Lee Child - The Midnight Line

Reacher took a table against the wall, at a distance, where he could see out the window over the other guy’s head. Nothing was happening out there. The sentry was still leaning on the laundromat wall. Not moving. The lights were on inside. There were no customers yet.

A waitress came by and Reacher ordered his go-to breakfast, which was coffee plus a short stack of pancakes with eggs, bacon, and maple syrup. The coffee arrived first. Black, fresh, hot, and strong. Pretty good.

The Asian woman sat down at his table.

She took a small vinyl wallet from her purse. She opened it up and held it out for inspection. On the left was a gold-colored shield. On the right was a photo ID behind a plastic window. It said Nakamura, Gloria, Detective , Rapid City Police Department . It had a picture of her face. Dark eyes, a severe expression.

She said, “Were you in Wisconsin yesterday?”

Which told Reacher that Jimmy Rat had indeed made a phone call. And that the Rapid City PD was tapping Scorpio’s line. Which meant there was an active and ongoing investigation. Probably the typed transcript of Jimmy Rat’s call was already the new top sheet in the three-inch file.

But out loud he said, “Are you entitled to ask that question, even as a cop? I have the right to privacy, and the right to go where I want. It’s a First Amendment thing. And a Fourth.”

“Are you declining to answer my question?”

“No choice, I’m afraid. I was in the army. I swore an oath to uphold the Constitution. Can’t stop now.”

“What’s your name?”

“Reacher. First name Jack. No middle initial.”

“What did you do in the army, Mr. Reacher?”

“I was a military cop. A detective, just like you.”

“And now you’re a private investigator?”

She glanced at the guy in the necktie as she said it.

Reacher asked her, “Is that guy a private investigator?”

She said, “I decline to answer your question.”

He smiled.

He said, “I’m not a private investigator. Just a private citizen. What did you hear from Wisconsin?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“Cop to cop. Because that’s what we are.”

“Are we?”

“If you want to be.”

She put her ID wallet back in her purse and took out her phone. She swiped through to a section with audio recordings. She chose one and touched an on-screen symbol. Reacher heard a plastic and distorted version of barroom noise, and then Jimmy Rat’s voice. He recognized it right away. It sounded fast and nervous. It said, “Arthur, this is Jimmy. I just had a guy inquiring about an item I got from you. He seems set on working his way along the chain of supply. I didn’t tell him anything, but he already found me somehow, so what I’m thinking is maybe he’ll somehow find you, too.”

Nakamura touched the pause symbol.

Reacher said, “Why would that be me?”

She pressed play again.

Jimmy Rat said, “If he does, take him seriously. That’s my advice. This guy is like Bigfoot come out of the forest. Heads up, OK?”

Nakamura pressed stop.

“Bigfoot?” Reacher said. “That’s not very nice.”

She said, “What item?”

“Does it matter? All I want to do is ask Scorpio a question. Then I’ll be gone.”

“Suppose he doesn’t answer?”

“Jimmy in Wisconsin did.”

“Scorpio has protection.”

“So did Jimmy in Wisconsin.”

“What item?” Nakamura said again.

Reacher dug in his pocket and came out with the ring. West Point 2005 . The gold filigree, the black stone, the tiny size. He put it on the table. Nakamura picked it up. She tried it on. Third finger, right hand. It fit easily. Even loosely. But then, she was five feet nothing and weighed ninety-five pounds. Her fingers were about as thin as pencils.

She took the ring off again. She weighed it in her palm. She looked at the inside, at the engraving. She asked, “Who is S.R.S.?”

“I don’t know,” Reacher said.

“So what’s the story?”

“I found it in a pawn shop in a small town in Wisconsin. It’s not the kind of thing you would give up easily. This woman suffered four hard years to get it. Every day they tried to break her and make her quit. That’s how West Point works. And 9/11 had just happened. Those were serious years. And what came afterward was worse. Iraq, and Afghanistan. She might have sold her car, or the watch she got from her aunt for Christmas, but she wouldn’t have sold her ring.”

“Does this guy Jimmy own the pawn shop?”

Reacher shook his head. “He’s a local biker. Goes by the name Jimmy Rat. He wholesaled the ring along with a bunch of other trinkets. He told me he got it from Arthur Scorpio, here in Rapid City. So now I want to know who Arthur Scorpio got it from. That’s the only question I want to ask him.”

“He won’t tell you.”

“That’s what the guy in the pawn shop said about Jimmy Rat.”

Nakamura didn’t reply. Nothing was happening out the window. The waitress came back with Reacher’s meal. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, maple syrup. It looked good. He asked for more coffee. Nakamura ordered hot tea and a bran muffin.

Reacher put the ring back in his pocket.

The guy in the necktie got up and left.

Still nothing happening out the window.

Reacher asked, “What kind of private investigator is he?”

Nakamura said, “I didn’t say he was.”

“I told you stuff. Now you can tell me stuff.”

The waitress brought Nakamura’s muffin. It was about as big as her head. She broke off a pea-sized crumb and ate it.

She said, “He’s from Chicago. His name is Terry Bramall. He’s retired FBI. He finds missing persons.”

“Who is he looking for here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is Scorpio a kidnapper, too?”

“We don’t think so.”

“Yet Mr. Bramall from Chicago is watching his place. Not just this morning. He was in the neighborhood last night. I saw him in the convenience store.”

“You got in last night?”

Reacher nodded. “Pretty late.”

“You came straight here from Wisconsin. This is important to you.”

“I could have gotten here sooner. I took a nap in Sioux Falls.”

“Exactly how did you get Arthur Scorpio’s name from Jimmy Rat?”

“I asked him nicely.”

She didn’t reply. He carried on eating his breakfast. She sipped her tea. There was a long silence.

Then she said, “Arthur Scorpio is not well liked within the police department.”

“Understood,” Reacher said.

“Nevertheless I am officially required to warn you against committing any kind of crime inside our jurisdiction.”

“Don’t worry,” Reacher said. “All I’m going to do is ask him a question. No law against that.”

“What if he doesn’t answer?”

“I suppose that’s always a theoretical possibility,” Reacher said.

She took a business card from her purse. She put it on the table, near his coffee cup. She said, “Those are my numbers. Office and cell. Call me if you need to talk. Scorpio is a dangerous man. Never forget that.”

She put five bucks on the table. For her tea and her muffin. Then she got up and left. Out the door, along the sidewalk, and out of sight.

Still nothing happening out the window.

She had left her muffin. Whole and untouched, apart from the pea-sized crumb she had eaten. So Reacher ate the rest of it, with another mug of coffee. Then he called for his check, and asked for quarters in his change. He stopped in the restroom corridor, where there was a pay phone on the wall. Just like there was in the bar in Wisconsin. Which was where Jimmy Rat had made his call to Arthur Scorpio. The background noise proved it. Reacher had seen the guy loop around the line of bikes, to the rear of the building, where he must have gone in the back door, where he must have seen the phone on the wall, where he must have decided upon an immediate warning. Right there and then. While Reacher was still outside, still talking to the county cop.