Part 20 (1/2)
”Not possible,” she said. ”I know that none of us died. I would have heard.”
”Us?”
”People in our position.”
”Somebody died.”
”People die all the time.”
”Young people? For no apparent reason?”
She didn't answer that, and he knew she never would. The waitress brought his coffee. He took a sip. It was not as good as Mrs. Gardner's, either in terms of brew or receptacle. He put the mug down and looked at the girl again and said, ”Whatever, Lucy. I wish you nothing but good luck, whatever the h.e.l.l you're doing and wherever the h.e.l.l you're going.”
”That's it? No more questions?”
”I'm just here to eat.”
He ate alone, because Lucy Anderson left before his steak arrived. She smiled and slid out of the booth and walked away. More accurately, she skipped away. Light on her feet, happy, full of energy. She pushed out through the door and instead of huddling into her s.h.i.+rt against the chill she squared her shoulders and turned her face upward and breathed the night air like she was in an enchanted forest. Reacher watched her until she was lost to sight and then gazed into s.p.a.ce until his food showed up.
He was through eating by ten-thirty and headed back to the motel. He dropped by the office, to pay for another night's stay. He always rented rooms one night at a time, even when he knew he was going to hang out in a place longer. It was a rea.s.suring habit. A comforting ritual, intended to confirm his absolute freedom to move on. The day clerk was still on duty. The stout woman. The nosy woman. He a.s.sembled a collection of small bills and waited for his change and said, ”Go over what you were telling me about the metal plant.”
”What was I telling you?”
”Violations. Real crimes. You were interested in why the plane flies every night.”
The woman said, ”So youare a cop.” a cop.”
”I used to be. Maybe I still have the old habits.”
The woman shrugged and looked a little sheepish. Maybe even blushed a little.
”It's just silly amateur stuff,” she said. ”That's what you'll think.”
”Amateur?”
”I'm a day trader. I do research on my computer. I was thinking about that operation.”
”What about it?”
”It seems to make way too much money. But what do I know? I'm not an expert. I'm not a broker or a forensic accountant or anything.”
”Talk me through it.”
”Business sectors go up and down. There are cycles, to do with commodity prices and supply and demand and market conditions. Right now metal recycling as a whole is in a down cycle. But that place is raking it in.”
”How do you know?”
”Employment seems to be way up.”
”That's pretty vague.”
”It files taxes, federal and state. I looked at the figures, to pa.s.s the time.”
And because you're a nosy neighbor,Reacher thought.
”And?” he asked.
”It's reporting great profits. If it was a public company, I'd be buying stock, big time. If I had any money, that is. If I wasn't a motel clerk.”
”OK.”
”But it's not a public company. It's private. So it's probably making more than it's reporting.”
”So you think they're cutting corners out there? With environmental violations?”
”I wouldn't be surprised.”
”Would that make much difference? I thought rules were pretty slack now anyway.”
”Maybe.”
”What about the plane?”
The woman glanced away. ”Just silly thoughts.”
”Try me.”
”Well, I was just thinking, if the fundamentals don't support the profits, and it's not about violations, then maybe there's something else going on.”
”Like what?”
”Maybe that plane is bringing stuff in every night. To sell. Like smuggling.”
”What kind of stuff?”
”Stuff that isn't metal.”
”From where?”
”I'm not sure.”
Reacher said nothing.