Blue Moon

He backed away and pushed the door and stepped out to the street. He stopped on the corner to fine tune his direction. A right and a left, he thought. That should do it.

Behind him he heard the door open again. He heard footsteps on the sidewalk. He turned and saw Isaac walking toward him. The one who was neither dark nor fair. He was five-nine, maybe, and solid as a bull seal. His pants were cuffed.

He said, “I’m Isaac, remember?”

“Isaac Mehay-Byford,” Reacher said. “J.D. from Stanford Law. Tough school. Congratulations. But I’m guessing you’re from the other coast originally.”

“Boston,” he said. “My dad was a cop there. You remind me of him, a little bit. He noticed things, too.”

“Now you’re making me feel old.”

“Are you a cop?”

“I was,” Reacher said. “Once upon a time. In the army. Does that count?”

“It might,” Isaac said. “You could give me some advice.”

“About what?”

“How did you come to know the Shevicks?”

“I helped him out of a jam this morning. He hurt his knee. I walked him home. They told me the story.”

“His wife calls me now and then. They don’t have many friends. I know what they’re doing for money. Sooner or later they’re going to run out of room.”

“I think they already have,” Reacher said. “Or they will, in seven days.”

“I have a crazy personal theory,” Isaac said.

“About what?”

“Or maybe I’m just deluding myself.”

“About what?” Reacher asked again.

“The last thing Julian said. About the civil suit, against the employer. No point pursuing it because the assets are worthless. Usually good advice. Good advice in this case, too, I’m sure. Except actually I’m not sure.”

“Why not?”

“The guy was famous here for a spell. Everyone was talking about him. Ironically Meg Shevick did a great job with the PR. Lots of tech sector mythology, lots of young entrepreneur stuff, lots of positive immigration spin, about how he came to this country with nothing, and made such a success. But I heard negative things, too. Here and there, fragments, gossip, bits and pieces, all unconnected. All hearsay and uncorroborated, too, but from people who should know. I became weirdly obsessed with figuring out how all those random pieces fit together, behind the public image. There seemed to be three main themes. He was all about himself, he was ethically challenged, and he seemed to have way more money than he should. My crazy personal theory was that if you joined the dots the one and only way they could be joined, then logically you were forced to conclude he was skimming off the top. Which would have been easy for an ethically challenged person. There was a tsunami of cash back then. It was insane. I think it was irresistible. I think he shoveled millions of dollars of investor money under his own personal mattress.”

“Which would explain how the company went down so fast,” Reacher said. “It had no reserves. They had been stolen. The balance sheet was all messed up.”

“The point is that money might still be there,” Isaac said. “Or most of it. Or some of it. Still under his mattress. In which case the civil suit would be worth it. Against him personally. Not against the company.”

Reacher said nothing.

Isaac said, “The lawyer in me tells me it’s a hundred to one. But I would hate to see the Shevicks go down without checking it out. But I don’t know how to do it. That’s what I need advice about. A real law firm would hire a private investigator. They would locate the guy and dig through his records. Two days later we would know for sure. But the project doesn’t have the budget. And we don’t get paid enough to chip in ourselves.”

“Why would they need to locate the guy? Has he disappeared?”

“We know he’s still in town. But he’s laying low. I doubt if I could find him by myself. He’s very smart, and if I’m right, he’s also very rich. Not a good combination. It lengthens the odds.”

“What’s his name?”

“Maxim Trulenko,” Isaac said. “He’s Ukrainian.”

Chapter 12

Gregory heard the first whispers out of the gourmet quarter an hour after the events there took place. His bookkeeper called to say his nightly report would be delayed because he was still waiting on two particular bagmen who hadn’t checked in yet. Gregory asked which two, and the bookkeeper told him the guys who did the five restaurants. At first Gregory thought nothing of it. They were grown-ups.

Then his right-hand man called to say the same two bagmen hadn’t been answering their phones for some time, and their car wasn’t where it should be, so accordingly word had gone out to the taxi fleet, with a description of the car, which for once had gotten an instant response. Two separate drivers said the exact same thing. Some time ago they had seen a car just like that getting a tow. Rear wheels off the ground, behind a medium-sized tow truck. Three silhouettes in the tow truck’s cab. At first Gregory thought nothing of it. Cars broke down.

Then he asked, “But why would that stop them answering their phones?”