Page 47 of Exit Strategy
TWENTY-SEVEN
Gilmour sat on the windowsill, swung his legs over, and ducked in through the gap. Thirty seconds later the back door swung open. Reacher stepped through into a deep rectangular space. It stretched all the way to the front of the building. The ceiling was supported by six ornate iron columns. Each was painted a different color of the rainbow, from red to indigo. The floor was polished concrete. The walls were brick, with coarse patches of their original surface peeking through a tired, flaky layer of whitewash. To the left was a dining area. There was a long, narrow table made of weathered wood. It was surrounded by eight transparent polycarbonate chairs, and beyond it, three chrome-and-leather couches were grouped around a fireplace that was hanging from the ceiling by its own stainless-steel chimney pipe. To the right, a kitchen area was set intoa broad alcove – a horseshoe of shiny lemon-yellow cabinets and matte-black appliances – and a textured concrete wall extended the rest of the way to the front. It was broken by two doorways with the kind of doors that hung on exposed horizontal rails. The nearer one was standing open and Reacher could see a half bath on the other side. The farther one was three-quarters closed. It had been prevented from sliding all the way home by a pair of men’s feet. They were lying prone, bare toes pointing at the ceiling.
Reacher was first to the door. He nudged it open with his elbow and stepped through into a square study. He looked down at the body. There was no chance of this guy telling them anything. He was dead. That was clear. He’d been shot in the temple at close range. The skin around the entry wound was scorched and stippled with flecks of powder. The opposite side of his skull was missing altogether. Parts of it were stuck to the side wall, and a trail of drying blood and brains had been sprayed across the desktop and the laptop that sat on it. The guy didn’t need to be able to speak for Reacher to identify him, though. He’d seen his angular face and cold, narrow eyes before. But not in person. On the screen of Gilmour’s phone.
Reacher heard Gilmour approaching across the hard floor and stop abruptly in the doorway. He turned, and for the second time that afternoon they stood in silence and gazed at a corpse.
When Gilmour finally spoke, there was a note of disbelief in his voice. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’
‘Looks like he lived here.’ Reacher leaned down andpulled the dead guy’s wallet from his jeans pocket. He opened it and took out his driver’s license. ‘His name was Zachary Weaver. And yes. This was his address.’
‘That explains a lot, I guess. They were a couple. This guy Weaver and Dr Martin. No wonder she wouldn’t give up her address to Kathryn Kasselwood.’ Gilmour stepped into the room. ‘Dr Martin mined the information. Weaver exploited it. I wonder how they got together. A therapist and an extortionist. Not a typical love match.’
Reacher pointed at Weaver’s right wrist. It was ringed with a tattoo. An unbroken strand of barbed wire. Not a terrible representation artistically, but the edges were blurred and the blue color of the image was pale and washed out. ‘Looks like prison ink. He was probably referred to her by the court. But that’s not what’s important here, is it?’
Gilmour was silent for a moment, then his eyes grew wide. He said, ‘Holy hell. With this guy dead, the chain’s broken. Dead men can’t follow through on their threats. My nephew’s in the clear. I’m in the clear.’
‘You’re as free as a bird. You can fly away right now.’
Gilmour stood still for thirty seconds. A minute. Then he backed out of the room and said, ‘You’re right. Come on. Let’s get back to the car and give Sabrina the news. And then go … I don’t know, anywhere I want.’
Reacher listened as Gilmour’s footsteps tapped away toward the back door. He shrugged, then crouched down to check Weaver’s other pockets. He found a phone but nothing else. From his position closer to the ground he could see farther under Weaver’s desk than when he was on his feet. And also farther under a leather armchair,which was shoved at an awkward angle against the wall by the door. Something was stuck beneath it near its front right leg. Something soft and fluffy, like a chunk of lint that had been missed by a vacuum cleaner. If the rest of the first floor had been a mess, Reacher might not have thought twice. But the whole place was immaculate. It could have been used as a commercial for a top-dollar cleaning service. He reached under the chair and fished out … a clump of hair. It was the color of rust. One set of ends looked slightly uneven, like they’d grown that way. But at the other end, the strands were uniform. They’d been cut. Recently. There was no doubt about that.
Reacher straightened up, and from the main room he heard Gilmour turn and head back. He waited, and a few seconds later Gilmour appeared in the doorway. He said, ‘What are you doing? Come on.’
Reacher shook his head and said, ‘You go. Take Patten with you. I’m not done here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like you said, the chain is broken. I need to find out what connected this guy to whoever’s trying to steal the shipment.’
‘Why?’
‘We don’t know what’s in it. Not exactly. But a dollar gets a dime it’s nothing good. In which case I don’t want it getting into the wrong hands.’
‘That’s not your problem, is it? The CIA’s responsible. Or a contractor is. Leave it to whoever decided to bring it to this country. They can handle it.’
‘Maybe they can. Maybe they can’t. But I’m not a gambling man.’
Gilmour spun away. He took two angry steps toward the exit, then stopped and crept back. He said, ‘Nor am I. Not anymore. All right. How do we do this?’
‘We think like Kasselwood.’ Reacher opened his hand so Gilmour could see the hair he’d found. ‘This was under the chair.’
‘Distinctive color. I’ve seen it before, somewhere.’ Gilmour was silent for a second. ‘It’s Dr Martin’s. Kasselwood must have brought it for leverage. Made out like the doctor was still alive. She probably told Weaver he had to cooperate if he wanted her to stay that way.’
‘Meaning Kasselwood didn’t just come to kill Weaver. She wanted something from him.’
Gilmour thought for a moment. ‘She took her file from Dr Martin’s office. Maybe she found out that the doctor kept a copy here.’
Reacher said, ‘Or that Weaver had a copy.’
‘Either way works. Because then she’d want to take it for the same reason as before. To stop the police from tying her to the murder. Murders now. And maybe to keep whatever secret she’d told Dr Martin from getting out as well.’
‘And to avoid any liability if the conspiracy she’d been forced into came to light.’
‘What conspiracy had she been forced into?’
‘There’s no way to know unless we find the file. Or Kasselwood, herself.’
