No Plan B

Around the base of the building there was a ring of sculptures. They were made of steel, all curved interlocking shapes, gleaming in the sunshine like flames. Or scimitar blades. They reminded Jed of a place back in L.A. Some kind of a fancy concert hall. He’d never been inside it but the exterior fascinated him. It was made of shiny metal, too, and the whole surface was twisted and warped like it was melting. Like a localized apocalypse was taking place. Or a scene from a fever dream. Or a sign he was going crazy. He had always found it a little menacing. Like so much in his hometown.

If L.A. still was his hometown.

A set of steps ran up to a concourse that separated the round building from a similar, shorter, wider one. Jed climbed up. He paused at the top then walked around to the far side. There was a low wall, presumably to stop pedestrians from falling down onto the street below. Jed perched on the edge. He lined up his coins on the rough concrete surface. Then he took away all of them except the quarters. Three metal circles. Dull with age. Scuffed from use. Innocuous, everyday items. But with the power to shape his future.

Jed had to decide. He could put the coins back in his pocket. Or he could feed them into a phone.

He could go forward. Or back.

Grab a new life. Or settle for his old one.

—

At the same time Jed was wondering what to do with the quarters a police car pulled onto the forecourt at the side of the Greyhound station. Two officers climbed out. They both had a copy of a photograph in their hands. One officer made her way inside the terminal building. She covered the whole area, showing the picture to all the passengers who were eating or loitering around or returning from the restrooms. The other officer stayed outside. He focused on the line of buses. He was looking for one vehicle in particular. The one that had recently come in from L.A.

—

At the same time the officers were arriving at the Greyhound station in El Paso, Texas, a car was rolling to a halt at the side of the street next to Wiles Park in Gerrardsville, Colorado. A poverty-spec Dodge Charger. Detective Harewood set his dome light flashing on the dash, slid out, and walked across to the only bench in the square that was near a tree. He stood for a moment and looked at Reacher. Then he shifted his gaze to the two guys who were still on the ground. They were still motionless.

Harewood said, “What happened?”

Reacher drained the last of his coffee and set the cup down on the bench. “They collapsed. Spontaneously.”

“Seriously?”

“They were up to no good. The strain must have gotten too much.”

“And you just happened to be here when it did?”

Reacher took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Harewood. “They left this in Sam Roth’s mailbox.”

“You should have called me. Let me handle it.”

“I figured they could be connected to Angela St. Vrain.”

“Were they?”

“No.”

Harewood checked his watch. “Did you call them an ambulance at least?”

Reacher shook his head. “I tried for a garbage truck. No luck. Apparently it’s not trash day.”

Harewood took out his phone and speed-dialed a number. He told someone at his office to arrange for medical assistance and a uniformed escort to remain with the guys at the hospital. Then he sat down and said, “So what kind of no good were these guys up to?”

“Trying to blackmail Roth. His ex-wife said he’d been under extra stress at work recently. This explains why.”

“What did they want?”

“To get the staff rota rewritten a particular way. Probably to help them smuggle stuff into the prison they worked at. Possibly to help break someone out.”

“Damn. What did they have on Roth?”

“Nothing real. Just some trumped-up nonsense. They admitted that. But enough to cause trouble for Roth. If he’d stayed alive.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“I’ll make sense of it one way or another, but level with me. Are you telling the truth?”

“About what?”

“Did you really think these guys had something to do with Angela? Or did you just find the note and come over here looking for trouble? Because I don’t see the connection.”

“Turned out there wasn’t a connection. Their scheme was local. Completely separate. But here’s what I was thinking. The fact is, Angela wasn’t linked to Roth romantically. He was her former boss. She’d gone to him for help.”

“With what?”

“Some accounting thing at her work. They’d been communicating via email. That’s another fact. Now for the speculation. I think Angela came to Gerrardsville to show Roth something. Some evidence relating to whatever kind of wrongdoing she had uncovered. I think whoever had her killed found this out, but only after she had left Mississippi. Hence staging her accident here. Where they knew she would be. And when.”

“That would account for the timing and location.” Harewood pointed to the ground on either side. “But not why you thought these guys could be involved.”