Emerson plunged the tray into the barrel and pulled it out, full. “You think the price was high?”
“I don’t know the price. I was just thinking aloud.”
“I’ll tell you the price my son paid.” Emerson darted forward and dumped the gel from the tray on the floor around the guy’s feet. “He paid with his life.”
“No. Please. Stop. Your son died? That’s horrible. I’m sorry. But it’s not my fault.”
“I think it is.” Emerson struck another match. “And I think it’s fair you pay the same.”
* * *
—
Hannah kept her foot on the brake and the gear stick in neutral. “How can it be a trick? The company checked out. The letter’s genuine. If you don’t show up the guy who sent it could get spooked. He seemed twitchy enough already. We may never get another chance to meet him. To find out what Danny discovered. Which could be our only link to whoever killed Sam.”
Reacher said, “Have you still got the company information on your phone?”
Hannah nodded.
Reacher said, “Call the switchboard. Ask for Alan McInnes.”
Hannah shrugged, but she did as Reacher asked.
The switchboard operator said, “I’m sorry. Mr. McInnes isn’t in the office at present. Would you like his voicemail? But I should just let you know, Mr. McInnes is in Australia this week at a conference so it could be a while before he can respond.”
Hannah hung up the call. She said, “How did you know?”
* * *
—
Jed Starmer wanted the bike to be safe until it was time to return it to the messenger so he lifted it over a little stone wall at the side of the road, a hundred yards short of the prison, and covered the rest of the ground on foot.
Jed had never seen a place like the prison before. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. The metal fence with its rolls of razor wire scared him. He imagined being trapped behind it. He imagined the guards in the watchtowers shooting at him. The cameras panning from side to side on their poles, tracking him if he tried to run. The floodlights shining on him if he tried to hide. He shivered, despite the warmth of the morning sun.
Jed threaded his way through a bunch of folding chairs and wandered across to a temporary fence. It had been set up with a semicircle of sawhorses around the edge of the curved road that bulged out from the front of the prison. He picked a spot in line with a little outdoor stage. He guessed that was where the action would be. It was to the side of a building he thought might be the prison’s main entrance. It was hard to be sure because a kind of tent had been set up around it. On the other side of the stage there was a car. A BMW. Black, and very shiny. It was the only vehicle he could see. It was facing a platform with two TV cameras on it. A large one on a tripod, and a small one that someone had set on the floor. The only other people who were around were wearing uniforms. They were gray with yellow trim and peaked caps, like the private cops Jed had once seen at a mall.
Jed was tired and his mind started to drift. He thought about his dad. Inside the prison. Stuck there for years even though he had done nothing wrong. Desperate to get out. Jed couldn’t imagine how awful that would feel. How badly it could mess a person up. He began to wonder if the woman in the old VW had been right. Maybe it was a mistake to just show up.
* * *
—
Reacher said, “I found a book in the garage where Danny kept records of car things. The handwriting was the same as the address on the envelope I saw in Angela’s purse.”
Hannah said, “So Danny sent that letter to himself?”
Reacher nodded.
“Why?”
“To keep it safe. He found something out that he shouldn’t have. He realized he was in danger. Maybe he went to the police and picked up the same vibe you did, yesterday. Anyway, he figured if the proof was in the mail no one could find it. And take it. I bet it was a constant recurring thing. Every time it was delivered, I bet he mailed it straight back out.”
“Then one day he gave it to Angela? Why change his routine?”
“He didn’t give it to her. She found it.”
“Where?”
“In Danny’s mailbox. On Saturday morning. She heard about the fire and came by when he didn’t answer his phone. I looked, myself, just now. There’s some junk mail, loose, and an elastic band. The whole bunch came bundled together. Someone separated it. Took something. I thought it was Minerva, taking the letter we just opened. I was wrong. It was Angela.”
“Why would Angela look in Danny’s mailbox?”