layout, same kitchen, same windows and floors and doors. Same handles, same knobs, same bathrooms. A cookie-cutter development. There were three small bedrooms. One was clearly Delfuenso’s, and one was clearly her daughter’s, and one was clearly a guest room.

“Your pick,” Reacher said. “The guest bed, or the living room sofa.”

“This is crazy,” Sorenson said. “I just ignored two calls from my field office. Probably from my boss personally. So I’m effectively a fugitive now. And you think I should sleep?”

“It’s an efficiency issue. Like you said, there’s a missing kid. Your people aren’t going to do anything about her. The locals are useless now. Therefore we’ll have to deal with it. Which we can’t do if we’re dead on our feet from fatigue.”

“They’ll come after me. I’ll be a sitting duck, asleep in bed.”

“They’re two hours away. A two-hour nap is better than nothing.”

“We can’t deal with it anyway. We have no idea what’s going on. We have no resources.”

“I know,” Reacher said. “I heard you the first time. No contacts, no support, no help, no back-up, no budget, no facilities, no lab, no computers. No nothing. But what else do you want to do? The guys who
have all that stuff are ignoring this whole thing. So we’ll have to manage without.”

“How? Where do we start?”

“With Karen Delfuenso’s autopsy. The initial results. We’ll know more when we get those.”

“How will those help?”

“Wait and see. You could hustle them along, if you like.”

“I don’t need to. I know those guys. They’ll be working as fast as they can.”

“Where?”

“Des Moines, probably. The nearest decent morgue. They’ll have walked in and commandeered it. That’s how we work.”

“When will we hear from them?”

“You know something, don’t you?”

“Get some sleep,” Reacher said. “Answer your phone if it’s your tech guys, and don’t if it isn’t.”

Reacher used the
living room sofa. It was a compact three-seater with low arms, and it was upholstered in flowery yellow fabric. It was worse than a bed and better than the floor. He stretched out on his back and got his head comfortable and pulled his knees up to fit. He set the clock in his head for two hours, and he breathed in once, and he breathed out once, and then he fell asleep, almost instantly.

And then he was woken again almost instantly, by the phone. Not Sorenson’s phone, but the house phone in the kitchen. Delfuenso’s landline. It had a traditional metal bell, and it pealed slow and relaxed, six times, patient and unknowing, and then it went to the answering machine. Reacher heard Delfuenso’s voice on the greeting, bright and alive, happy and energetic: “Hi, this is Karen and Lucy. We can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave us a message after the tone.”

Then came the tone, and then came another woman’s voice. She said something about making a play date with Lucy, and then the call ended, and Reacher went back to sleep.

*  *  *

He woke up
for the second time right on his two-hour deadline. His knees were numb and his back felt like it had been hit with hammers. He sat up and swiveled and put his feet on the floor. There was no sound in the house. Just still air. Far from anywhere, in the middle of winter.

He stood up and stretched and put his palms flat on the ceiling. Then he found the bathroom and rinsed his face and brushed his teeth with dinosaur toothpaste he guessed was Lucy’s. Then he checked the guest room.

Sorenson was fast asleep on the bed. Her face was turned toward him and a lock of hair was across one eye, just like it had been behind her gun. One arm was up above her head and the other was folded defensively across her body. Half secure, and half insecure. An active subconscious. A conflicted state of mind. He was wondering how best to wake her when her phone rang and did it for him. The plain electronic sound, thin and accusing. One ring. Two. She stirred and her eyes opened wide and she sat bolt upright. She fumbled for the phone with sleep-numbed hands and checked the window.

“Omaha,” she said.

Three rings.

She said, “I can’t ignore it anymore.”

Four rings.

She said, “I’m kissing my career goodbye.”

Five rings.

Reacher stepped over to the bed and took the phone from her. He pressed the green button. He raised the phone to his ear. He said,

“Who is this?”

A man’s voice in his ear said, “Who are you?”

“I asked first.”

“Where did you get this phone?”

“Take a wild-ass guess.”

“Where is Special Agent Sorenson?”

“Who’s asking?”

There was a long pause. Maybe the guy was hooking up a recording device or setting up some kind of a GPS locator. Or maybe he was
just thinking. He said, “My name is Perry. I’m the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Special Agent-in-Charge at the field office in Omaha, Nebraska. In other words I’m a very senior federal law enforcement officer and I’m also Agent Sorenson’s boss. Who are you?”

Reacher said, “I’m the guy who was driving the car in Iowa. And right now Agent Sorenson is my prisoner. She’s a hostage, Mr. Perry.”

Chapter 50

Sorenson was going a mute kind of crazy on the bed. The
guy in Reacher’s ear was breathing hard. Reacher said, “I have very modest demands, Mr. Perry. If you want to get Agent Sorenson back safe and sound, all you have to do is precisely nothing. Don’t call me, don’t try to track me, don’t try to find me, don’t hassle me, don’t interfere with me in any way at all.”

The guy said, “Tell me what you want.”

“I just did.”

“I can help you. We can work together on this.”

Reacher asked, “Did you take the hostage negotiator’s course?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It shows. You’re not listening. Just stay away from me.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“I’m planning to do your job.”

“
My
job?”

Reacher said, “You’ve got dead people here, and a missing kid. You should have told the CIA and the State Department to sit down and shut up, but you didn’t. You caved instead. So stay out of my way while I fix things for you.”

“Who the hell are you?”

Reacher didn’t answer that. He just clicked off the call and tossed the phone on the bed.

“You’re crazy,” Sorenson said.

“Not really,” Reacher said. “This way he’s blameless and you’re blameless but the job still gets done. Everyone wins.”

“But he’s not going to do what you told him. I know this guy, Reacher. He’s not going to just sit there and take it. He’s not going to let you embarrass him in front of the CIA. He’s going to come after you. He’s going to start a full-on manhunt.”

“Let the best man win,” Reacher said. “I’ve been hunted before. Many times. And no one ever found me.”

“You don’t get it. It’ll be easy. He can track my phone.”

“We’ll leave it right there on the bed. We’ll buy another one.”

“He can track my
car
, for God’s sake.”

“We’re not going to use your car.”

“What, we’re going to walk?”

“No, we’re going to use Sheriff Goodman’s car. It’s right here. And he doesn’t need it anymore, does he?”

Goodman’s car
was still there on the crown of the road. The keys were still in it, which was what Reacher had expected. City cops usually took their keys with them. Country cops, not so much. There was nothing more embarrassing than having some street kid steal a patrol car during an urban melee, but that kind of danger was rare in the boonies, so habits were different.

And there was an added bonus, too. They didn’t need to buy a new phone. Goodman’s cell was right there, charging away in a dashboard cradle identical to Sorenson’s own Bureau issue. The screen was showing two missed calls. One from Sorenson’s cell, and the other from the department’s dispatcher.

Postmortem calls.

Reacher racked the driver’s seat back and fired up the engine. The car was a police-spec Crown Vic, under the skin exactly the same as Sorenson’s more discreet version. But it was older and grimier inside. The seat had been crushed into Goodman’s unique shape by many hours of use. Reacher felt like he was putting on a dead man’s clothes.

Sorenson asked, “Where are we going?”

Reacher said, “Anywhere with cell reception. We need to wait until we hear from your tech guys. About the autopsy. You need to call them and give them the new number.”

“We’re basically stealing this car, you know.”

“But who’s going to do anything about it? That idiot Puller?”

Reacher turned around
in Delfuenso’s empty driveway and headed back south and west toward the crossroads. He got less than half a mile before Goodman’s phone rang in its cradle. A loud electronic squawk. Urgent, and nothing fancy.

The readout window showed a 402 area code.

“Omaha,” Reacher said.

Sorenson craned over to read the rest of the number. “Shit,” she said. “That’s my SAC’s private line.”

“He’s calling Goodman? Why?”

“You kidnapped me. He’s alerting local law enforcement all over eastern Nebraska. Iowa too, probably.”

“Doesn’t he know Goodman is dead?”

“I doubt it. I don’t see how he could. Not yet.”

“How did he get this number?”

“Database. We have lots of numbers.”

“Has he spoken to Goodman before?”

“No. I don’t think so. The night duty agent took a call from him. That’s all. That’s how this whole thing started.”

“How do I work this phone?”

“You’re not going to talk to him, are you?”

“We can’t let everyone ignore him. He’ll start to feel bad.”

“But he knows your voice. You two just spoke.”

“What did Goodman sound like?”

“Like a seventy-year-old guy from Nebraska.”

“How do I work the phone?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Quick, before it goes to voice mail.”

“There’s a microphone in the windshield pillar. Just hit the green button.”

Reacher hit the green button. He heard telephone sounds over the car speakers, unnaturally loud and clear and detailed. Every hiss and every crackle was faithfully rendered. He heard Special Agent-in-Charge Perry’s voice. It sounded brisk and a little tense. It said, “Is this Sheriff Goodman?”

Reacher took his right hand off the wheel and put his little finger in the corner of his mouth. Like an intrusive implement during a dental procedure. He said, “Yes, it is.”

The voice filling the car said, “Sheriff, I’m Anthony Perry, the SAC at the Omaha FBI. The Bureau has an interest in a situation that may be developing in your neck of the woods.”

“And what situation would that be, sir?”

“I believe you may have met Agent Sorenson from my office.”

“I had that pleasure last night. A mighty fine young woman. You must be proud to have her working for you, sir.”

Sorenson laid her head back and closed her eyes.

Perry said, “Well, yes, but that’s beside the point right now. We picked up a report from the Nebraska State Police that a child went missing this morning.”

“Sad but true, sir.”

“I believe Agent Sorenson may have headed directly to you as a result.”

“That’s good,” Reacher said. “I’ll be glad of all the help I can get.”

He gulped saliva past his finger.

Perry said, “Are you OK, Sheriff?”

“I’m tired,” Reacher said. “I’m an old man and I’ve been awake for a long time.”

“You haven’t seen Agent Sorenson today?”

“No, not yet, but I’ll be sure to watch out for her.”

“It’s not that simple, Sheriff. I believe she may have detoured on her way here with a male suspect. I believe that male suspect may have somehow overpowered her and may be currently holding her hostage.”

“Well, sir, I can certainly see how you might describe that as a situation. Yes, indeed. But you don’t need my permission to come look for her. I think you’re entitled to take care of your own people. And you’re always welcome here.”

“No, I can’t spare the manpower,” Perry said. “We can’t be everywhere at once. I’m asking you and your boys to be my eyes and ears down there. Can you do that for me?”

“Do what exactly?”

“Let me know immediately if you see Agent Sorenson, or her car. And if possible take her companion into custody.”

“Do you have a description?”

“He’s a big guy with a broken nose.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“You should treat him as extremely dangerous. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“You mean shoot first and ask questions later?”

“I think that would be a very sound operating principle, under the circumstances.”

“OK, you got it, Mr. Perry. You can cross my county off your list of concerns, as of right now. If he comes here, we’ll deal with him.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. I very much appreciate your cooperation.”

“We’re here to serve, sir,” Reacher said. He took his finger out of his mouth and pressed the red button on the phone.

Sorenson didn’t speak.

Reacher said, “What? That’s a good result. This whole county is ours now. We can come and go as we please.”

“But suppose we have to stray out of this county? Don’t you get it? You’re a wanted man. He’s putting a hit on you.”

“People have tried that too,” Reacher said. “And I’m still here, and they’re not.”

A mile later
Sorenson called her tech team to let them know she had a new cell number. Her guys didn’t answer, so she had to leave a voice mail, which Reacher took to be a good sign, because it likely meant that right then they were hard at work, bent over a stainless steel mortuary table somewhere. He didn’t envy them their task. Like all cops he had attended autopsies. A rite of passage, and a character thing, and sometimes important to the chain of evidence. Decomposed
floaters were the worst, but badly burned people were a close second. Like carving a London broil, but not exactly.