No Plan B

“Stopping Angela from showing the evidence to Roth wasn’t enough. They needed to recover it. Whatever it was. Hence stealing Angela’s purse.”

“How could they be sure the evidence was in Angela’s purse?”

Reacher didn’t answer.

A frown spread across Harewood’s face. “They could have thought Angela mailed it to Roth before she left home.”

“That would have been the smart move. A package is safer in the US mail than in a purse. Especially when you have a couple of killers on your tail.”

“And you thought that was the proof demanded in the note?”

“I hoped it was. Because then we could have captured a couple of foot soldiers. Worked our way up the food chain. And it would have meant that Roth’s death was an accident.”

Harewood was silent for a moment. “You only try to blackmail someone you think is still alive. Not someone you know you already killed. I guess even without the evidence Angela was bringing, Roth knew too much.”

“That’s how I see it.”

“I’ll get on to the ME. Ask her to run tests for everything known to man that can induce a heart attack.”

“Send some computer guys to Roth’s apartment as well. Someone wiped all the emails between him and Angela off his laptop. The real ones. The ones Angela’s employer found were fake.”

“Will do.”

“And check the area behind Roth’s building for tire tracks. His ex-wife thinks she saw a car waiting there on Monday night, before he died.”

Harewood shook his head.

“What? You don’t believe her?”

“It’s not that. I’m just thinking, my lieutenant was pissed about me wanting to investigate one death as a homicide. Now I’ll have to tell him we have two.”

“Here’s something to soften the blow. You can tell him I’m leaving town.”

“You are? When?”

Reacher stood up. “Right now.”

“Why? Are you done?”

Reacher smiled. “I’m just getting started.”

—

Jed Starmer had sat on the wall long enough for the sun to move and cast the three quarters next to him into deep shadow. He checked his watch. The bus was due to leave in ten minutes. He couldn’t delay any longer. It was decision time.

Forward? Or back?

Get on board? Or make a call?

Jed didn’t know which he should do. Panic rose in his throat. He felt it choking him. He couldn’t breathe. But only for a moment. He swallowed the fear back down. He had already come a long way. On his own. Without needing any stuff. If he kept going he would only be alone for another couple of days. Not even another forty-eight hours. He could manage that long without a change of clothes. Losing his backpack was a setback. But it wasn’t a catastrophe. It was no reason to give up. He still had his toothbrush. And he still had $300.

Jed stood up. He snatched up the coins and dropped them into his pocket. The only thing he didn’t have was time. He had been planning to buy some food. He was starving, but his meal was going to have to wait. Which in a way he could take as a bonus. He could conserve his cash for a little longer. Until he reached Dallas. He could last until then without eating. He was used to being hungry. That was one thing he could thank his foster mother for.

Jed hurried down the steps and ran the rest of the way back to the Greyhound station. He scurried through the terminal building, weaving his way around the knots of slow-moving passengers, but he stopped before he reached the exit to the concourse. He had spotted a vending machine. It was by the far wall. Next to the payphones. The day was hot. Hotter than he was used to. He had been rushing around in the sun. And the machine was full of all kinds of drinks.

Going without food was one thing. But water was different. He had read that not having enough could mess up your health. Damage your internal organs. Cause lasting harm. He didn’t want to start his new life all weak and sickly. But neither did he want to miss the bus. The doors closed a little before departure time. He had seen that happen in L.A., a hundred years ago. Or actually yesterday. He checked his watch. Decided it was worth the risk. Pulled the handful of change out of his pocket. Jammed the coins into the slot, one after another, and watched the total on the digital display creep up to the required amount. Then he grabbed the bottle from the delivery chute and raced to the bus.

Jed dashed up the stairs and the bus’s door hissed closed before he was three feet along the aisle. He took the same seat as before. Leaned against the window. And suddenly felt exposed without his backpack. Vulnerable. He craved the way it had felt on his lap. He would have given anything to hug it tight just then. Whether it made him look like a kid or not.

“Hey, buddy!”

Jed jumped. Someone had flopped into the seat next to him. A guy, a little scruffy, maybe eighteen. Jed recognized him. He had been on board all the way from L.A. Sitting near the back. Jed had thought he was part of a group. Now he wasn’t sure.

The guy said, “So. What’s happening?”

Jed said, “Nothing.”

The guy leaned in close. “You in trouble?”

“Me? No. Why?”

“Are the police looking for you?”