The Hard Way

anywhere near it. He never even came south of Houston Street. He was in the BMW about two minutes after Gregory got out of it.”
    “And that’s why he specified the cars so exactly. He needed to match them with the stolen keys.”
    “And that’s why it bugged me when Gregory let me into his car that first night. Gregory used the remote thing from ten feet away, like anyone would. But the night before the other guy didn’t do that with the Mercedes. He walked right up to it and stuck the key in the door. Who does that anymore? But he did, because he had to, because he didn’t have the remote. All he had was the valet key. Which also explains why he used the Jaguar for the final installment. He wanted to be able to lock it from the other side of the street, as soon as Burke put the money in it. For safety’s sake. He could do that with the Jaguar only, because the only remote he had was for the Jaguar. He inherited it at the initial takedown.”
    Pauling said nothing.
    Reacher said, “I told Lane the guy used the Jaguar as a taunt. As a reminder. But the real reason was practical, not psychological.”
    Pauling was quiet for a second more. “But you’re back to saying there was inside help. Aren’t you? And there must have been, right? To steal the valet keys? But you already discounted inside help. You already decided there wasn’t any.”
    “I think I’ve got that figured.”
    “Who?”
    “The guy with no tongue. He’s the key to the whole ballgame.”

CHAPTER 51
    PAULING AND REACHER trooped back through the chocolate shop and were back on the street before eight-thirty in the morning. They were back in Pauling’s office on West 4th before nine.
    “We need Brewer now,” Reacher said. “And Patti Joseph.”
    “Brewer’s still asleep,” Pauling said. “He works late.”
    “Today he’s going to work early. He’s going to get his ass in gear. Because we need a definitive ID on that body from the Hudson River.”
    “Taylor?”
    “We need to know for certain it’s Taylor. I’m sure Patti has got a photograph of him. I bet she’s got a photograph of everyone who ever went in or out of the Dakota. If she gave a good clear shot to Brewer he could head for the morgue and make the ID for us.”
    “Patti’s not our best buddy here. She wants to take Lane down, not help him.”
    “We’re not helping him. You know that.”
    “I’m not sure Patti sees the difference.”
    “All we want is one lousy photograph. She can go that far.”
    So Pauling called Patti Joseph. Patti confirmed that she had a file of photographs of all Lane’s men stretching back through the four years that she had occupied the Majestic apartment. At first she was reluctant to grant access to it. But then she saw that a positive ID of Taylor’s body would put some kind of pressure on Lane, either directly or indirectly. So she agreed to pick out the best full-frontal and put it aside for Brewer to collect. Then Pauling called Brewer and woke him up. He was bad-tempered about it but he agreed to pick up the picture. There was an element of self-interest there, too. ID on an as-yet-unexplained DOA would net him some NYPD Brownie points.
    “Now what?” Pauling asked.
    “Breakfast,” Reacher said.
    “Do we have time? Lane is expecting a name today.”
    “Today lasts until midnight.”
    “What after breakfast?”
    “Maybe you’ll want to take a shower.”
    “I’m OK. That basement wasn’t too bad.”
    “I wasn’t thinking about the basement. I figured we might take coffee and croissants back to your place. Last time we were there we both ended up taking showers.”
    Pauling said, “I see.”
    “Only if you want to.”
    “I know a great croissant shop.”

----

    Two hours later Reacher was drying his hair with a borrowed towel and trying to decide whether or not to back a hunch. In general he wasn’t a big fan of hunches. Too often they were just wild-assed guesses that wasted time and led nowhere. But in the absence of news from Brewer he had time to waste and nowhere to go anyway. Pauling came out of the bedroom looking spectacular. Shoes, stockings, tight skirt, silk blouse, all in black. Brushed hair, light makeup. Great eyes, open, frank, intelligent.
    “What time is it?” she asked.
    “Eleven-thirteen,” he said. “Give or take.”
    “Sometime you’re going to have to explain how you do that.”
    “If I ever figure it out you’ll be the first to know.”
    “Long breakfast,” she said.