61 Hours

still moving fast. But not fast enough to get ticketed. They were holding to an easy sixty-five, driving straight and true, still steadfastly keeping their noses clean.
    They used the office with the crime scene photographs. Four desks boxed together, four chairs. Holland and Peterson sat side by side, and Reacher sat facing Holland, with his back to the pictures of the dead guy dressed in black. He asked, ‘You happy to just let them go?’
    Holland asked, ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
    ‘They were selling meth.’
    ‘This is a small town at heart,’ Holland said. ‘We operate under small town rules. If I see the back of a thing, that’s generally as good as solving it.’
    Peterson said, ‘End of problem.’
    ‘Not really,’ Reacher said. ‘They cleaned up and got out because the real estate closing is about to happen. And a closing needs a good title. Janet Salter is the last little smudge on it. She’s in more danger now than she ever was. She’s the only thing standing between someone and a lot of money.’
    ‘Plato the Mexican.’
    ‘Whoever.’
    ‘We’re doing everything we can,’ Holland said. ‘We have seven officers in place, and they’re staying there. We’ll be OK.’
    ‘Unless the siren goes off again.’
    ‘You say it won’t.’
    Reacher said, ‘An educated guess is still a guess. Just remember, this is the time to start worrying, not to stop.’
    Holland said, ‘You see me relaxing, I hereby give you permission to kick my butt. We may have our problems, and we may not be the U.S. Army, but we’ve struggled along so far. You should remember that.’
    Reacher nodded. ‘I know. I’m sorry. Not your fault. It’s the mayor’s fault. Who would sign off on a plan like that?’
    ‘Anyone would,’ Holland said. ‘Those are jobs that can’t be shipped overseas. Which is the name of the game right now.’
    The room went quiet for a moment.
    Peterson said, ‘The motels are all full.’
    Reacher said, ‘I know that.’
    ‘So where is the bad guy sleeping?’
    ‘In his car. Or in the next county.’
    ‘Where is he eating?’
    ‘Same answer.’
    ‘So should we use roadblocks? There are only three ways in.’
    ‘No,’ Holland said. ‘False premise. We set up a static perimeter, he might be already behind us. We have to stay mobile.’ Then he went quiet again, as if he was running through a mental agenda and checking that all the items on it had been covered. Which they must have been, because his next move was to stand up and walk out of the room without another word. Reacher heard the slap of his boot soles against the linoleum and then the slam of a door. His office, presumably. Work to do.
    Peterson said, ‘We should get lunch. You could come back to the house. You could be company for Kim. She would like that.’
    ‘Because she’s lonely?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Then you and I shouldn’t be the only human specimens she sees all day. Go pick her up and we’ll have lunch in town, the three of us.’
    ‘Hard to get a table.’
    ‘I’ll wait on line while you’re on the road.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘The coffee shop where you found me yesterday. Across the square.’
    Peterson said, ‘But,’ and then nothing more.
    ‘I know,’ Reacher said. ‘I can see the police station from there. I can see when the bus is ready to leave.’
    The walk across the square to the coffee shop was short, but it was straight into the wind. The blowing ice hurt for the first few steps, like tiny needles, but then Reacher’s face went numb and he didn’t feel them any more. The line for a table was out the door. Reacher took his place behind a woman and a child wrapped incomforters that were probably borrowed from their motel beds. A guy commits a federal crime in Florida or Arizona, ends up in prison in South Dakota, the family has to follow. For the first year or two, anyway. After that, maybe not. A lot to lose.
    The line moved slowly but steadily and Reacher got level with the steamed window. Inside he could see vague shapes bustling about. Two waitresses. Steady wages, maybe not much in tips. Families of prisoners didn’t have much money. If they did, they weren’t families of prisoners. Or, worst case, their guy was in a Club Fed somewhere, doing woodwork for a year, or reading books.
    The mother and child squeezed their motel comforters in through the door. Reacher waited his turn on the sidewalk. He was pressed up against the building and out of the wind. Then a woman with three kids