Page 16 of Exit Strategy
‘What?’
‘The eyewitness from the video. You said she’s coming to town. I want to meet her in person. Hear her story. Look her in the eye.’
‘No problem. When?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow doesn’t work. She gets here Wednesday. She has a long journey and it’s not like she’s in business class. Let’s do it Thursday.’
‘Okay, Thursday morning.’
‘Ten hundred?’
‘See you then.’
‘Mark? One last thing. Email me a copy of the contract. I want to read it before you sign it in case anything needs tweaking.’
‘It won’t, but no problem. I’ll send it now.’
The next bus out of Baltimore was bound for Boston. It was due to leave in another forty-five minutes. Reacher was okay with that, so he bought another ticket and another cup of coffee from the same pair of machines. He took the same seat with the view of the entrance and settled in to wait.
Two minutes later Gilmour appeared. His face was flushed now, and he was breathing heavily. He strode across to Reacher’s corner and said, ‘Two things, Mr Righteous. First, I didn’t sell that information. I was caught in a bind. I was forced to get it. I had no choice. And second, I am going to stay in town and keep doing my job. For my nephew’s sake. Even without your help. Even if the whole thing blows back on me big-time. So the next time you’re sitting in a coffee shop reading somebody’s abandoned newspaper, if there’s a story about me getting murdered, you’ll know why.’
Gilmour didn’t wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and started back toward the door. He took three steps, then paused and looked over his shoulder. He said, ‘If you’re leaving town, where’s your luggage?’
Reacher didn’t reply.
Gilmour shrugged and continued to the exit.
The vending machine coffee was weak, and it was lukewarm, so Reacher wasn’t too upset about wasting it. He set the cup down next to his seat, then got up and walked outside. Gilmour’s car was still there. Its engine was running now, and it inched forward like Gilmour was getting ready to pull a U-turn. Then he saw Reacher and stopped moving. Reacher approached, opened the passengerdoor, and climbed in. He said, ‘You were forced to steal this information?’
Gilmour nodded.
‘How?’
Gilmour killed the engine. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he said, ‘First of all, I want you to know that I’m not proud of any of this.’
‘Don’t second-guess yourself. Start at the beginning and go from there.’
‘The trouble started when I got out of the army. I had a few problems readjusting. A lot of guys do. It was booze at first. I beat that. But then the gambling got me, and man, it hit me hard. I used to go to this underground card place here in the city. Once a week at first. Then twice. Then before long, every night. I was desperate to stop but I just couldn’t. I tried everything. Support groups. Hypnotism. I even went to counseling a couple of times. I have to admit I was a total addict. And the debt – it just kept getting worse. The more I owed, the more I played, thinking I could win some back. Thinking my luck would change.’
‘But it never did.’
‘Not for long enough. In the end I always lost, and then there was the interest on what I already owed. On and on it went. Round and round. Down and down. Before long I was circling the drain. I couldn’t see a way out. Except for … a couple of times I went to the bridge in the middle of the night. I climbed up onto the side wall. I didn’t jump, though. Obviously. Then, out of the blue a guy showed up at my door. He said he had a proposition for me. Said he’d pay off all my debts. In full. All I had to do was get a job at the port, stay out of trouble, and one day beforelong he would ask me for some information. After that we’d be even. I’d even get a cash bonus if I kept the job and stayed away from the club. He said it would be paid in installments to help me resist temptation.’
‘And you don’t know this guy’s name?’
‘No. He never told me. But I got his picture.’ Gilmour pulled out his phone, selected an image, and held it up for Reacher to see. It was a photograph of a man, early fifties, with a hard, angular face, close-cropped, graying hair, and cold, narrow eyes.
‘Did he know you took that?’
Gilmour shook his head. ‘I didn’t plan to. Old habits die hard, I guess.’
‘Did you take a picture of me?’
Gilmour looked away.
‘I’ll take that as a yes. Delete it. Now.’
