Part 7 (2/2)
He said, ”Anyway, it wasn't much of a place.”
”How much of it did you see?”
”Most of it, the second time.”
”You went back?”
”I took a good look around, from a distance.”
”And?”
”It still wasn't much of a place.”
The girl went quiet. Reacher saw her weighing her next question. How to ask it. Whether to ask it. She put her head on one side and looked beyond him.
”Did you see any people?” she asked.
”Lots of people,” Reacher said.
”Did you see the airplane?”
”I heard one.”
”It belongs to the guy with the big house. Every night he takes off at seven and comes back at two o'clock in the morning.”
Reacher asked, ”How long were you there?”
”One day.”
”So how do you know the plane flies every night?”
She didn't answer.
”Maybe someone told you,” Reacher said.
No reply.
Reacher said, ”No law against joyriding.”
”People don't joyride at night. There's nothing to see.”
”Good point.”
The girl was quiet for another minute, and then she asked, ”Were you in a cell?”
”Couple of hours.”
”Anyone else in there?”
”No.”
”When you went back, what people did you see?”
Reacher said, ”Why don't you just show me his picture?”
”Whose picture?”
”Your boyfriend's.”
”Why would I do that?”
”Your boyfriend is missing. As in, you can't find him. That was Officer Vaughan's impression, anyway.”
”You trust cops?”
”Some of them.”
”I don't have a picture.”
”You've got a big bag. Probably all kinds of things in there. Maybe a few pictures.”
She said, ”Show me your wallet.”
”I don't have a wallet.”
”Everyone has a wallet.”
”Not me.”
”Prove it.”
”I can't prove a negative.”
”Empty your pockets.”
Reacher nodded. He understood.The boyfriend is some kind of a fugitive. She asked about my job. She needs to know I'm not an investigator. An investigator would have compromising ID in his wallet. He lifted his b.u.t.t off the bench and dug out his cash, his old pa.s.sport, his ATM card, his motel key. His toothbrush was in his room, a.s.sembled, standing upright in a plastic gla.s.s next to the sink. The girl looked at his stuff and said, ”Thanks.” He lifted his b.u.t.t off the bench and dug out his cash, his old pa.s.sport, his ATM card, his motel key. His toothbrush was in his room, a.s.sembled, standing upright in a plastic gla.s.s next to the sink. The girl looked at his stuff and said, ”Thanks.”
He said, ”Now show me his picture.”
”He's not my boyfriend.”
”Isn't he?”
”He's my husband.”
”You're young, to be married.”
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