"I've seen these people before," he said. "On Friday, up at the crossroads. Must have been after they got Eugene. They must have been scouting the area. Three of them. A woman, a big guy, a small dark guy. I can account for the woman and the big guy. So was it the small dark guy driving tonight?"
"I didn't really see."
"Gut feeling?" Reacher said. "First impression? You must have gotten a glimpse. Or seen a silhouette."
"Didn't you?"
He nodded. "He was facing away from me, looking down to where you fired from. There was a lot of glare. Some rain on his windshield. Then I was shooting, and then he took off. But I don't think he was small."
She nodded, too. "Gut feeling, he wasn't small. Or dark. It was just a blur, but I'd say he was big enough. Maybe fair-haired."
"Makes sense," Reacher said. "They left one of the team behind to guard Ellie."
"So who was driving?"
"Their client. The guy who hired them. That's my guess. Because they were short-handed, and because they needed local knowledge."
"He got away."
Reacher smiled. "He can run, but he can't hide."
* * *
They went to take a look at the wrecked VW. It was beyond help. Alice didn't seem too concerned about it. She just shrugged and turned away. Reacher took the maps from the glove compartment and turned the Jeep around and headed north. The drive back to the Red House was a nightmare. Crossing the mesa was O.K. But beyond the end of it the desert track was baked so hard that it wasn't absorbing any water at all. The rain was flooding all over the surface. The part that had felt like a riverbed was a riverbed. It was pouring with a fast torrent that boiled up over the tires. Mesquite bushes had been torn off their deep taproots and washed out of their shallow toeholds and whole trees were racing south on the swirl. They dammed against the front of the Jeep and rode with it until cross-currents tore them loose. Sinkholes were concealed by the tide. But the rain was easing fast. It was dying back to drizzle. The eye of the storm had blown away to the north.
They were right next to the motor barn before they saw it. It was in total darkness. Reacher braked hard and swerved around it and saw pale lights flickering behind some of the windows in the house.
"Candles," he said.
"Power must be out," Alice said. "The lightning must have hit the lines."
He braked again and slid in the mud and turned the car so the headlights washed deep into the barn.
"Recognize anything?" he asked.
Bobby's pick-up was back in its place, but it was wet and streaked with mud. Water was dripping out of the load bed and pooling on the ground.
"O.K.," Alice said. "So what now?"
Reacher stared into the mirror. Then he turned his head and watched the road from the north.
"Somebody's coming," he said.
There was a faint glow of headlights behind them, rising and falling, many miles distant, breaking into a thousand pieces in the raindrops on the Jeep's windows.
"Let's go say howdy to the Greets," he said.
He pulled Alice's gun out of his pocket and checked it. Never assume. But it was O.K. Cocked and locked. Seven left. He put it back in his pocket and drove across the soaking yard to the foot of the porch steps. The rain was almost gone. The ground was beginning to steam. The vapor rose gently and swirled in the headlight beams. They got out into the humidity. The temperature was coming back. So was the insect noise. There was a faint whirring chant all around. It sounded wary and very distant.
He led her up the porch steps and pushed open the door. The hallway had candles burning in holders placed here and there on all the available horizontal surfaces. They gave a soft orange glow and made the foyer warm and inviting. He ushered Alice through to the parlor. Stepped in behind her. More candles were burning in there. Dozens of them. They were glued to saucers with melted wax. There was a Coleman lantern standing on a credenza against the end wall. It was hissing softly and burning bright.
Bobby and his mother were sitting together at the red-painted table. Shadows were dancing and flickering all around them. The candlelight was kind to Rusty. It took twenty years off her. She was fully dressed, in jeans and a shirt. Bobby sat beside her, looking at nothing in particular. The tiny flames lit his face and made it mobile.
"Isn't this romantic," Reacher said.
Rusty moved, awkwardly.
"I'm scared of the dark," she said. "Can't help it. Always have been."
"You should be," Reacher said. "Bad things can happen in the dark."
She made no reply to that.
"Towel?" Reacher asked. He was dripping water all over the floor. So was Alice.
"In the kitchen," Rusty said.
There was a thin striped towel on a wooden roller. Alice blotted her face and hair and patted her shirt. Reacher did the same, and then he stepped back into the parlor.
"Why are you both up?" he asked. "It's three o'clock in the morning."
Neither of them answered.
"Your truck was out tonight," Reacher said.
"But we weren't," Bobby said. "We stayed inside, like you told us to."
Rusty nodded. "Both of us, together."
Reacher smiled.
"Each other's alibi," he said. "That would get them rolling in the aisles, down in the jury room."
"We didn't do anything," Bobby said.
Reacher heard a car on the road. Just the faint subliminal sound of tires slowing on soaked blacktop. The faint whistle of drive belts turning under a hood. Then there was a slow wet crunch as it turned under the gate. Grit and pebbles popped under the wheels as it drove up to the porch. There was a tiny squeal from a brake rotor and then silence as the engine died. The clunk of a door closing. Feet on the porch steps. The house door opening, footsteps crossing the foyer. Then the parlor door opened. The candle flames swayed and flickered. Hack Walker stepped into the room.
"Good," Reacher said. "We don't have much time."
"Did you rob my office?" Walker replied.
Reacher nodded. "I was curious."
"About what?"
"About details," Reacher said. "I'm a details guy."
"You didn't need to break in. I'd have shown you the files."
"You weren't there."
"Whatever, you shouldn't have broken in. You're in trouble for it. You can understand that, right? Big trouble."
Reacher smiled. Bad luck and trouble, been my only friends.
"Sit down, Hack," he said.
Walker paused a second. Then he threaded his way around all the chairs and sat down next to Rusty Greer. Candlelight lit his face. The lantern glowed to his left.
"You got something for me?" he asked.
Reacher sat opposite. Laid his hands palm-down on the wood.
"I was a cop of sorts for thirteen years," he said.
"So?"
"I learned a lot of stuff."
"Like?"
"Like, lies are messy. They get out of control. But the truth is messy, too. So any situation you're in, you expect rough edges. Anytime I see anything that's all buttoned up, I get real suspicious. And Carmen's situation was messy enough to be real."
"But?"
"I came to see there were a couple of edges that were just too rough."
"Like what?"
"Like, she had no money with her. I know that. Two million in the bank, and she travels three hundred miles with a single dollar in her purse? Sleeps in the car, doesn't eat? Leapfrogs from one Mobil station to the next, just to keep going? That didn't tie up for me."
"She was playacting. That's who she is."
"You know who Nicolaus Copernicus is?"
"Was," Walker said. "Some old astronomer. Polish, I think. Proved the earth goes around the sun."
Reacher nodded. "And much more than that, by implication. He asked us all to consider how likely is it that we're at the absolute center of things? What are the odds? That what we're seeing is somehow exceptional? The very best or the very worst? It's an important philosophical point."
"So?"
"So if Carmen had two million bucks in the bank but traveled with a single dollar just in case she bumped into a guy as suspicious as me, then she is undoubtedly the number-one best-prepared con artist in the history of the world. And old Copernicus asks me, how likely is that? That I should by chance happen to bump into the best con artist in the history of the world? His answer is, not very likely, really. He says the likelihood is, if I bump into a con artist at all, it'll be a very average and mediocre one."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying it didn't tie up for me. So it got me thinking about the money. And then something else didn't tie up."
"What?"
"Al Eugene's people messengered Sloops financial stuff over, right?"
"This morning. Feels like a long time ago."
"Thing is, I saw Al's office. When I went to the museum. It's literally within sight of the courthouse. It's a one-minute walk. So how likely is it they would messenger something over? Wouldn't they just walk it over? For a friend of Al's? Especially if it was urgent? It would take them ten times as long just to dial the phone for the courier service."
The candlelight danced and flickered. The red room glowed.