Lee Child - The Midnight Line

The Toyota turned in, and started climbing.

Chapter 21

The old homestead was both old and a homestead. It was a classic piece of western real estate, with wide tawny pastures, and dark green conifer trees, and outcrops of rock, and bubbling blue water in streams through the bottoms. Way in the distance were the Rocky Mountains, just hints in the mist. The main house was a spreading log construction with all kinds of extra wings built out. There were log barns and log garages. A lot of logs, Reacher thought, and all of them old-school, huge and heavy, hard as a rock, smoothed by axes and joined by pegs.

Like an old-time travel poster on an airport wall.

Except for a new-model rental sedan parked at an angle, and a woman standing next to it.

The sedan was a handsome item with a Chevrolet grille, basic red, with barcodes in all the back windows. The woman was small and slender. Maybe five-two and a hundred pounds. She was wearing boots, and boot-cut blue jeans, and a gauzy white shirt under an open leather jacket. She had a purse on her shoulder. She had long thick hair, heaped and wild and tangled, most of it pale red, some of it bleached by the sun. Her face was like a picture in a book. Pale flawless skin, perfect bones, delicate features. Green eyes, frank and open. A red mouth, confident, in control, almost smiling. Radiant. Composed. She had to be thirty-something. But she looked brand new.

Like a movie star.

“Shit,” Bramall said. “That’s Mrs. Mackenzie.”

The twin sister. An exact replica. Army minimum for women was four-ten and ninety-one pounds. Sanderson would have gotten in comfortably. But everything else would have been twice as hard. From that point onward. Especially with the face. It was drop-dead spectacular.

Bramall got out of the car. He took a couple of steps, and stopped. So did she. Then Reacher got out. He heard Bramall say, “Mrs. Mackenzie, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

She said, “One of those things. The text didn’t send till we landed. You thought I was leaving Chicago. Actually I was leaving the Hertz office in Laramie.”

“I was close by.”

“Of course you were. For which I apologize most sincerely. Fact and logic brought you to Wyoming, but I wouldn’t let you get all the way here. I told you it was impossible she would come back.”

“What changed?”

“You should introduce me to your friend.”

Reacher stepped up and said his name and shook her hand. It felt like a dove’s wing in a gorilla’s paw.

“What changed?” Bramall said again.

“Now I’m afraid nothing has changed,” Mackenzie said. “This place is empty. I think I made a mistake. I wasted a day. I apologize.”

“Why would she come back here?”

“Suddenly I thought familiarity might be important to her. I try to think like her. We had some good times here. Eighteen years of stability. Since then she’s had none. I thought it might be something she’s craving.”

Reacher looked up at the house.

He asked, “How long has it been empty?”

She said, “I think it’s just someone’s summer house now.”

“It’s still summer.”

“They must have skipped this year.”

“Do you remember who bought it?”

Mackenzie shook her head. “I’m not sure we ever knew. I was away in school, and Rose was at West Point.”

“You call her Rose?”

“We insisted. Jane and Rose.”

“How did you feel when you found out your folks had sold the place?”

“May I know the root of your interest in my family’s affairs?”

So Reacher ran through the story one more time, from the bus out of Milwaukee all the way to the there and then across the Snowy Range. But some kind of instinct made him smooth it out as he went. He stayed strictly on the poignant pawned-ring track, and didn’t mention either Scorpio or Billy, or speculate about anyone’s specific occupation. He ended with the meager trove of evidence from Sy Porterfield’s hall closet, and his living room sofa, and his master bathroom, and his laundry room.

Mackenzie was quiet a beat.

Then she said, “What size were the boots?”

“Six,” Reacher said.

“OK.”

He looked at her hair. Heaped, wild, tangled. Untamed was the word. Must take forever to wash.

An exact replica.

He said, “Show me your comb.”

She paused again.

Then she said, “Yes, I see.”

She dug in her bag and came out with a pink plastic comb. All the teeth were widely spaced. Not half and half, like a regular comb.

Reacher said, “Have you always used that brand?”

“It’s the only kind that works.”

“It’s the same.”

“The boots fit, too.”

He took the ring from his pocket and balanced it on his palm. She picked it up, carefully, between delicate fingers.

West Point 2005 .

The gold filigree, the black stone, the tiny size.

She read the engraving.

She selected a finger and pulled off a designer bauble as thick and gold as a false tooth. In its place she slipped her sister’s trophy. Fourth finger, right hand. It sat there like it should. The perfect fit. The perfect size. Prominent, like it should be, and proud, like it should be, but not as big as a carnival prize. Reacher pictured the same hand, but maybe worn down a bit leaner, with a darker tan, and a couple of nicks and cuts healed white.

He pictured the same face, the same way.

Mackenzie said, “You mentioned that you bought the ring.”

“Correct,” Reacher said.

“May I buy it back from you?”

“It’s not for sale. It’s a gift for your sister.”

“I could give it to her.”

“So could the lady at West Point. Eventually.”

“You feel a need to hand it over personally?”

“I need to know she’s OK.”

“You never met her.”

“Makes no difference. Should it? I don’t know. You tell me.”

Mackenzie took the ring off. She handed it back.

Some kind of look on her perfect face.

Reacher said, “I know.”

“You know what?”

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re here because it’s family, and Mr. Bramall is here because he’s getting paid. Why am I here? I’m giving you the impression I’m some kind of a weird obsessive. Maybe a couple soldiers short of a squad. I don’t mean to. But I get it. I’m making you feel uncomfortable.”

“Not at all.”

“You’re very polite.”

“I assume it’s an honor thing. Rose was in a world I didn’t understand.”

“What we need now is solid information. Are you confident this place is empty?”

“There are dust sheets everywhere and the water is off.”

“So where would Rose go, if not here?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“What is?” Reacher said.

“I should be on a psychiatrist’s couch to answer these questions.”

“Why?”

“We participated in a fantasy. OK? We were required to. As if we were lords of the manor and owned the whole valley. As if when the neighbors built, we were practically giving them almshouses out of sheer benevolence. Obviously later on we discovered Father had to sell some acres. But it was like we still owned them. Like slave quarters. We lorded it over the poor people. We were in and out anytime we wanted.”

“Which of the three would she go to now?”

“Any of them.”

“You want a ride? In the front, if you like. You’re paying the bills, after all.”

—

Reacher got in the back, and got comfortable. Mackenzie took his place in the passenger seat. Bramall drove, but not back to the road. Mackenzie showed him different tracks. The ways they went as kids. Easy enough for a slip of a girl to skip along. Harder for the car. But it made it, bending saplings, all four tires grabbing, like a ponderous cat. The nearest neighbor slid into view. Not a trophy cabin. Built before the word existed. The product of a more innocent age, when a vacation house could be a plain and simple thing. The view was a picture postcard.