17 A Wanted Man

begin with, and she was going blue around the eyes.
    Then after the final right-hand turn Reacher saw a row of four small ranch houses all alone in the emptiness. There was a cop car parked in the middle of the road. Sorenson said, ‘He’s here after all. That’s Sheriff Goodman’s car. And that’s Karen Delfuenso’s house, second from the right.’
    She parked on the kerb twenty feet back, and they got out.

FORTY-EIGHT
    THEY FOUND GOODMAN where he had fallen, on his back, hard up against the front wheel of his car. His eyes were full of rainwater. New drops splashed into the tiny pools and overflowed down his cheeks like tears. His mouth was open and water was pooling in his throat. His clothes were soaked. He looked like a drowned man. His skin was already ice cold. He had no pulse. He looked slack and collapsed and empty, like only dead people can. All the invisible thousand muscular tensions of the living were gone.
    He’s an old man and he’s been awake for a long time
.
    Not any more
, Reacher thought.
    ‘How old was he?’ he asked.
    ‘Late sixties,’ Sorenson said. ‘Maybe early seventies. Too young to die, anyway. He was a nice man. A good man, like his name. Was it a heart attack?’
    ‘Probably,’ Reacher said. ‘Stress, exhaustion, and worry. That kind of thing. Not good for a person. Cops should get paid more.’
    ‘No argument from me on that point.’
    ‘Did he tell us what we need to know?’
    ‘I don’t think he knew what we need to know.’
    ‘I guess we should call it in.’
    So they got back in Sorenson’s car, and she dialled the department’s switchboard number on her cell. The woman behind the counter answered, and Sorenson broke the news. The woman cried. Sorenson clicked off and they waited, wet, cold, and tired, staring ahead through the windshield, not seeing much, and not saying anything.
    Next on scene was a very large thirty-five-year-old man in a deputy’s car. He was fair-haired and bulky and red-faced, and he was wearing a padded nylon jacket open over a uniform. The jacket had a sergeant’s stripes on the sleeves. The guy came to Sorenson’s window and bent down. The jacket fell open and Reacher saw a black plate with the name
Puller
over one shirt pocket and a sheriff’s department star over the other. The star had the words
Chief Deputy
on it. The guy knocked on the window with fat red knuckles. Sorenson didn’t lower her glass. She just pointed. The guy walked towards his chief’s car with short nervous steps, like he was approaching a fortified position. Like he was expecting an armed enemy to open fire. He made it around to the passenger side and stopped. He looked down. Then he staggered away to the shoulder and bent double and threw up in the mud.
    Reacher noticed the rain had stopped.
    A long moment later the guy named Puller straightened up a little and stared out over the open land. He was green in the face. Not sentimental about the old man, but upset by the sight of a corpse. Reacher got out of the car. The road was still streaming, but the air felt suddenly fresh and dry. Sorenson got out on her side. The guy named Puller started back towards them and they all met as a threesome in the space between the cars.
    Sorenson asked, ‘Are you the department’s second in command?’
    Puller said, ‘I guess so.’
    ‘Then you guess wrong. As of now you’re the chief. Acting chief, anyway. And you’ve got things to do. You need to bring us up to speed, for instance.’
    ‘With what?’
    ‘There’s a missing kid here.’
    ‘I didn’t really keep up with that.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I do traffic mostly. To and from the Interstate. Up beyond Sin City. You know, with the radar gun.’
    ‘Were you briefed on what happened here last night?’
    ‘We all were.’
    ‘But you didn’t keep up with it?’
    ‘I do traffic mostly.’
    ‘Didn’t Sheriff Goodman take you off your normal duties?’
    ‘He took us all off.’
    ‘So why didn’t you pay attention?’
    ‘He didn’t really tell me what to do.’
    Reacher asked, ‘Were you dropped on the head as a baby?’
    The guy named Puller didn’t answer.
    Sorenson said, ‘Call your dispatcher and arrange for an ambulance to take the body away.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘Then call Sheriff Goodman’s family.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘Then call the funeral home.’
    ‘From where?’
    ‘From a telephone. Any telephone. Just make sure it’s nowhere near me.’
    The guy named Puller walked back to his cruiser and