you. USPS bureaucracy is about as safe as a Swiss bank.”
“The small key,” Neagley said. “Not his desk. Not a safe deposit box.”
Reacher nodded again.
“His post office box,” he said.
12
But United States Postal Service bureaucracy cut two ways. It was late in the afternoon. The dry cleaner’s was still open. The nail salon was open. The pharmacy was open. But the post office was closed. Lobby hours had ended at four o’clock.
“Tomorrow,” Neagley said. “We’re going to be in the car all day. We have to get to Swan’s place, too. Unless we separate.”
“It’s going to take two of us here,” Reacher said. “But maybe one of the others will show up and do some work.”
“I wish they would. And not because I’m lazy.” For form’s sake, like a little ritual, she pulled out her cell phone and checked the tiny screen.
No messages.
There were no messages at the hotel desk, either. No messages on the hotel voice mail. No e-mails on either one of Neagley’s laptop computers.
Nothing.
“They can’t just be ignoring us,” she said.
“No,” Reacher said. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“I’m getting a real bad feeling.”
“I’ve had a real bad feeling ever since I went to that ATM in Portland. I spent all my money taking someone to dinner. Twice. Now I wish we had stayed in and ordered pizza. She might have paid. I wouldn’t know about any of this yet.”
“She?”
“Someone I met.”
“Cute?”
“As a button.”
“Cuter than Karla Dixon?”
“Comparable.”
“Cuter than me?”
“Is that even possible?”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“Who?”
“The woman in Portland.”
“Why do you want to know that?”
Neagley didn’t answer. She just shuffled the five sheets of contact information like a card player and dealt Reacher two and kept three for herself. Reacher got Tony Swan and Karla Dixon. He used the landline on the credenza and tried Swan first. Thirty, forty rings, no answer. He dabbed the cradle and tried Dixon’s number. A 212 area code, for New York City. No answer. Six rings, and straight to a machine. He listened to Dixon’s familiar voice and waited for the beep and left her the same message he had left earlier: “This is Jack Reacher with a ten-thirty from Frances Neagley at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Los Angeles, California. Get off your ass and call her back.” Then he paused a beat and added: “Please, Karla. We really need to hear from you.” Then he hung up. Neagley was closing her cell phone and shaking her head.
“Not good,” she said.
“They could all be on vacation.”
“At the same time?”
“They could all be in jail. We were a pretty rough bunch.”
“First thing I checked. They’re not in jail.”
Reacher said nothing.
Neagley said, “You really liked Karla, didn’t you? You sounded positively tender there, on the phone.”
“I liked all of you.”
“But her especially. Did you ever sleep with her?”
Reacher said, “No.”
“Why not?”
“I recruited her. I was her CO. Wouldn’t have been right.”
“Was that the only reason?”
“Probably.”
“OK.”
Reacher asked, “What do you know about their businesses? Is there any good reason why they should all be out of contact for days at a time?”
“I guess O’Donnell could have to travel overseas,” Neagley said. “His practice is pretty general. Marital stuff could take him to hotels down in the islands, I guess. Or anyplace, if he’s chasing unpaid alimony. Child abductions or custody issues could take him anywhere. People looking to adopt sometimes send detectives to Eastern Europe or China or wherever to make sure things are kosher. There are lots of possible reasons.”
“But?”
“I’d have to talk myself into really believing one of them.”
“What about Karla?”
“She could be down in the Caymans looking for someone’s money, I guess. But I imagine she’d do that on-line from her office. It’s
“The small key,” Neagley said. “Not his desk. Not a safe deposit box.”
Reacher nodded again.
“His post office box,” he said.
12
But United States Postal Service bureaucracy cut two ways. It was late in the afternoon. The dry cleaner’s was still open. The nail salon was open. The pharmacy was open. But the post office was closed. Lobby hours had ended at four o’clock.
“Tomorrow,” Neagley said. “We’re going to be in the car all day. We have to get to Swan’s place, too. Unless we separate.”
“It’s going to take two of us here,” Reacher said. “But maybe one of the others will show up and do some work.”
“I wish they would. And not because I’m lazy.” For form’s sake, like a little ritual, she pulled out her cell phone and checked the tiny screen.
No messages.
There were no messages at the hotel desk, either. No messages on the hotel voice mail. No e-mails on either one of Neagley’s laptop computers.
Nothing.
“They can’t just be ignoring us,” she said.
“No,” Reacher said. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“I’m getting a real bad feeling.”
“I’ve had a real bad feeling ever since I went to that ATM in Portland. I spent all my money taking someone to dinner. Twice. Now I wish we had stayed in and ordered pizza. She might have paid. I wouldn’t know about any of this yet.”
“She?”
“Someone I met.”
“Cute?”
“As a button.”
“Cuter than Karla Dixon?”
“Comparable.”
“Cuter than me?”
“Is that even possible?”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“Who?”
“The woman in Portland.”
“Why do you want to know that?”
Neagley didn’t answer. She just shuffled the five sheets of contact information like a card player and dealt Reacher two and kept three for herself. Reacher got Tony Swan and Karla Dixon. He used the landline on the credenza and tried Swan first. Thirty, forty rings, no answer. He dabbed the cradle and tried Dixon’s number. A 212 area code, for New York City. No answer. Six rings, and straight to a machine. He listened to Dixon’s familiar voice and waited for the beep and left her the same message he had left earlier: “This is Jack Reacher with a ten-thirty from Frances Neagley at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Los Angeles, California. Get off your ass and call her back.” Then he paused a beat and added: “Please, Karla. We really need to hear from you.” Then he hung up. Neagley was closing her cell phone and shaking her head.
“Not good,” she said.
“They could all be on vacation.”
“At the same time?”
“They could all be in jail. We were a pretty rough bunch.”
“First thing I checked. They’re not in jail.”
Reacher said nothing.
Neagley said, “You really liked Karla, didn’t you? You sounded positively tender there, on the phone.”
“I liked all of you.”
“But her especially. Did you ever sleep with her?”
Reacher said, “No.”
“Why not?”
“I recruited her. I was her CO. Wouldn’t have been right.”
“Was that the only reason?”
“Probably.”
“OK.”
Reacher asked, “What do you know about their businesses? Is there any good reason why they should all be out of contact for days at a time?”
“I guess O’Donnell could have to travel overseas,” Neagley said. “His practice is pretty general. Marital stuff could take him to hotels down in the islands, I guess. Or anyplace, if he’s chasing unpaid alimony. Child abductions or custody issues could take him anywhere. People looking to adopt sometimes send detectives to Eastern Europe or China or wherever to make sure things are kosher. There are lots of possible reasons.”
“But?”
“I’d have to talk myself into really believing one of them.”
“What about Karla?”
“She could be down in the Caymans looking for someone’s money, I guess. But I imagine she’d do that on-line from her office. It’s
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