The lieutenant's eyesight was not as good as mine. He approached most of the way full of one kind of body language, which changed fast when he got close enough to read my rank insignia. He stopped a respectful four feet away and saluted and said, "Sir, the colonel would like a word with you."
Normally I treat lieutenants well. I was one myself, not so very long ago. But right then I wasn't in the mood for nonsense. So I just nodded and said, "OK, kid, tell him to step right up."
The kid said, "Sir, I think he would prefer it if you went to him."
"You must be confusing me with someone who gives a shit what he prefers."
The kid went a little pale and blinked twice and about-turned and headed back. He must have spent the walk time translating my response into acceptable terms, because there was no instant explosion. Instead the colonel paused a beat and then set off waddling in my direction. He stopped three feet away, and I saluted him very smartly, just to keep him confused.
He returned the salute and asked, "Do I know you, major?"
I said, "That depends on how much trouble you've been in, colonel. Have you ever been arrested?"
He said, "You're the other MP. You're Major Munro's opposite number."
"Or he's mine," I said. "Either way, I'm sure we both hope you have a great day."
"Why are you still here?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"I was told all issues had been resolved."
"The issues will be resolved when I say they are. That's the nature of police work."
"When did you last get orders?"
"Some days ago," I said. "They came from Colonel John James Frazer at the Pentagon, I believe."
"He died."
"I'm sure his successor will have new orders for me in due course."
"It could take weeks to install a successor."
"Then I guess I'm stuck here."
Silence.
Then the fat guy said, "Well, stay out of sight tonight. Understand? The senator must not see a CID presence here. There are to be no reminders of recent suspicions. None at all. Is that clear?"
I said, "Request noted."
"It's more than a request."
"Next up from a request is an order. But you're not in my chain of command."
The guy rehearsed a reply, but in the end he didn't come out with anything. He just turned on his heel and waddled back to his pals. And at that point I heard the phone ring inside the diner, very faintly through the door, and I beat the waitress to it by a step.
78
It was Frances Neagley on the line, from her desk in D.C. She said, "Bouton is a very uncommon name, apparently."
I said, "Did Stan Lowrey tell you to say that?"
"No, Stan wants to know if she's related to Jim Bouton, the baseball pitcher. Which she probably is, at least distantly, given how rare the name is. I, however, am basing my conclusion on an hour's solid work, which turned up no Boutons at all, much less any Alice Boutons. Having said that, right now I can't get any further than three years back with the Marines, which would miss her anyway, and if she was dishonorably discharged she probably didn't get the kind of job or income that would show up in too many other places."
"She probably lives in a trailer park," I said. "Nowhere near Pendleton, either. Southern California is too expensive. She must have moved."
"I have a call in to the FBI. And to a pal in USMC personnel command, for the ancient history. And Stan is hassling his banker friend, for the civilian stuff. Although she might not have had a bank account. Not if she lived in a trailer park. But whatever, I just wanted to let you know we're on it, that's all. We'll have more later."
"How much later?"
"Tonight, I hope."
"Before eight o'clock would be good."
"I'll do my best."
I hung up the phone and decided to stay in the diner, for lunch.
And inevitably Deveraux came in less than ten minutes later, in search of her own lunch, and, possibly, in search of me. She stepped inside and paused in front of the window, with the light behind her. Her hair lit up like a halo. Her shirt was very slightly translucent. I could see the curve of her waist. Or sense it, at least. Because I was familiar with it. I could see the swell of her breast.
She saw me staring, and she started toward me, and I kicked the opposite chair out an inch. She sat down and brought the backlight with her. She smiled and said, "How was your morning?"
I said, "No, how was yours?"
"Busy," she said.
"Making any progress?"
"With what?"
"Your three unsolved homicides."
"Apparently the army solved those homicides," she said. "And I'll be happy to do something about them as soon as the army shares its information."
I said nothing.
She said, "What?"
"You don't seem very interested in finding out who did it, that's all."
"How can I be interested?"
"The army says it was a civilian."
"I understand that."
"Do you know who it was?"
"What?"
"Do you know who it was?"
"Are you saying I do?"
I said, "I'm saying I know how these things work. There are some people you just can't arrest. Mrs. Lindsay would have been one of them, for instance. Suppose she'd gone the other way and gotten tooled up and gone and shot somebody. You wouldn't have arrested her for it."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying in any town there are people the sheriff won't arrest."
She was quiet a long moment.
"Maybe," she said. "Old man Clancy might be one of them. But he didn't cut any throats. And I'd arrest anyone else, whoever they were."
"OK," I said.
"Maybe you think I'm bad at my job."
I said nothing.
"Or maybe you think I've lost my edge because we have no crime here."
"I know you have crime here," I said. "I know you always did. I'm sure your father saw crimes I can't even imagine."
"But?"
"You don't have investigation here. And you never did. I bet ninety-nine times out of a hundred your father knew exactly who did what, right down to the details. Whether he could do anything about it was a different issue. And I bet the one case in a hundred where he didn't know who did it went unsolved."
"You're saying I'm a bad investigator."
"I'm saying County Sheriff is not an investigator's job. It needs other skills. All kinds of community stuff. And you're good at it. You have a detective for the other things. Except right now you don't."
"Any other issues, before we order?"
"Just one," I said.
"Which is?"
"Tell me again. You never dated Reed Riley, right?"
"Reacher, what is this?"
"It's a question."
"No, I never dated Reed Riley."
"Are you sure?"
"Reacher, please."
"Are you?"
"I didn't even know he was here. I told you that."
"OK," I said. "Let's order."
She was mad at me, obviously, but she was hungry, too. More hungry than mad, clearly, because she stayed at the table. Changing tables wouldn't have been enough. She would have had to storm out emphatically, and she wasn't prepared to do that on an empty stomach.
She ordered the chicken pie, of course.