the results or the ratios or whatever they were on the first three sheets looked pretty healthy. Expressed like a batting average or a win percentage, they hovered between a fine .870 and an excellent .907. Then there was a dramatic fall on the fourth sheet, where the overall average looked like a .574. The fifth, sixth, and seventh sheets got progressively more and more dismal, with a .368, a .308, and a .307.
“Got it yet?” Neagley asked.
“No clue,” Reacher said. “I wish Franz was here to explain it.”
“If he was here, we wouldn’t be here.”
“We could have been. We could have all gotten together from time to time.”
“Like a class reunion?”
“It might have been fun.”
O’Donnell raised his glass and said, “Absent friends.”
Neagley raised her glass. Reacher raised his. They drank water that had frozen at the top of a Scandinavian glacier ten thousand years ago and then inched downward over centuries, before melting into mountain springs and streams, to the memory of four friends, five including Stan Lowrey, who they assumed they would never see again.
But they assumed wrong. One of their friends had just gotten on a plane in Las Vegas.
20
A waiter brought their food. Salmon for Neagley, chicken for Reacher, tuna for O’Donnell, who said, “I assume you’ve been to Franz’s house.”
“Yesterday,” Neagley said. “Santa Monica.”
“Anything there?”
“A widow and a fatherless child.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing that meant anything.”
“We should go to all the houses. Swan’s first, because it’ll be the closest.”
“We don’t have his address.”
“Didn’t you ask the New Age lady?”
“Not worth it. She wouldn’t have told us. She was very correct.”
“You could have broken her leg.”
“Those were the days.”
Reacher asked, “Was Swan married?”
“I don’t think so,” Neagley said.
“Too ugly,” O’Donnell said.
“Are you married?” Neagley asked him.
“No.”
“Well, then.”
“But for the opposite reason. It would upset too many other innocent parties.”
Reacher said, “We could try that UPS thing again. Swan probably got packages at home. If he wasn’t married he probably furnished his place from catalogs. I can’t see him shopping for chairs or tables or knives and forks.”
“OK,” Neagley said. She used her cell to call Chicago, right there at the table, and looked more like a movie executive than ever. O’Donnell leaned forward and looked across her to Reacher and said, “Go over the time line for me.”
“The dragon lady at New Age said Swan got fired more than three weeks ago. Call it twenty-four or twenty-five days. Twenty-three days ago Franz went out and never came back. His wife called Neagley fourteen days after the body was found.”
“For what reason?”
“Notification, pure and simple. She’s relying on the deputies from up where it happened.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s a civilian. She looks like Michelle Pfeiffer. She’s halfway resentful of us for having been such good friends with her husband. Their son looks just like him.”
“Poor kid.”
Neagley covered her phone with her hand and said, “We got cell numbers for Sanchez, Orozco, and Swan.” She fumbled one-handed and took paper and pen from her purse. Wrote three numbers, ten digits each.
“Use them to get addresses,” Reacher said.
Neagley shook her head. “They don’t help. Sanchez’s and Orozco’s are corporate and Swan’s comes back to New Age.” She clicked off with her guy in Chicago and dialed the numbers she had listed, one after another.
“Straight to voice mail,” she said. “Switched off, all of them.”
“Inevitable,” Reacher said. “All the batteries ran out three weeks ago.”
“I really hate hearing their voices,” she said. “You know, you record your mail-box greeting, you have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen to you.”
“A little bit of
“Got it yet?” Neagley asked.
“No clue,” Reacher said. “I wish Franz was here to explain it.”
“If he was here, we wouldn’t be here.”
“We could have been. We could have all gotten together from time to time.”
“Like a class reunion?”
“It might have been fun.”
O’Donnell raised his glass and said, “Absent friends.”
Neagley raised her glass. Reacher raised his. They drank water that had frozen at the top of a Scandinavian glacier ten thousand years ago and then inched downward over centuries, before melting into mountain springs and streams, to the memory of four friends, five including Stan Lowrey, who they assumed they would never see again.
But they assumed wrong. One of their friends had just gotten on a plane in Las Vegas.
20
A waiter brought their food. Salmon for Neagley, chicken for Reacher, tuna for O’Donnell, who said, “I assume you’ve been to Franz’s house.”
“Yesterday,” Neagley said. “Santa Monica.”
“Anything there?”
“A widow and a fatherless child.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing that meant anything.”
“We should go to all the houses. Swan’s first, because it’ll be the closest.”
“We don’t have his address.”
“Didn’t you ask the New Age lady?”
“Not worth it. She wouldn’t have told us. She was very correct.”
“You could have broken her leg.”
“Those were the days.”
Reacher asked, “Was Swan married?”
“I don’t think so,” Neagley said.
“Too ugly,” O’Donnell said.
“Are you married?” Neagley asked him.
“No.”
“Well, then.”
“But for the opposite reason. It would upset too many other innocent parties.”
Reacher said, “We could try that UPS thing again. Swan probably got packages at home. If he wasn’t married he probably furnished his place from catalogs. I can’t see him shopping for chairs or tables or knives and forks.”
“OK,” Neagley said. She used her cell to call Chicago, right there at the table, and looked more like a movie executive than ever. O’Donnell leaned forward and looked across her to Reacher and said, “Go over the time line for me.”
“The dragon lady at New Age said Swan got fired more than three weeks ago. Call it twenty-four or twenty-five days. Twenty-three days ago Franz went out and never came back. His wife called Neagley fourteen days after the body was found.”
“For what reason?”
“Notification, pure and simple. She’s relying on the deputies from up where it happened.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s a civilian. She looks like Michelle Pfeiffer. She’s halfway resentful of us for having been such good friends with her husband. Their son looks just like him.”
“Poor kid.”
Neagley covered her phone with her hand and said, “We got cell numbers for Sanchez, Orozco, and Swan.” She fumbled one-handed and took paper and pen from her purse. Wrote three numbers, ten digits each.
“Use them to get addresses,” Reacher said.
Neagley shook her head. “They don’t help. Sanchez’s and Orozco’s are corporate and Swan’s comes back to New Age.” She clicked off with her guy in Chicago and dialed the numbers she had listed, one after another.
“Straight to voice mail,” she said. “Switched off, all of them.”
“Inevitable,” Reacher said. “All the batteries ran out three weeks ago.”
“I really hate hearing their voices,” she said. “You know, you record your mail-box greeting, you have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen to you.”
“A little bit of
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