Jack Reacher 01 - Killing Floor

describe these two men to me?” I asked her.
    There was a pause as she tried to remember.
    “They were Hispanic,” she said. “I don’t recall any details. The one who did the talking was very neat, very polite. Unremarkable, really, I’m afraid.”
    “Have they met with him yet?” I asked her.
    “They made a one o’clock appointment,” she said. “They’re taking him to lunch somewhere, I believe.”
    I held the phone tighter.
    “OK,” I said. “This is very important. Did they ask for him by name? Or by the initials K.K.? Like I just did?”
    “They asked exactly the same question you did,” she said. “They asked if we had any faculty with those initials.”
    “Listen to me,” I said. “Listen very carefully. I want you to go see Professor Kelstein. Right now. Interrupt him, whatever he’s doing. Tell him this is life or death. Tell him those Atlanta detectives are bogus. They were at Princeton last night and they murdered Professor Walter Bartholomew.”
    “Are you kidding?” the woman said. Almost a scream.
    “This is for real,” I said. “My name is Jack Reacher. I believe Kelstein had been in touch with my brother, Joe Reacher, from the Treasury Department. Tell him my brother was murdered also.”
    The woman paused again. Swallowed. Then she came back, calm.
    “What should I tell Professor Kelstein to do?” she said.
    “Two things,” I said. “First, he must not, repeat, must not meet with the two Hispanic men from Atlanta. At any time. Got that?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “Good,” I said. “Second, he must go right now to the campus security office. Right now, OK? He must wait there for me. I’ll be there in about three hours. Kelstein must sit in the security office and wait for me with a guard right next to him until I get there. Can you make absolutely sure he does that?”
    “Yes,” she said again.
    “Tell him to call Princeton from the security office,” I said. “Tell him to ask after Bartholomew. That should convince him.”
    “Yes,” the woman said again. “I’ll make sure he does what you say.”
    “And give my name to your security desk,” I said. “I don’t want any problem getting in when I arrive. Professor Kelstein can ID me. Tell him I look like my brother.”
    I hung up. Shouted across the room to Finlay.
    “They’ve got Joe’s list,” I said. “They’ve got two guys up in New York. One of them is the same guy who got Joe’s briefcase. Neat, polite guy. They’ve got the list.”
    “But how?” he said. “The list wasn’t in the briefcase.”
    A clang of fear hit me. I knew how. It was staring me in the face.
    “Baker,” I said. “Baker’s inside the scam. He made an extra Xerox copy. You sent him to copy Joe’s list. He made two copies and gave one to Teale.”
    “Christ,” Finlay said. “Are you sure?”
    I nodded.
    “There were other indications,” I said. “Teale’s pulled a bluff. We figured everybody in the department was clean. But he was just keeping them hidden. So now we don’t know who the hell is involved and who the hell isn’t. We’ve got to get out of here, right now. Let’s go.”
    We ran out of the office. Through the squad room. Out through the big plate-glass doors and into Finlay’s car.
    “Where to?” he said.
    “Atlanta,” I told him. “The airport. I’ve got to get to New York.”
    He started up and headed out north along the county road.
    “Baker was in it from the start,” I said. “It was staring me in the face.”

    I WENT THROUGH IT WITH HIM AS HE DROVE. STEP BY STEP . Last Friday I had been alone in the small white interview room at the station house with Baker. I had held out my wrists to him. He’d removed my handcuffs. He’d taken the cuffs off a guy he was supposed to believe was a murderer. A murderer who had pulped his victim’s body. He was willing to put himself alone in a room with such a guy. Then later I had called him over and made him escort me to the bathroom. He had been sloppy and careless. I’d had opportunities to disarm him and escape. I’d taken it as a sign he’d listened to me answering Finlay’s questions and slowly become convinced I was innocent.
    But he’d always known I was innocent. He knew exactly who was innocent and exactly who wasn’t. That’s why he had been so casual. He knew I was just a convenient fall guy. He knew I was just an innocent passerby. Who worries about taking the cuffs off an innocent passerby? Who takes a whole lot of