The Affair: A Reacher Novel

sauce. With roast potatoes. It was very good. But you must know that. You must eat in the OC all the time.”
    “How was the conversation?”
    “Challenging.”
    “In what way?”
    “First tell me what you’ve been doing.”
    “Me? I’ve been eating humble pie. Metaphorically, at least.”
    “How so?”
    “I went back to the wrecked car. I was under orders to destroy the license plate. But it was already gone. The debris field had been picked clean, very methodically. There was a big force out there at some point this morning. So I think you’re right. There are boots on the ground outside Kelham’s fence. They’re operating an exclusion zone. They were diverted to the clean up because someone at the Pentagon didn’t trust me to do it.”
    Deveraux didn’t answer.
    “Then I took a long walk,” I said.
    Deveraux asked, “Did you see the gravel pile?”
    “I saw it this morning,” I said. “I went back for a closer look.”
    “Thinking about Janice May Chapman?”
    “Obviously.”
    “It’s a coincidence,” she said. “Black-on-white rapes are incredibly rare in Mississippi. No matter what folks want to believe.”
    “A white guy could have taken her there.”
    “Unlikely. He’d have stuck out like a sore thumb. He’d have been risking a hundred witnesses.”
    “Shawna Lindsay’s body was found there. I talked to her kid brother.”
    “Where else would it be found? It’s a vacant lot. That’s where bodies get dumped.”
    “Was she killed there?”
    “I don’t think so. There was no blood.”
    “At the scene or inside her?”
    “Neither one.”
    “What do you make of that?”
    “Same guy.”
    “And?”
    “Addiction to risk,” she said. “June, November, March, the bottom of the socioeconomic scale, then the middle, then the top. By Carter County standards, that is. He started safe and got progressively riskier. No one cares about poor black girls. Chapman was the first really visible victim.”
    “You care about poor black girls.”
    “But you know how it is. An investigation can’t sustain itself all on its own. It needs an external source of energy. It needs outrage.”
    “And there wasn’t any?”
    “There was pain, obviously. And sorrow, and suffering. But mostly there was resignation. And familiarity. Business as usual. If all the murdered women of Mississippi rose up tonight and marched through town, you’d notice two things. It would be a very long parade, and most of the marchers would be black. Poor black girls have been getting killed here forever. White women with money, not so often.”
    “What was the McClatchy girl’s name?”
    “Rosemary.”
    “Where was her body found?”
    “In the ditch near the crossing. The other side of the tracks.”
    “Any blood?”
    “None at all.”
    “Was she raped?”
    “No.”
    “Was Shawna Lindsay?”
    “No.”
    “So Janice May Chapman was another kind of escalation.”
    “Apparently.”
    “Did Rosemary McClatchy have a connection with Kelham?”
    “Of course she did. You saw her photograph. Kelham guys were lining up at her door with their tongues hanging out. She stepped out with a string of them.”
    “Black guys or white guys?”
    “Both.”
    “Officers or enlisted men?”
    “Both.”
    “Any suspects?”
    “I had no probable cause even to ask questions. She wasn’t seen with anyone from Kelham for at least two weeks before she was killed. My jurisdiction ends at Kelham’s fence. They wouldn’t have let me through the gate.”
    “They let you through the gate today.”
    “Yes,” she said. “They did.”
    “What is Munro like?” I asked.
    “Challenging,” she said again.
    We thumped up over the tracks and parked just beyond them, with the straight road west in front of us, and the ditch where Rosemary McClatchy had been found on our right, and the turn into Main Street ahead and on our left. A standard cop instinct. If in doubt, pull over and park where people can see you. It feels like doing something, even when it isn’t.
    Deveraux said, “Obviously I started out with the baseline assumption that Munro would be lying through his teeth. Job one for him is to cover the army’s ass. I understand that, and I don’t blame him for it. He’s under orders, the same way you are.”
    “And?”
    “I asked him about the exclusion zone. He denied it, of course.”
    “He would have to,” I said.
    She nodded. “But then he went ahead and tried to prove it to me. He toured me all over. That’s