Lee Child - One Shot

“So, what can I tell you?” Mike asked eventually.

“You were Mr. Barr’s friend,” Helen said.

Mike glanced at the living room door. It was open.

“Just a neighbor,” he said.

“His sister called you a friend.”

“We were neighborly. Some folks might call that friendly.”

“Did you spend time together?”

“We would chat a little if he walked by with his dog.”

“About what kind of thing?”

“Our yards,” Mike said. “If he was decorating he would ask me about paint. I asked him who fixed his driveway. Things like that.”

“Baseball?”

Mike nodded. “We would talk about that.”

Tammy came in with three cups of coffee on a tray. There was cream and sugar and a small plate of cookies with them, and three paper napkins. She put the tray on a low table and sat down next to her husband.

“Help yourself,” she said.

“Thank you,” Helen said. “Thank you very much.”

They all served themselves and there was silence in the room.

“Were you ever in Mr. Barr’s house?” Helen asked.

Mike glanced at his wife.

“Once or twice,” he said.

“They weren’t friends,” Tammy said.

“Was it a surprise?” Helen asked. “That he did what he did?”

“Yes,” Tammy said. “It was.”

“So you don’t need to feel bad about mixing with him before. It wasn’t something that anyone could have predicted. These things are always a surprise. Neighbors never know.”

“You’re trying to get him off.”

“Actually I’m not,” Helen said. “But there’s a new theory that he didn’t act alone. I’m just trying to make sure that the other man gets punished, too.”

“It wasn’t Mike,” Tammy said.

“I don’t think it was,” Helen said. “Really. Not for a moment. Not now that I’ve met him. But whoever the other man is, you or Mike might know him or have heard about him or even seen him coming and going.”

“Barr didn’t really have friends,” Mike said.

“Nobody?”

“Not that he spoke about to me. He lived with his sister until she moved out. I guess that was enough for him.”

“Does the name Charlie mean anything to you?”

Mike just shook his head.

“What did Mr. Barr do when he had a job?”

“I don’t know,” Mike said. “He hasn’t worked for years.”

“I’ve seen a man over there,” Tammy said.

“When?”

“Now and then. Occasionally. He comes and goes. All times of the day and night, like a friend would.”

“For how long?”

“Ever since we moved here. I spend more time at home than Mike does. So I notice more.”

“When was the last time you saw this man?”

“Last week, I think. A couple of times.”

“Friday?”

“No, earlier. Tuesday and Wednesday, maybe.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s small. He’s got funny hair. Black, like hog bristles.”

Charlie , Helen thought.

Eileen Hutton walked three fast blocks south from the Marriott and arrived at the courthouse at one minute to four exactly. Alex Rodin’s secretary came down to escort her up to the third floor. Depositions were taken in a large conference room because most witnesses brought their own lawyers and court reporters with them. But Hutton was on her own. She sat down alone on one long side of a large table and smiled as a microphone was placed in front of her and a video camera was focused on her face. Then Rodin came in and introduced himself. He brought a small team with him. An assistant, his secretary, a court reporter with her machine.

“Would you state your full name and title for the record?” he asked.

Hutton looked at the camera.

“Eileen Ann Hutton,” she said. “Brigadier General, Judge Advocate General’s Corps, United States Army.”

“I hope this won’t take long,” Rodin said.

“It won’t,” Hutton said.

And it didn’t. Rodin was trawling in a sea he hadn’t charted. He was like a man in a darkened room. All he could do was dart around randomly and hope he bumped into something. After six questions he realized he was never going to.

He asked, “How would you characterize James Barr’s military service?”

“Exemplary without being exceptional,” Hutton said.

He asked, “Was he ever in trouble?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Hutton said.

He asked, “Did he ever commit a crime?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Hutton said.

He asked, “Are you aware of recent events in this city?”

“Yes, I am,” Hutton said.

He asked, “Is there anything in James Barr’s past that might shed light on the likelihood or otherwise of his having been involved in those events?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Hutton said.

Finally he asked, “Is there any reason why the Pentagon might be more aware of James Barr than any other veteran?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Hutton said.

So at that point Alex Rodin gave up.

“OK,” he said. “Thank you, General Hutton.”

Helen Rodin walked thirty yards and stood on the street for a moment outside James Barr’s house. It had police tape across the entryway and a plywood sheet nailed over the broken front door. It looked forlorn and empty. There was nothing to see. So she used her cell phone to call a cab and had it take her to the county hospital. It was after four o’clock in the afternoon when she arrived and the sun was in the west. It lit up the white concrete building with pale shades of orange and pink.

She rode up to the sixth floor and signed in with the Board of Corrections and found the tired thirty-year-old doctor and asked him about James Barr’s condition. The doctor didn’t really answer. He wasn’t very interested in James Barr’s condition. That was clear. So Helen just walked past him and opened Barr’s door.

Barr was awake. He was still handcuffed to the cot. His head was still clamped. His eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling. His breathing was low and slow and the heart monitor was beeping less than once a second. His arms were trembling slightly and his handcuffs were rattling against the bed frame. Quiet, dull, metallic sounds.

“Who’s there?” he said.

Helen stepped close and leaned into his field of view.

“Are they looking after you?” she asked.

“I have no complaints,” he said.

“Tell me about your friend Charlie.”

“Is he here?”

“No, he’s not here.”

“Did Mike come?”

“I don’t think they allow visitors. Just lawyers and family.”

Barr said nothing.

“Are those your only friends?” Helen said. “Mike and Charlie?”

“I guess,” Barr said. “And Mike’s more of a neighbor.”

“What about Jeb Oliver?”

“Who?”

“He works at the auto parts store.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Are you sure?”

Barr’s eyes moved and his lips pursed, like a man searching his memory, trying to be helpful, desperate for approval.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I never heard of him.”

“Do you use drugs?”

“No,” Barr said. “Never. I wouldn’t do that.” He was quiet for a beat. “Truth is I don’t really do much of anything. I just live. That’s why this whole thing makes no sense to me. I spent fourteen years in the world. Why would I throw it all away now?”

“Tell me about Charlie,” Helen said.

“We hang out,” Barr said. “We do stuff.”

“With guns?”

“A little bit.”

“Where does Charlie live?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long have you been friends?”

“Five years. Maybe six.”

“And you don’t know where he lives?”

“He never told me.”

“He’s been to your place.”