Hannah continued toward the opposite wall. She stopped below a spot where a pipe emerged from the brickwork. It was plastic, maybe three inches in diameter, and it ran vertically down before burrowing into the dirt. A drain, Reacher guessed. From a laundry room, or a kitchen or bathroom.
Hannah said, “The car was right here. By this pipework. On this side. So it was facing away from Sam’s door. If anyone was in it, they couldn’t have been watching his place.”
Reacher caught up with her. He was thinking, Cars have mirrors. And the guy who had pushed Angela was experienced. As was his buddy, the driver. As were the two guys Reacher had encountered at The Pineapple. So they would all understand the value of discretion. Reacher was about to mention that when he noticed something about the ground near Hannah’s feet. There was a patch that was a little darker than the rest. Not much. Just a fraction of a shade. But discernible. It started at the base of the pipe and fanned out in a semicircle, close to three feet in diameter, fading as it went. There must have been a leak from the drain. Just a gradual one. Not enough to turn the dirt to mud. Not foul-smelling or full of chemicals. Nothing to warrant an urgent repair.
Reacher crouched down and took a closer look at the damp section of earth. It was basically flat, though not entirely smooth. The surface had been disturbed. Probably by grit and gravel blown in the wind. But along with the natural scrapes and scratches, Reacher could see a strip made up of more regular shapes. Faint, but definitely there. A tread pattern. From a tire. It was wide, like the kind a high-performance sedan would have.
“Could you get a picture of that?” Reacher pointed at the track.
Hannah pulled out her phone and fired off half a dozen photographs. “You really think someone was watching us?”
“Too early to say.”
Hannah suddenly shivered, despite the sun. “God, I saw them. Their car, anyway. And if they were…then they…poor Sam.”
“You should stay somewhere else for a few nights. Have you got family nearby? Friends?”
“No. It’s just me. I’ll check into a hotel.”
“Make it one in another town.”
“This is all too much.” Hannah sighed. “No. It’s not. I’ll be OK. I guess I better grab some things. What are you going to do?”
“Talk to Harewood. Have him send some technicians down here.”
Hannah took a step toward her apartment then stopped again. “Damn it. Look at that.”
“What?”
“Sam’s mailbox.” Hannah pointed to a mailbox on a post next to Sam’s parking space. It was a simple affair, corrugated steel, pressed into shape, and painted red just like his truck.
“What about it?”
“It’s not shut properly.”
Hannah was right. The mailbox’s flap was open a fraction.
“Sam hated that.” Hannah marched across to the box. “He liked it closed all the way. He was always chewing out the mail carrier if he didn’t do it right.” Hannah gave the front of the mailbox a hefty slap with her palm and its lid clicked into place. Then she grabbed it and pulled it open again. “Better see what’s been delivered, I guess. Could be something urgent.”
Hannah reached inside and pulled out a single piece of paper. It had no envelope and it was folded into thirds. Hannah glanced at Reacher then unfolded the page. She straightened it. Read it. Then her mouth sagged open and the paper slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the ground. Reacher scooped it up. He saw that it wasn’t addressed. It wasn’t signed. There were just two lines of printed words:
Wiles Park. At 1:00 p.m. Wednesday. The bench under the tree. Bring the proof. Disobey and your next-door neighbor will be in the hospital by sundown.
Reacher handed the paper back to Hannah and said, “Where’s Wiles Park?”
“Near the center of town.” Hannah’s voice was quiet and hollow. “Fifteen minutes away, maybe. If you hurry.”
The note said 1:00 p.m. The clock in Reacher’s head told him that only left ten minutes’ leeway.
Harewood and his technicians would have to wait.
Chapter 17
The sky gradually brightened and the Greyhound bus continued to thump and rumble its way east. It crossed the rest of Arizona, cut the corner of New Mexico, and dropped diagonally down into Texas. With every mile Jed Starmer grew more accustomed to its sounds. He became less likely to be disturbed. But also less tired due to all his hours of sleep, so one effect balanced out the other, meaning that it took him around the same length of time to wake up when the bus stopped in El Paso as it had done in Phoenix.