But I didn't go do that. I just sat there. I figured if I sat in a diner long enough, drinking coffee, my mystery woman would surely find me.
Which she did, five minutes later.
I saw her before she saw me. I was looking out at a bright street, and she was looking in at a dim room. She was on foot. She was wearing black pants and black leather shoes, a black T-shirt, and a leather jacket the color and texture of an old baseball glove. She was carrying a briefcase made of the same kind of material. She was lean and lithe and limber, and she seemed to be moving slower than the rest of the world, like fit strong people always do. Her hair was still dark, still cut short, and her face was still full of fast intelligence and rapid glances. Frances Neagley, First Sergeant, United States Army. We had worked together many times, tough cases and easy, long hauls and short. She was as close to a friend as I had, back in 1997, and I hadn't seen her in more than a year.
She came in scanning for the waitress, ready to ask for an update. She saw me at my table and changed course immediately. No surprise in her face. Just fast assimilation of new information, and satisfaction that her method had worked. She knew the state and she knew the town, and she knew I drank a lot of coffee, and therefore a diner was where she would find me.
I used my toe and poked the facing chair out, like Deveraux had twice done for me. Neagley sat down, smooth and easy. She put her briefcase on the floor by her feet. No greeting, no salute, no handshake, no peck on the cheek. There were two things people needed to understand about Neagley. Despite her personal warmth she couldn't bear to be physically touched, and despite her considerable talents she refused to become an officer. She had never given reasons for either thing. Some folks thought she was smart, and some folks thought she was crazy, but all agreed that with Neagley, no one would ever know for sure.
"Ghost town," she said.
"The base is closed," I said.
"I know. I'm up to speed. Closing the base was their first mistake. It's as good as a confession."
"Story is, they were worried about tension with the town."
Neagley nodded. "Wouldn't take much to start some, either way around. I saw the street behind this one. All those stores, lined up like a row of teeth, facing the base? Very predatory. Our people must be sick of getting laughed at and ripped off."
"Seen anything else?"
"Everything. I've been here two hours."
"How are you, anyway?"
"We have no time for social chit-chat."
"What do you need?"
"Nothing," she said. "It's you that needs."
"What do I need?"
"You need to get a damn clue," she said. "This is a suicide mission, Reacher. Stan Lowrey called me. He's worried. So I asked around. And Lowrey was right. You should have turned this whole thing down."
"I'm in the army," I said. "I go where I'm told."
"I'm in the army too. But I avoid sticking my head in a noose."
"Kelham is the noose. Munro is the one risking his neck. I'm on the sidelines here."
"I don't know Munro," she said. "Never met him. Never even heard of him before. But dollars to doughnuts he'll do what he's told. He'll cover it up and swear black is white. But you won't."
"A woman was killed. We can't ignore that."
"Three women were killed."
"You know about that already?"
"I told you, I've been here two hours. I'm up to speed."
"How did you find out?"
"I met the sheriff. Chief Deveraux herself."
"When?"
"She dropped by her office. I happened to be there. I was asking for you."
"And she told you stuff?"
"I gave her the look."
"What look?"
Neagley blinked and composed herself and then tilted her face down a little and looked up at me, her eyes on mine, her eyes open wide and serious and frank and sympathetic and understanding and encouraging, her lips parted a fraction as if imminently ready to exhale a murmur of absolute empathy, her whole demeanor astonished and marveling at how bravely I was bearing the many heavy burdens my lot in life had brought me. She said, "This is the look. Works great with women. Kind of conspiratorial, right? Like we're in the same boat?"
I nodded. It was a hell of a look. But I found myself disappointed that Deveraux had fallen for it. Some damn jarhead she was. I asked, "What else did she tell you?"
"Something about a car. She's assuming it's critical to the case and that it belonged to a Kelham guy."
"She's right. I just found the plate. Garber ran it and told me to sit on it."
"And are you going to?"
"I don't know. Might not be a lawful order."
"See what I mean? You're going to commit suicide. I knew it. I'm going to stick around and keep you out of trouble. That's why I came."
"Aren't you deployed?"
"I'm in D.C. At a desk. They won't miss me for a day or two."
I shook my head.
"No," I said. "I don't need help. I know what I'm doing. I know how the game is played. I won't sell myself cheap. But I don't want to bring you down with me. If that's the way it has to turn out."
"Nothing has to turn out any which way, Reacher. It's a choice."
"You don't really believe that."
She made a face. "At least pick your battles."
"I always do. And this one is as good as any."
At that point the waitress came out of the kitchen. She saw me, saw Neagley, recognized her from before, saw that we weren't rolling around on the floor tearing each other's eyes out, and her earlier guilt evaporated. She refilled my coffee mug. Neagley ordered tea, Lipton's breakfast blend, water properly boiling. We sat in silence until the order was filled. Then the waitress went away again and Neagley said, "Chief Deveraux is a very beautiful woman."
I said, "I agree."
"Have you slept with her yet?"
"Certainly not."
"Are you going to?"
"I guess I can dream. Hope dies last, right?"
"Don't. There's something wrong with her."
"Like what?"
"She doesn't care. She's got three unsolved homicides and her pulse is as slow as a bear in winter."
"She was a Marine MP. She's been digging the same ditch we have, all her life. How excited do you get about three dead people?"
"I get professionally excited."
"She thinks a Kelham guy did it. Therefore she has no jurisdiction. Therefore she has no role. Therefore she can't get professionally excited."
"Whatever, there's a bad vibe there. That's all I'm saying. Trust me."
"Don't worry."
"I mentioned your name and she looked at me like you owe her money."
"I don't."
"Then she's crazy about you. I could tell."
"You say that about every woman I meet."
"But this time it's true. I mean it. Her cold little heart was going pitter patter. Be warned, OK?"
"Thanks anyway," I said. "But I don't need a big sister on this occasion."
"Which reminds me," she said. "Garber is asking about your brother."
"My brother?"
"Scuttlebutt on the sergeants' network. Garber has put a watch on your office, for notes or calls from your brother. He wants to know if you're in regular contact."