Never Go Back: (Jack Reacher 18)

was no longer an office. It had been converted to a conference room of some kind. There was no desk, but there was a big round table and six chairs. There was a black spider-shaped thing in the centre of the table, presumably a speakerphone for group discussions with remote parties. There was a credenza against one wall, presumably for in-meeting coffee and sandwiches. The lightshade was the same glass bowl. There was an economy bulb in it, turned on already, glowing weak and sickly.
    Reacher stepped over to the window and looked out. Not much to see. No parking in the lot on that side of the building. Just a big trash container, and a random pile of obsolete furniture, desk chairs and file cabinets. The chair upholstery looked swollen with damp, and the file cabinets were rusty. Then came the stone wall, and over it was a decent view east, all the way to the cemetery and the river. The Washington Monument was visible in the far distance, the same colour as the mist. A watery sun was behind it, low in the sky.
    The door opened behind him and Reacher turned around, expecting Morgan. But it wasn’t Morgan. It was déjà vu all over again. A neat Class A uniform, with JAG Corps insignia on it. A woman lawyer. Her nameplate said Edmonds. She looked a little like Sullivan. Dark, trim, very professional, wearing a skirt and nylons and plain black shoes. But she was younger than Sullivan. And junior in rank. She was only a captain. She had a cheaper briefcase.
    She said, ‘Major Reacher?’
    He said, ‘Good morning, captain.’
    She said, ‘I’m Tracy Edmonds. I’m working with HRC.’
    Which was the Human Resources Command, which back in the days of plain English had been the Personnel Command. Which at first made Reacher think she was there to take him through the paperwork. Pay, bank details, the whole nine yards. But then he realized they wouldn’t have sent a lawyer for that kind of thing. A company clerk could do that stuff perfectly well. So she was there about the Candice Dayton thing, probably. But she was junior, and she had given up her first name unasked, and she had an open look on her face, all friendly and concerned, which might mean the Candice Dayton thing wasn’t as serious as the Big Dog problem.
    He asked, ‘Do you know anything about Susan Turner’s situation?’
    She said, ‘Who?’
    ‘You just walked past her office.’
    She said, ‘Only what I’ve heard.’
    ‘Which is what?’
    ‘She took a bribe.’
    ‘For what?’
    ‘I think that’s confidential.’
    ‘It can’t be. She’s confined prior to trial. Therefore there must be probable cause in the record. Or have we abandoned civilized jurisprudence while I’ve been away?’
    ‘They say she took a day to pass on crucial information. No one understood why. Now they do.’
    ‘What information?’
    ‘She arrested an infantry captain from Fort Hood. An espionage case, allegedly. The captain gave up the name of his foreign civilian contact. Major Turner sat on it for twenty-four hours, and the contact used the time to get away.’
    ‘When was this exactly?’
    ‘About four weeks ago.’
    ‘But she wasn’t arrested until the day before yesterday.’
    ‘That’s when the foreign contact paid her. Which was evidence they had to wait for. Without it the delay could have been explained as incompetence, not criminality.’
    ‘Has the pre-trial confinement been appealed?’
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘Who’s her lawyer?’
    ‘Colonel Moorcroft. Out of Charlottesville.’
    ‘You mean the JAG school?’
    Edmonds nodded. ‘He teaches criminal defence.’
    ‘Is he commuting from there to here?’
    ‘No, I believe he’s in the Dyer VOQ.’
    Which were the Visiting Officers’ Quarters, at Fort Dyer. Or, now, Joint Base Dyer-Helsington House. Not the Ritz exactly, but not too far from it, and no doubt a whole lot better than a crappy motel on a three-lane a mile from Rock Creek.
    Edmonds pulled out a chair for him, and then one for herself, and sat down at the conference table. She said, ‘Candice Dayton.’
    Reacher sat down, and said, ‘I don’t know who Candice Dayton is. Or was.’
    ‘Denial is not a smart way to go, I’m afraid, major. It never works.’
    ‘I can’t pretend to remember someone if I don’t.’
    ‘It creates a bad impression. It reinforces a negative stereotype. Both things will go against you in the end.’
    ‘Who was she?’
    Edmonds lifted her briefcase on to the table and opened it up. She took