Jack Reacher 01 - Killing Floor

said.
    “Two or three days, maybe,” she said. “Finlay says it could have been a double homicide on Thursday night.”
    I nodded again. Hubble did know something about it. This was the guy he had sent to meet with the tall investigator with the shaved head. He couldn’t figure out how the guy had gotten away with it. But the guy hadn’t gotten away with it.
    I heard a car in the lot outside and then the big glass door sucked open. Finlay stuck his head in.
    “Morgue, Roscoe,” he said. “You too, Reacher.”
    We followed him back outside into the heat. We all got into Roscoe’s unmarked sedan. Left Finlay’s car where he’d parked it. Roscoe drove. I sat in the back. Finlay sat in the front passenger seat, twisted around so he could talk to the both of us at once. Roscoe nosed out of the police lot and headed south.
    “I can’t find Hubble,” Finlay said. Looking at me. “There’s nobody up at his place. Did he say anything to you about going anywhere?”
    “No,” I said. “Not a word. We hardly spoke all weekend.”
    Finlay grunted at me.
    “I need to find out what he knows about all this,” he said. “This is serious shit and he knows something about it, that’s for damn sure. What did he tell you about it, Reacher?”
    I didn’t answer. I wasn’t entirely sure whose side I was on yet. Finlay’s, probably, but if Finlay started blundering around in whatever Hubble was mixed up in, Hubble and his family were going to end up dead. No doubt about that. So I figured I should just stay impartial and then get the hell out of there as fast as possible. I didn’t want to get involved.
    “You try his mobile number?” I asked him.
    Finlay grunted and shook his head.
    “Switched off,” he said. “Some automatic voice came on and told me.”
    “Did he come by and pick up his watch?” I asked him.
    “His what?” he said.
    “His watch,” I said. “He left a ten-thousand-dollar Rolex with Baker on Friday. When Baker was cuffing us for the ride out to Warburton. Did he come pick it up?”
    “No,” Finlay said. “Nobody said so.”
    “OK,” I said. “So he’s got some urgent business some-where. Not even an asshole like Hubble’s going to forget about a ten-thousand-dollar watch, right?”
    “What urgent business?” Finlay said. “What did he tell you about it?”
    “He didn’t tell me diddly,” I said. “Like I told you, we hardly spoke.”
    Finlay glared at me from the front seat.
    “Don’t mess with me, Reacher,” he said. “Until I get hold of Hubble, I’m going to keep hold of you and sweat your ass for what he told you. And don’t make out he kept his mouth shut all weekend, because guys like that never do. I know that and you know that, so don’t mess with me, OK?”
    I just shrugged at him. He wasn’t about to arrest me again. Maybe I could get a bus from wherever the morgue was. I’d have to pass on lunch with Roscoe. Pity.
    “So what’s the story on this one?” I asked him.
    “Pretty much the same as the last one,” Finlay said. “Looks like it happened at the same time. Shot to death, probably the same weapon. This one didn’t get kicked around afterward, but it was probably part of the same incident.”
    “You don’t know who it is?” I said.
    “His name is Sherman,” he said. “Apart from that, no idea.”
    “Tell me about it,” I said. I was asking out of habit. Finlay thought for a moment. I saw him decide to answer. Like we were partners.
    “Unidentified white male,” he said. “Same deal as the first one, no ID, no wallet, no distinguishing marks. But this one had a gold wristwatch, engraved on the back: to Sherman, love Judy. He was maybe thirty or thirty-five. Hard to tell, because he’d been lying there for three nights and he was well gnawed by the small animals, you know? His lips are gone, and his eyes, but his right hand was OK because it was folded up under his body, so I got some decent prints. We ran them an hour ago and something may come of that, if we’re lucky.”
    “Gunshot wounds?” I asked him.
    Finlay nodded.
    “Looks like the same gun,” he said. “Small-caliber, soft-nose shells. Looks like maybe the first shot only wounded him and he was able to run. He got hit a couple more times but made it to cover under the highway. He fell down and bled to death. He didn’t get kicked around because they couldn’t find him. That’s how it looks to me.”
    I thought about it. I’d walked right by there at eight