The fat man hovered nervously behind the reception counter and Reacher took a look at the bullet hole in his wall. It was directly above the office door, maybe nine inches left of centre, close to the ceiling, maybe an inch and a half below the crown moulding. It looked like the round had hit near a stud or a screw. The impact had blasted off a large shallow flake of plaster, about the size of a teacup saucer, and the flake had left a corresponding crater. The centre of the crater was drilled with the .22 hole, neat and precise, a little smaller than a pencil.
Reacher backed off and stood where McQueen had stood. He turned sideways. He bent his knees and lowered himself five inches, to make himself McQueen's height. He raised his arm and straightened it and pointed his index finger at the hole.
He closed one eye.
He shook his head.
It had been a bad miss, in his opinion. Because it would have missed even if he hadn't fallen down on the floor. It would have missed even if he had stretched up high on tiptoes. It would have missed even if he had jumped up in the air. It might have grazed a seven-five NBA star, but at six-five Reacher would have been OK under any circumstances.
If he was going to miss, he was going to miss high.
Civilian marksmanship was appalling, for a population obsessed with guns.
Reacher straightened up again and turned back to the fat man and said, 'I need to use your phone.'
THIRTY-ONE
JULIA SORENSON DROVE some fast minutes uninterrupted, and then her phone rang again, loud over the speakers. Her duty officer, in Omaha. He said, 'It's your lucky night. I think.'
'How so?'
'The same guy is on the line again.'
'The nasal guy?'
'Right now, live and in person.'
'Where is he?'
'On the same phone that just called in the 911 in Iowa.'
'The motel lobby thing?'
'You got it.'
'How far out are the Iowa cops?'
'A long way. The roadblocks screwed them up.'
'OK, put the guy on.'
'You sure? Stony will want this one.'
'My case,' Sorenson said. 'Put the guy on. I'll deal with Stony later.'
She heard clicks and hiss and then a new acoustic. A room, not large. Hard surfaces. Probably an office. Laminate desks, metal cabinets. She heard the nasal voice. It said, 'Hello?'
She said, 'This is FBI Special Agent Julia Sorenson. What is your name, sir?'
Reacher put an elbow on the fat man's laminate desk and trapped the receiver against his shoulder. He said, 'I'm not going to tell you my name. Not yet, anyway. We need to talk first.'
The woman named Sorenson said, 'About what?'
She was from Minnesota, Reacher thought. Originally. She sounded a little Scandinavian, like her name. And she seemed businesslike. She didn't waste words. She was direct and to the point. He said, 'I need to understand my personal situation.'
'Is Karen Delfuenso still alive?'
'As far as I know.'
'Then it's her personal situation we should be considering.'
'I am considering it,' Reacher said. 'That's my point. Are you going to slow me down or help me out?'
'With what?'
'Finding her.'
'You're no longer with her?'
'No. They shot at me and drove off. Delfuenso is still in the car.'
'Who are you?'
'I'm not going to tell you my name.'
'No, I mean I need to understand your involvement.'
'I have no involvement.'
'You were seen driving the car.'
'They asked me to.'
'So you're their driver?'
'I never saw them before.'
'What does that mean? You were what, a random stranger? A passerby? And they just stopped and asked you to drive their car?'
'I was hitching rides. They picked me up.'
'Where?'
'In Nebraska.'
'And they asked you to drive the car? Is that normal?'
'Not in my experience.'
No response from Sorenson.
Reacher said, 'I think they were expecting roadblocks and they wanted cover. I think they were anticipating a three-person APB, so they wanted four people in the car. I think they wanted someone else at the wheel, not one of them. Someone the cops would see first. My busted nose was a bonus. I bet that was ninety per cent of the description you got. A guy with his face smashed in.'
'A gorilla.'
'What?'
'A gorilla with its face smashed in. Not very nice, I know.'
'Not very nice to the gorilla,' Reacher said. 'But whatever, I was useful to them. But then they came off the Interstate. So they didn't need me any more.'
'So they shot you? Are you hurt?'
'I said they shot at me. They missed.'
'Do you know where they're going?'
'No idea.'
'Then how can you find Delfuenso?'
'I'll think of something.'
'If they don't need you any more, they don't need her any more, either. Just her car.'
'So we'd better be quick.'
'I'm still an hour away.'
'Are the troopers coming?'
'They're all behind me.'
Reacher said, 'I've lost them anyway. The roads out here are impossible. I'm going to have to come at this from a different direction.'
'What were you doing in Nebraska?'
'None of your business.'
'Is that where you broke your nose?'
'I don't remember.'
'The sergeant at the roadblock said you admitted you'd been fighting.'
'Not really. I said he should see the other guy. That was all. It was a conventional pleasantry.'
'He told us you said the other guy was in a state other than Iowa.'
'I can't comment on what he told you. I wasn't there for that conversation.'
'Was the other guy in Nebraska?'
'You're wasting time.'
'I'm not. I'm driving as fast as I can. What else can I do at the moment?'
'Drive faster still.'
Sorenson asked, 'Where were you going?'
Reacher said, 'When?'
'When they picked you up.'
'Virginia.'
'Why?'
'None of your business.'
'What's in Virginia?'
'Many things. It's an important state. Twelfth largest in the Union in terms of population. Thirteenth, in terms of GDP. You could look it up.'
'You're not convincing me. You're not helping your personal situation.'
'Why am I calling you?'
'Maybe you want a deal.'
'I don't. I don't need a deal. I need to help Delfuenso if I can, and then I need to go to Virginia.'
'Why would you need to help Delfuenso?'
'Why wouldn't I? I'm a human being.'
No answer from Sorenson.
Reacher asked, 'What did those guys do, anyway?'
'I think I won't discuss that with you. Not yet.'
'I know they jacked Delfuenso's car. I know they had blood on their clothes.'
'How do you know that? They bought shirts and changed.'
'Delfuenso told me.'
'You talked?'
'She blinked it out. In secret. A simple letter code.'
'Smart woman. Brave woman, too.'
'I know,' Reacher said. 'She warned me about the guns. I let her down.'
'Evidently.'
'You didn't do so great either, with the two-man APB.'
'One would think a BOLO for two men would logically include more than two. By a simple inference.'
'Troopers don't infer things. They don't take the initiative. Nine times out of ten it gets them in trouble.'
Sorenson asked, 'How is Delfuenso doing?'
Reacher said, 'She's not exactly having the time of her life.'
'She has a kid back home.'
'I know,' Reacher said. 'She told me.'
Sorenson asked, 'Do you have access to a vehicle?'
Reacher said, 'Not really. There are a couple here I might be able to borrow, but it's pointless anyway. Those guys could be anywhere by now.'
'What's your name?'
'Not yet.'
'OK, stay right where you are. I'll see you when I get there.'
'You might,' Reacher said. 'Or you might not.'
Drive faster still, the nasal guy had said, and Sorenson tried very hard to. She eased up to nearly a hundred miles an hour, which was outside her personal comfort zone. But the road was straight and wide and empty. I never saw them before, he had said. I was hitching rides. Did she believe him? Maybe. Or maybe not. It was a very neat and comprehensive explanation of the facts. Therefore perhaps suspicious in itself. Because real life was neither neat nor comprehensive. Not usually. And who hitchhiked any more? Especially in the wintertime? The guy sounded educated. And not noticeably young. Not a normal hitchhiking demographic. Statistics. The Bureau found them to be a useful guide.