Jack Reacher 01 - Killing Floor

Blood everywhere. Pretty bad, let me tell you. Then they slit his throat. Ear to ear. Bad people, Reacher. These are bad people. As bad as they come.”
    I was numb. Finlay was waiting for a comment. I couldn’t think of anything. I was thinking about Charlie. She would ask if I’d found anything out. Finlay should go up there. He should go up there right now and break the news. It was his job, not mine. I could see why he was reluctant. Difficult news to break. Difficult details to gloss over. But it was his job. I’d go with him. Because it was my fault. No point running away from that.
    “Yes,” I said to him. “It sounds pretty bad.”
    He leaned his head back and looked around. Blew another sigh up at the ceiling. A somber man.
    “That’s not the worst of it,” he said. “You should have seen what they did to his wife.”
    “His wife?” I said. “What the hell do you mean?”
    “I mean his wife,” he said. “It was like a butcher’s shop.”
    For a moment I couldn’t speak. The world was spinning backward.
    “But I just saw her,” I said. “Twenty minutes ago. She’s OK. Nothing happened to her.”
    “You saw who?” Finlay said.
    “Charlie,” I said.
    “Who the hell is Charlie?” he asked.
    “Charlie,” I said blankly. “Charlie Hubble. His wife. She’s OK. They didn’t get her.”
    “What’s Hubble got to do with this?” he said.
    I just stared at him.
    “Who are we talking about?” I said. “Who got killed?”
    Finlay looked at me like I was crazy.
    “I thought you knew,” he said. “Chief Morrison. The chief of police. Morrison. And his wife.”

12
    I WAS WATCHING FINLAY VERY CAREFULLY, TRYING TO DECIDE how far I should trust him. It was going to be a life or death decision. In the end I figured his answer to one simple question would make up my mind for me.
    “Are they going to make you chief now?” I asked him.
    He shook his head.
    “No,” he said. “They’re not going to make me chief.”
    “You sure about that?” I said.
    “I’m sure,” he said.
    “Whose decision is it?” I asked him.
    “The mayor’s,” Finlay said. “Town mayor appoints the chief of police. He’s coming over. Guy named Teale. Some kind of an old Georgia family. Some ancestor was a railroad baron who owned everything in sight around here.”
    “Is that the guy you’ve got statues of?” I said.
    Finlay nodded.
    “Caspar Teale,” he said. “He was the first. They’ve had Teales here ever since. This mayor must be the great-grandson or something.”
    I was in a minefield. I needed to find a clear lane through.
    “What’s the story with this guy Teale?” I asked him.
    Finlay shrugged. Tried to find a way to explain it.
    “He’s just a southern asshole,” he said. “Old Georgia family, probably a long line of southern assholes. They’ve been the mayors around here since the beginning. I dare say this one’s no worse than the others.”
    “Was he upset?” I said. “When you called him about Morrison?”
    “Worried, I think,” Finlay said. “He hates mess.”
    “Why won’t he make you chief?” I said. “You’re the senior guy, right?”
    “He just won’t,” Finlay said. “Why not is my business.”
    I watched him for a moment longer. Life or death.
    “Somewhere we can go to talk?” I said.
    He looked over the desk at me.
    “You thought it was Hubble got killed, right?” he said. “Why?”
    “Hubble did get killed,” I said. “Fact that Morrison got killed as well doesn’t change it.”

    WE WALKED DOWN TO THE CONVENIENCE STORE. SAT SIDE by side at the empty counter, near the window. I sat at the same place the pale Mrs. Kliner had used when I was in there the day before. That seemed like a long time ago. The world had changed since then. We got tall mugs of coffee and a big plate of donuts. Didn’t look at each other directly. We looked at each other in the mirror behind the counter.
    “Why won’t you get the promotion?” I asked him.
    His reflection shrugged in the mirror. He was looking puzzled. He couldn’t see the connection. But he’d see it soon enough.
    “I should get it,” he said. “I’m better qualified than all the others put together. I’ve done twenty years in a big city. A real police department. What the hell have they done? Look at Baker, for instance. He figures himself for a smart boy. But what has he done? Fifteen years in the sticks? In this backwater? What the hell does he know?”
    “So why won’t you get it?”