Worth Dying For

point anyway, because as soon as Margaret had gotten on her bicycle, her scent had disappeared, suspended in the air, whisked away by the breeze, insulated by rubber tyres. The dogs tracked her to her own driveway, and that was all. The loudhailer appeals for folks to search their own property were curiously circular too,because what was a guilty party going to do? Turn himself in? Although in Carson’s defence, foul play was not yet suspected. The first Carson had heard about local suspicions had come at nine the next morning, when Dorothy Coe had broken down and spilled the beans about the Duncans. That interview had lasted an hour and filled nine pages of notes. Then Carson had gotten right on it.
    But from the start, the Duncans had looked innocent.
    They even had an alibi. Five years earlier they had sold the family farm, retaining only a T-shaped acre that encompassed their driveway and their three houses, and in the country way of things they had never gotten around to marking off their new boundaries. Their neighbours’ last ploughed furrows were their property line. But eventually they decided to put up a post-and-rail fence. It was a big production, much heavier and sturdier than was standard. They hired four local teenagers to come do the work. The four boys had been there all day on that Sunday, dawn to dusk, measuring, sawing, digging deep holes for the posts. The three Duncans and the eight-year-old Seth had been right there with them, all day, dawn to dusk, supervising, directing, checking up, helping out. The four boys confirmed that the Duncans had never left the property, and no one had stopped by, least of all a little girl in a green dress on a pink bicycle.
    Even so, Carson had hauled the Duncans in for questioning. By that point a hint of foul play was definitely in the air, so the State Police had to be involved, because of jurisdiction issues, so the Duncans were taken to a State barracks over near Lincoln. Seth went with them and was questioned by female officers, but had nothing to say. The three adults were grilled for days. Nebraska, in the 1980s. Rules and procedures were pretty loose where child kidnapping was suspected. But the Duncans admitted nothing. They allowed their property to be searched, voluntarily. Carson’s people did the job thoroughly, which wasn’t hard because there wasn’t much property. Just the T-shaped acre of land, bounded by the unfinished post-and-rail fence, and the three houses themselves. Carson’s people found nothing. Carson called the FBI, who sent a team equipped with the latest1980s technology. The FBI found nothing. The Duncans were released, driven home, and the case went cold.
    Reacher crawled across the room, back to the first carton, hands and knees, overview completed, ready to start in on the fine details.
    The doctor didn’t answer. He just stood there, bruised, sore, shaking, sweating. Jacob Duncan repeated the question: ‘Where is Reacher now?’
    The doctor said, ‘I would like to sit down.’
    ‘Have you been drinking?’
    ‘A little.’
    ‘At the motel?’
    ‘No,’ the doctor said. ‘I figured Mr Vincent wouldn’t serve me.’
    ‘So where were you drinking?’
    ‘At home.’
    ‘And then you walked to the motel?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I needed something from my car. Some medical equipment.’
    ‘So you were already drunk when you stole our truck?’
    ‘Yes. I wouldn’t have done it if I was sober.’
    ‘Where is Reacher now?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Would you like a drink?’
    The doctor said, ‘A drink?’
    ‘You’re familiar with the concept, I think.’
    ‘Yes, I would like a drink.’
    Jacob Duncan got up and stepped across his kitchen to a cabinet on the wall. He opened it up and took out a bottle of Wild Turkey, almost full. From another cabinet he took a glass. He carried both back to the table and set them down. He took stuff off a chair in the corner, a pair of boots, old mail, a ball of string, and he carried the chair across the room and placed it behind the doctor.
    He said, ‘Sit down, please. And help yourself.’
    The doctor sat down and shuffled the chair closer to the table and uncorked the bottle. He poured himself a generous measure and drank it all in one go. He poured a second glass.
    Jacob Duncan asked, ‘Where is Reacher now?’
    The doctor said, ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘I think you do. And it’s time to make your choice. You can sit here with us and drink my fine bourbon and