Without Fail

campaign.”
    “And you’re sure nobody in particular was upset by the campaign?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “So where exactly does your feeling come from? Who hates Armstrong that bad and why?”
    “I don’t know exactly,” Swain said. “It’s just a feeling.”
    Reacher nodded.
    “OK,” he said. “Go home.”
    Swain picked up his coat and left in a hurry and Reacher sampled his way through the remaining years. Neagley leafed through the endless source material. They both gave it up after an hour.
    “Conclusions?” Neagley asked.
    “Swain has got a very boring job,” Reacher said.
    She smiled.
    “Agreed,” she said.
    “But something kind of jumps out at me. Something that’s not here, rather than something that is here. Campaigns are cynical, right? These people will use any old thing that puts them in a good light. So for instance, we’ve got his mother. We’ve got endless detail about her college degrees and her pharmacy thing. Why?”
    “To appeal to independent women and small-business people.”
    “OK, and then we’ve got stuff about her getting sick. Why?”
    “So Armstrong looks like a caring son. Very dutiful and full of family values. It humanizes him. And it authenticates his issues about health care.”
    “And we’ve got plenty of stuff about his dad’s lumber company.”
    “For the business lobby again. And it touches on environmental concerns. You know, trees and logging and all that kind of thing. Armstrong can say he’s got practical knowledge. He’s walked the walk, at one remove.”
    “Exactly,” Reacher said. “Whatever the issue, whatever the constituency, they find a bone to throw.”
    “So?”
    “They took a pass on military service. And usually they love all that stuff, in a campaign. Normally if your dad was in the Army, you’d shout it from the rooftops to wrap up another whole bunch of issues. But there’s no detail at all. He joined, he got discharged. That’s all we know. See what I mean? We’re drowning in detail everywhere else, but not there. It stands out.”
    “The father died ages ago.”
    “Doesn’t matter. They’d have been all over it if there was something to be gained. And what was the medical discharge for? If it had been a wound they’d have made something out of it, for sure. Even a training accident. The guy would have been a big hero. And you know what? I don’t like to see unexplained medical discharges. You know how it was. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
    “I guess it does. But it can’t be connected. It happened before Armstrong was even born. Then the guy died nearly thirty years ago. And you said it yourself, this all was triggered by something Armstrong did in the campaign.”
    Reacher nodded. “But I’d still like to know more about it. We could ask Armstrong direct, I guess.”
    “Don’t need to,” Neagley said. “I can find out, if you really need me to. I can make some calls. We’ve got plenty of contacts. People who figure on getting a job with us when they quit are generally interested in making a good impression beforehand.”
    Reacher yawned. “OK, do it. First thing tomorrow.”
    “I’ll do it tonight. The military is still twenty-four/seven. Hasn’t changed any since we quit.”
    “You should sleep. It can wait.”
    “I never sleep anymore.”
    Reacher yawned again. “Well, I’m going to.”
    “Bad day,” Neagley said.
    Reacher nodded. “As bad as they get. So make the calls if you want to, but don’t wake me up to tell me about them. Tell me about them tomorrow.”

    The night duty officer fixed them a ride back to the Georgetown motel and Reacher went straight to his room. It was quiet and still and empty. It had been cleaned and tidied. The bed was made. Joe’s box had gone. He sat in the chair for a moment and wondered if Stuyvesant had thought to cancel Froelich’s booking. Then the nighttime silence pressed in on him and he was overcome by a sense of something not there . A sense of absence. Things that should be there and weren’t. What exactly? Froelich, of course. He had an ache for her. She should be there, and she wasn’t. She had been there the last time he was in the room. Early that morning. Today’s the day we win or lose , she had said. Losing is not an option , he had replied.
    Something not there . Maybe Joe himself. Maybe lots of things. There were lots of things missing from his life. Things not done, things not said. What exactly? Maybe it was just Armstrong’s