Lee Child - One Shot

“Will he remember fourteen years ago?”

Mason nodded. “His long-term memory should be unimpaired. Different people seem to have different internal definitions of long- term, because there seems to be a literal chemical migration from one part of the brain to another, and no two brains are identical. The physical biology isn’t well understood. People like to use computer metaphors now, but that’s all wrong. It’s not about hard drives and random access memory. The brain is entirely organic. It’s like throwing a bag of apples down the stairs. Some bruise, some don’t. But I would say fourteen years counts as long-term for just about anybody.”

The waiting area went quiet. Reacher listened to the distant electronic pulse. It was a sinus rhythm, he guessed, from a machine that was either monitoring a heartbeat or causing one. It was running at about seventy beats a minute. It was a restful sound. He liked it. Then a door opened halfway down a corridor and Rosemary Barr stepped out of a room. She was showered and her hair was brushed but she looked thin and exhausted and sleepless and ten years older than the day before. She stood still for a moment and then looked right, looked left, and walked slowly toward the waiting area. Helen Rodin got up and went to meet her halfway. They stood together, talking low. Reacher couldn’t hear what they were saying. A two-way progress report, he guessed, first medical, then legal. Then Helen took Rosemary’s arm and led her onward to the group. Rosemary looked at the two psychiatrists, at Alan Danuta, at Reacher. She said nothing. Then she walked on alone toward the security desk. Didn’t look back.

“Avoidance,” Niebuhr said. “We’re all here to poke and prod at her brother, physically, mentally, legally, metaphorically. That’s invasive and unattractive. And to acknowledge us means to acknowledge her brother’s jeopardy.”

“Maybe she’s just tired,” Reacher said.

“I’m going in to see him now,” Helen said.

She walked back up the corridor and went into the room Rosemary had come out of. Reacher watched her until he heard the door close. Then he turned back to Niebuhr.

“Seen this kind of thing before?” he asked him.

“Coercion? Have you seen it before?”

Reacher smiled. Every psychiatrist he had ever met liked to answer questions with questions. Maybe they were taught to, day one at psychiatry school.

“I’ve seen it a lot,” he said.

“But?”

“Usually there was more evidence of a dire threat.”

“A threat against the sister isn’t dire? You came up with that hypothesis yourself, I believe.”

“His sister hasn’t been kidnapped. She’s not a prisoner somewhere. He could have arranged to have her safeguarded. Or told her to get out of town.”

“Exactly,” Niebuhr said. “We can only conclude that he was instructed not to do any such thing. Evidently he was told to leave her open, and ignorant, and vulnerable. That demonstrates to us how powerful the coercion must have been. And it demonstrated to him how powerful it was. And it demonstrated to him how powerless he was in comparison. Every day. He must have been living with deep dread, and helplessness, and guilt for his obedience.”

“Ever seen a rational man afraid enough to do what he did?”

“Yes,” Niebuhr said.

“Me too,” Reacher said. “Once or twice.”

“The threatener must be a real monster. Although I’d expect to see other factors present, as enhancers, or multipliers. Very likely a recent relationship, some kind of dependency, an infatuation, a desire to please, to impress, to be valued, to be loved.”

“A woman?”

“No, you don’t kill people to impress women. That usually has the opposite effect. This will be a man. Seductive, but not in a sexual way. Compelling, somehow.”

“An alpha male and a beta male.”

“Exactly,” Niebuhr said again. “With any final reluctance resolved by the threat to the sister. Possibly Mr. Barr was never entirely sure whether the threat was a joke or for real. But he chose not to test it. Human motivation is very complex. Most people don’t really know why they do things.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Do you know why you do things?”

“Sometimes,” Reacher said. “Other times I don’t have the faintest idea. Maybe you could tell me.”

“I’m normally very expensive. That’s why I can afford to do things like this for nothing.”

“Maybe I could pay you five bucks a week, like rent.”

Niebuhr smiled uncertainly.

“Uh, no,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

Then the waiting area went quiet again and stayed quiet for ten long minutes. Danuta stretched his legs way out and worked on papers inside an open briefcase that he kept balanced on his knees. Mason had her eyes closed and might have been asleep. Niebuhr stared into space. The three of them were clearly accustomed to waiting. As was Reacher himself. He had been a military cop for thirteen years, and Hurry Up and Wait was the real MP motto. Not Assist, Protect, Defend . He focused on the distant electronic heartbeat, and passed the time.

Grigor Linsky turned his car around and watched the hospital doors in his mirror. Made a bet with himself that nothing would happen for at least sixty minutes. At least sixty, but not more than ninety. Then he rehearsed an order of priority in case they didn’t all come out together. Who should he ignore and who should he tail? In the end he decided to stick with whoever acted alone. He figured that was most likely to be the soldier. His guess was the lawyers and the doctors would head back to the office. They were predictable. The soldier wasn’t.

Helen Rodin came out of James Barr’s room fifteen minutes after she went in. She walked straight back to the waiting area. Everyone looked at her. She looked at Mary Mason.

“Your turn,” she said. Mason stood up and walked away down the corridor. She took nothing with her. No briefcase, no paper, no pen. Reacher watched her until Barr’s door closed behind her. Then he leaned back in his chair, in the silence.

“I liked him,” Helen said, to nobody in particular.

“How is he?” Niebuhr asked.

“Weak,” Helen said. “Smashed up. Like he got hit by a truck.”

“Is he making sense?”

“He’s coherent. But he doesn’t remember anything. And I don’t think he’s faking.”

“How far back is he blanking?”

“I can’t tell. He remembers listening to a baseball game on the radio. Could have been last week or last month.”

“Or last year,” Reacher said.

“Did he accept your representation?” Danuta asked.

“Verbally,” Helen said. “He can’t sign anything. He’s handcuffed to the bed.”

“Did you walk him through the charges and the evidence?”

“I had to,” Helen said. “He wanted to know why I thought he needed a lawyer.”

“And?”

“He assumes he’s guilty.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Alan Danuta closed his briefcase and took it off his knees and put it on the floor. Sat up straight, fast, all in one fluid movement.

“Welcome to the gray areas,” he said. “This is where good law comes from.”

“Nothing good about it,” Helen said. “Not so far.”

“We absolutely cannot let him go to trial. The government injured him through its own negligence and now it wants to put him on trial for his life? I don’t think so. Not if he can’t even remember the day in question. What kind of a defense could he conduct?”

“My father will have kittens.”

“Obviously. We’ll have to cut him out. We’ll have to go straight to federal court. It’s a Bill of Rights issue anyway. Federal, then Appeals, then the Supremes. That’s the process.”