The voice filling the car said, 'Sheriff, I'm Anthony Perry, the SAC at the Omaha FBI. The Bureau has an interest in a situation that may be developing in your neck of the woods.'
'And what situation would that be, sir?'
'I believe you may have met Agent Sorenson from my office.'
'I had that pleasure last night. A mighty fine young woman. You must be proud to have her working for you, sir.'
Sorenson laid her head back and closed her eyes.
Perry said, 'Well, yes, but that's beside the point right now. We picked up a report from the Nebraska State Police that a child went missing this morning.'
'Sad but true, sir.'
'I believe Agent Sorenson may have headed directly to you as a result.'
'That's good,' Reacher said. 'I'll be glad of all the help I can get.'
He gulped saliva past his finger.
Perry said, 'Are you OK, sheriff?'
'I'm tired,' Reacher said. 'I'm an old man and I've been awake for a long time.'
'You haven't seen Agent Sorenson today?'
'No, not yet, but I'll be sure to watch out for her.'
'It's not that simple, sheriff. I believe she may have detoured on her way here with a male suspect. I believe that male suspect may have somehow overpowered her and may be currently holding her hostage.'
'Well, sir, I can certainly see how you might describe that as a situation. Yes, indeed. But you don't need my permission to come look for her. I think you're entitled to take care of your own people. And you're always welcome here.'
'No, I can't spare the manpower,' Perry said. 'We can't be everywhere at once. I'm asking you and your boys to be my eyes and ears down there. Can you do that for me?'
'Do what exactly?'
'Let me know immediately if you see Agent Sorenson, or her car. And if possible take her companion into custody.'
'Do you have a description?'
'He's a big guy with a broken nose.'
'Is he dangerous?'
'You should treat him as extremely dangerous. Don't take unnecessary risks.'
'You mean shoot first and ask questions later?'
'I think that would be a very sound operating principle, under the circumstances.'
'OK, you got it, Mr Perry. You can cross my county off your list of concerns, as of right now. If he comes here, we'll deal with him.'
'Thank you, sheriff. I very much appreciate your cooperation.'
'We're here to serve, sir,' Reacher said. He took his finger out of his mouth and pressed the red button on the phone.
Sorenson didn't speak.
Reacher said, 'What? That's a good result. This whole county is ours now. We can come and go as we please.'
'But suppose we have to stray out of this county? Don't you get it? You're a wanted man. He's putting a hit on you.'
'People have tried that too,' Reacher said. 'And I'm still here, and they're not.'
A mile later Sorenson called her tech team to let them know she had a new cell number. Her guys didn't answer, so she had to leave a voice mail, which Reacher took to be a good sign, because it likely meant that right then they were hard at work, bent over a stainless steel mortuary table somewhere. He didn't envy them their task. Like all cops he had attended autopsies. A rite of passage, and a character thing, and sometimes important to the chain of evidence. Decomposed floaters were the worst, but badly burned people were a close second. Like carving a London broil, but not exactly.
He stopped a couple of miles short of the crossroads. He didn't want to be seen driving the dead sheriff's car. Not by local people and especially not by Puller or any of the other deputies. He didn't want controversy or radio chatter. Not at that point. At that point anonymity was his friend. He found a field entrance and backed up into the tractor ruts and left the motor running for the heat. He had about half a tank of gas. He stared straight ahead out the windshield at flat brown dirt that ran all the way to the horizon. Six months from then the car would have been hidden by green leaves, in the middle of thousands or tens of thousands of tons of produce, all made by plant DNA and rain and minerals from the earth.
Sorenson asked, 'What are you thinking?'
'Right now?'
'No, about Delfuenso's autopsy.'
'It'll be a yes or no answer,' he said. 'Either one thing or the other.'
'Care to expand on that?'
'No,' he said. 'I might embarrass myself.'
'Are you easily embarrassed?'
'I can feel a little foolish if I make grand pronouncements that turn out wrong.'
'Does that happen often?'
'More often than I would like. Do you have kids?'
Sorenson shook her head. 'Never happened for me.'
'Did you want it to?'
'I'm not sure. You?'
'No and no. Are you easily embarrassed?'
'Not easily,' Sorenson said. 'Not professionally, anyway. Sometimes personally, I suppose. Like right now I wish I could shower and change. I've been wearing this shirt since I got up yesterday.'
Reacher said, 'I wear mine three days minimum. And right now my nose is busted. So I can't smell anything anyway.'
She smiled.
He said, 'You could go shopping. You could shower at Delfuenso's house. This county is ours.'
'Showering at Delfuenso's house would be creepy. A dead woman's bathroom?'
'We're driving a dead man's car.'
'Where could I go shopping, anyway?'
'There must be a store in town. You could get bib overalls.'
'You don't want to go to town. Otherwise you wouldn't have stopped here.'
'We could go to Sin City. We know they have shirts there, at least. In the convenience store.'
'Not very nice shirts.'
'You'd look good in anything.'
'I'll choose to ignore that,' she said. Then she said, 'OK, let's go to Sin City. I'll do what you did. I'll buy a shirt and you can get me an hour in a motel.'
'Doesn't work that way in the afternoon. The maids will have gone home. You'd have to pay for a whole night.'
'No problem. It's worth it to me.'
'You're very fastidious.'
'Most people are.'
'We could get lunch, too.'
But then Goodman's phone rang again. The same urgent electronic squawk, loud and resonant through the speakers.
The area code was 816.
'Kansas City,' Reacher said.
'Don't answer it,' Sorenson said.
The phone squawked on, six, seven, eight times, and then it stopped. The car went quiet again. Just the purr of the motor, and the whir of the heater.
Reacher said, 'Your counterterrorism guys are from Kansas City, right?'
'They're not mine,' Sorenson said.
'Dawson and Mitchell, right?'
'Yes.'
'Who else would call Goodman from a Kansas City number?'
'Could be anyone. Brother, sister, daughter, son. Old college roommate. Fishing buddy.'
'During work hours?'
'Why not?'
'Did Goodman even go to college?'
'I have no idea.'
'I don't think his chief deputy did.'
The phone trilled once. Voice mail. Sorenson leaned over and fiddled with the phone. Her hair touched Reacher's arm. The car filled with a watery, distorted sound.
'Cell phone,' Sorenson said. 'Weak signal. Probably indoors. Or in a moving vehicle.'
Then a voice broke through and said, 'Sheriff Goodman, this is Agent Dawson with FBI counterterrorism out of Kansas City. We met last night. I need you to call me back as soon as possible. And until then I need to warn you about a man travelling with Agent Sorenson out of our Omaha office. He's a dangerous fugitive and should be apprehended on sight. My partner and I are on our way to you. We'll deal with the situation after we get there, but please take care until we do. We'll be with you in about thirty minutes or less. We'll check in at the department and hope to see you there.'
Then there was more watery distortion, and then there was silence.
Just the purr of the motor, and the whir of the heater.