into the first mile of its highways, to make you feel you’re entering a better place from a worse one. Reacher wondered why they didn’t put the effort into the last mile instead. That way, you’d miss the place you were leaving.
“We need to talk,” Lamarr said.
“So talk. Tell me about college.”
“We’re not going to talk about college.”
“Why not? Tell me about Profiling 101. You pass?”
“We need to discuss the cases.”
He smiled. “You did go to college, right?”
She nodded. “Indiana State.”
“Psychology major?”
She shook her head.
“So what was it? Criminology?”
“Landscape gardening, if you must know. My professional training is from the FBI Academy at Quantico. ”
“Landscape gardening? No wonder the Bureau snapped you up in a big hurry.”
“It was relevant. It teaches you to see the big picture, and to be patient.”
“And how to grow things. That could be useful, killing time while your bullshit profiles are getting you nowhere.”
She was silent again.
“So are there many irrational phobic landscape gardeners at Quantico? Any bonsai enthusiasts scared of spiders? Orchid growers who won’t step on the cracks in the sidewalk?”
Her pallor was whitening. “I hope you’re real proud of yourself, Reacher, making jokes while women are dying.”
He went quiet and looked out of the window. She was driving fast. The road was wet and there were gray clouds ahead. They were chasing a rainstorm south.
“So tell me about the cases,” he said.
She gripped the wheel and used the leverage to adjust her position in the seat.
“You know the victim group,” she said. “Very specific, right?”
He nodded. “Apparently.”
“Locations are obviously random. He’s chasing particular victims, and he goes where he has to. Crime scenes have all been the victim’s residence, so far. Residences have been basically various. Single-family housing in all cases, but varying degrees of isolation.”
“Nice places, though.”
She glanced at him. He smiled. “The Army paid them all off, right? When they quit? Scandal avoidance, they call it. A big chunk of money like that, a chance to settle down after a few footloose years, they probably bought nice houses.”
She nodded as she drove. “Yes, and all in neighborhoods, so far.”
“Makes sense,” he said. “They want community. What about husbands and families?”
“Callan was separated, no kids. Cooke had boy-friends, no kids. Stanley was a loner, no attachments.”
“You look at Callan’s husband?”
“Obviously. Any homicide, first thing we do is look at family. Any married woman, we look at the husband. But he was alibied, nothing suspicious. And then with Cooke, the pattern became clear. So we knew it wasn’t a husband or a boyfriend.”
“No, I guess it wasn’t.”
“First problem is how he gets in. No forced entry. He just walks in the door.”
“You think there was surveillance first?”
She shrugged. “Three victims is not a large number, so I’m wary of drawing conclusions. But yes, I think he must have been watching them. He needed them to be alone. He’s efficient and organized. I don’t think he would have left anything to chance. But don’t overestimate the surveillance. It would be pretty obvious pretty quickly that they were alone during the day.”
“Any evidence of a stakeout? Cigarette butts and soda cans piled up under a nearby tree?”
She shook her head. “This guy is leaving no evidence of anything.”
“Neighbors see anything?”
“Not so far.”
“And all three were done during the day?”
“Different times, but all during daylight hours.”
“None of the women worked?”
“Like you don’t. Very few of you ex-Army people seem to work. It’s a snippet I’m going to file away.”
He nodded and glanced at the weather. The roadway was streaming. The rain was a mile ahead.
“Why don’t you people work?” she asked.
“Us people ?” he repeated. “In my
“We need to talk,” Lamarr said.
“So talk. Tell me about college.”
“We’re not going to talk about college.”
“Why not? Tell me about Profiling 101. You pass?”
“We need to discuss the cases.”
He smiled. “You did go to college, right?”
She nodded. “Indiana State.”
“Psychology major?”
She shook her head.
“So what was it? Criminology?”
“Landscape gardening, if you must know. My professional training is from the FBI Academy at Quantico. ”
“Landscape gardening? No wonder the Bureau snapped you up in a big hurry.”
“It was relevant. It teaches you to see the big picture, and to be patient.”
“And how to grow things. That could be useful, killing time while your bullshit profiles are getting you nowhere.”
She was silent again.
“So are there many irrational phobic landscape gardeners at Quantico? Any bonsai enthusiasts scared of spiders? Orchid growers who won’t step on the cracks in the sidewalk?”
Her pallor was whitening. “I hope you’re real proud of yourself, Reacher, making jokes while women are dying.”
He went quiet and looked out of the window. She was driving fast. The road was wet and there were gray clouds ahead. They were chasing a rainstorm south.
“So tell me about the cases,” he said.
She gripped the wheel and used the leverage to adjust her position in the seat.
“You know the victim group,” she said. “Very specific, right?”
He nodded. “Apparently.”
“Locations are obviously random. He’s chasing particular victims, and he goes where he has to. Crime scenes have all been the victim’s residence, so far. Residences have been basically various. Single-family housing in all cases, but varying degrees of isolation.”
“Nice places, though.”
She glanced at him. He smiled. “The Army paid them all off, right? When they quit? Scandal avoidance, they call it. A big chunk of money like that, a chance to settle down after a few footloose years, they probably bought nice houses.”
She nodded as she drove. “Yes, and all in neighborhoods, so far.”
“Makes sense,” he said. “They want community. What about husbands and families?”
“Callan was separated, no kids. Cooke had boy-friends, no kids. Stanley was a loner, no attachments.”
“You look at Callan’s husband?”
“Obviously. Any homicide, first thing we do is look at family. Any married woman, we look at the husband. But he was alibied, nothing suspicious. And then with Cooke, the pattern became clear. So we knew it wasn’t a husband or a boyfriend.”
“No, I guess it wasn’t.”
“First problem is how he gets in. No forced entry. He just walks in the door.”
“You think there was surveillance first?”
She shrugged. “Three victims is not a large number, so I’m wary of drawing conclusions. But yes, I think he must have been watching them. He needed them to be alone. He’s efficient and organized. I don’t think he would have left anything to chance. But don’t overestimate the surveillance. It would be pretty obvious pretty quickly that they were alone during the day.”
“Any evidence of a stakeout? Cigarette butts and soda cans piled up under a nearby tree?”
She shook her head. “This guy is leaving no evidence of anything.”
“Neighbors see anything?”
“Not so far.”
“And all three were done during the day?”
“Different times, but all during daylight hours.”
“None of the women worked?”
“Like you don’t. Very few of you ex-Army people seem to work. It’s a snippet I’m going to file away.”
He nodded and glanced at the weather. The roadway was streaming. The rain was a mile ahead.
“Why don’t you people work?” she asked.
“Us people ?” he repeated. “In my
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