Jack Reacher 01 - Killing Floor

He figures that’s why you waited the eight hours. Figures that’s why Hubble was at home today. Didn’t go to work because he was waiting around to pay you off.”
    I was silent. I was worried. Chief Morrison was dangerous. His theory was plausible. Until Finlay did the checking. If Finlay did the checking.
    “So, Reacher, I’m sorry,” he said. “You and Hubble stay in the bag until Monday. You’ll get through it. Over in Warburton. Bad place, but the holding pens are OK. Worse if you go there for a stretch. Much worse. Meantime, I’ll work on it before Monday. I’ll ask Officer Roscoe to come in Saturday and Sunday. She’s the pretty one outside. She’s good, the best we got. If what you say is right, you’ll be free and clear on Monday. OK?”
    I stared at him. I was getting mad.
    “No, Finlay, not OK,” I said. “You know I didn’t do a damn thing. You know it wasn’t me. You’re just shit scared of that useless fat bastard Morrison. So I’m going to jail because you’re just a spineless damn coward.”
    He took it pretty well. His dark face flushed darker. He sat quietly for a long time. I took a deep breath and glared at him. My glare subsided to a gaze as my temper cooled. Back under control. His turn to glare at me.
    “Two things, Reacher,” he said. Precise articulation. “First, if necessary I’ll take care of Chief Morrison on Monday. Second, I am not a coward. You don’t know me at all. Nothing about me.”
    I gazed back at him. Six o’clock. Bus time.
    “I know more than you think,” I said. “I know you’re a Harvard postgrad, you’re divorced and you quit smoking in April.”
    Finlay looked blank. Baker knocked and entered to say the prison bus had arrived. Finlay got up and walked around the desk. Told Baker he would bring me out himself. Baker went back to fetch Hubble.
    “How do you know that stuff?” Finlay asked me.
    He was intrigued. He was losing the game.
    “Easy,” I said. “You’re a smart guy, right? Educated in Boston, you told me. But when you were college age, Harvard wasn’t taking too many black guys. You’re smart, but you’re no rocket scientist, so I figure Boston U. for the first degree, right?”
    “Right,” he conceded.
    “And then Harvard for postgrad,” I said. “You did well at Boston U., life moved on, you got into Harvard. You talk like a Harvard guy. I figured it straight away. Ph.D. in Criminology?”
    “Right,” he said again. “Criminology.”
    “And then you got this job in April,” I said. “You told me that. You’ve got a pension from Boston PD, because you did your twenty. So you’ve come down here with cash to spare. But you’ve come down here with no woman, because if you had, she’d have spent some of that spare cash on new clothes for you. She probably hated that wintry tweed thing you’re wearing. She’d have junked it and put you in a Sunbelt outfit to start your new life on the right foot. But you’re still wearing that terrible old suit, so the woman is gone. She either died or divorced you, so it was a fifty-fifty guess. Looks like I guessed right.”
    He nodded blankly.
    “And the smoking thing is easy,” I said. “You were just stressed out and you were patting your pockets, looking for cigarettes. That means you quit fairly recently. Easy guess is you quit in April, you know, new life, new job, no more cigarettes. You figured quit now and you might beat the cancer thing.”
    Finlay glared at me. A bit grudging.
    “Very good, Reacher,” he said. “Elementary deduction, right?”
    I shrugged. Didn’t say anything.
    “So deduce who aced the guy up at the warehouse,” he said.
    “I don’t care who aced any guy anywhere,” I said. “That’s your problem, not mine. And it’s the wrong question, Finlay. First you got to find out who the guy was, right?”
    “So you got any way to do that, smart guy?” he asked me. “No ID, no face left, nothing from the prints, Hubble won’t say diddly?”
    “Run the prints again,” I said. “I’m serious, Finlay. Get Roscoe to do it.”
    “Why?” he said.
    “Something wrong there,” I said.
    “What something?” he asked me.
    “Run them again, OK?” I said. “Will you do that?”
    He just grunted. Didn’t say yes or no. I opened the office door and stepped out. Roscoe had gone. Nobody was there except Baker and Hubble over at the cells. I could see the desk sergeant outside through the front doors. He was writing on a clipboard held by