Better off Dead

Chapter 31

I made it five yards, then stopped. Because of the guy’s phone. I was going to need to use it. Which meant I would have to unlock it. Which could be a problem.

The phone was the kind with just a screen. There were no numbered keys. No button to press, to read a fingerprint. I raised it and its screen lit up. The whole thing buzzed angrily in my hand. A message appeared. It said, “Face ID Not Recognized. Try Again?” Heaven help any phone that recognized my face, I thought. Then I turned back to the car. Returned to the driver’s door. Opened it, and held the phone level with the guy’s nose. It buzzed angrily. I lowered it and tried again.

No success.

I figured the problem must be the guy’s jaw. It had been broken by the airbag. The phone must keep a record of the shape of its owner’s face. That was different now. Its outline had changed. I tried pushing the guy’s chin up with my fingers, then lined up the phone. No luck. I shifted his jaw a little to the side. Tried the phone again. It still wouldn’t unlock. It buzzed again, more angrily than before. A new message appeared. “Passcode Required to Enable Face ID.”

Six circles popped up below the text. They were small and hollow and bunched up together in a horizontal line. Below them there were ten circles with the numbers 0–9. They were arranged like a conventional keypad. I touched the zero. The first small circle turned gray. So, the phone had a six-digit PIN. Far too many combinations to have a reasonable chance of cracking it. Not without knowing something about the dead guy. Something to narrow the odds. I hit the zero five more times, just in case. The other small circles filled in. The phone buzzed angrily. “Passcode Incorrect. Try Again?” I thought, Maybe. But not there. Not standing in the sun next to a car with two dead bodies inside it. And not when there was another avenue I could try.

I walked around to the rear of the car and popped the trunk. The other guy’s body was all the way forward, piled up against the seats. It must have slid there with the force of the collision. I reached in, grabbed the guy’s belt, and pulled him back. I checked his pockets. Found another phone. Another one with no keys. It also asked for a Face ID. I wrestled the guy onto his back. Shuffled him down so that his face wasn’t in the shadows. Held the phone level with his nose. It buzzed, and unlocked itself.

Getting one of the phones unlocked was good. But not perfect. I had no idea how long it would be until it locked itself again. Thirty seconds? A minute? Ten? However long it took it was no problem while I was near the car. I could use the guy’s face to reactivate it. The issue was I didn’t want to stay near the car. And I didn’t want to use the phone near the car. I wanted to get into position at the house before sending the text and summoning more of Dendoncker’s guys. I wanted to watch them arrive. To see how many there were. What kind of weapons they brought. It would take me a while to get there. Half an hour, probably. At least. The Chevy was at Fenton’s hotel. I had walked to the Red Roan from there. And then on to the Border Inn. I would have to retrace my steps to collect it. Or get hold of the keys to one of Michael’s cars. And there were a couple of other things I wanted to attend to on the way.

Under the circumstances, I could see no alternative. I had to send the message and let the chips fall how they may. If I arrived second to the house, no real harm would be done. I could surveil the place. Make a plan. It might impact the details. But not the outcome. The way I was feeling it didn’t matter how many guys Dendoncker sent or what they brought with them. They were all going to be taking a trip to the hospital. Or the morgue.

I touched the icon for messages and entered the number the guy had given me when he outlined his orders. He said no exact wording was required so I tapped out, “Prisoner Secured. Heading to House.” Then I added, “ETA 40 Minutes.” I figured that might make a difference. Or it might not. But it was worth a try.

I didn’t know if the phone would be usable for long so I dialed Wallwork’s number as I walked to the hotel. He answered on the first ring.

“This is Reacher. The clock’s ticking on a lead so I’ve got to be brief. I have an update. I interrogated someone connected to a member of Dendoncker’s crew. She admitted there’s a plot to plant a bomb at a Veterans Day ceremony. She claimed the bomb only releases smoke. For some kind of publicity stunt.”

“Do you believe her?”

“We know Dendoncker’s guy built a real bomb. Fenton’s work at TEDAC proved that. So, either the woman I spoke to has been duped and the harmless bomb will be switched, or there’s a second plot.”

“Where’s the target?”

“The woman didn’t know.”

“OK. Better play it safe. I’ll put out a general alert.”

“Good. Anything for me?”

“The address you gave me? I traced the owner. It’s a shell corporation. Another one. No connection to Dendoncker or any of his other companies. No other assets. And there’s something else weird. It changed hands ten years ago. Right after Dendoncker showed up in the town. I found a report in the local press. It says the previous owner was a nice old guy. He lived there for years and pretty much got driven out. The house wasn’t on the market. He hadn’t wanted to sell. Then some unnamed newcomer – presumably Dendoncker – came after it. Aggressively. Like it had been targeted specifically.”

“Why? No one lives in it now. It’s empty. Dendoncker’s guys use it as a cutout. There must be dozens of places they could have picked. The town feels like it’s on life support. Why go after that house in particular?”

“Maybe Dendoncker planned to live there, and changed his mind? Or had some other scheme for it that didn’t pan out? There could be dozens of reasons.”

“Could be, I guess. But do me a favor. Check who owns the neighboring houses. Check the whole street. See if anything else jumps out.”

The call ended just as I reached the steps to the hotel’s main entrance. The blood trail was still there. It was dry now. It had turned brown and crusty. The surviving door was closed. Someone had retrieved the other. They’d propped it up against the wall. I went in through the gap it left. Scanned the foyer. Saw that the cowboy boots were back, propped up on the reception counter. They were the same ones. Snakeskin. Holes in their soles. I was glad they were there. It meant ticking the next item off my list would be nice and easy.

The guy was lounging back in his chair. His vest was still unbuttoned. His hat was pulled down over his face again. And he still wasn’t really asleep. His whole body stiffened as I came close. He wasn’t expecting to see me again. That was clear. He’d probably thought the blood on the ground outside was mine.

I said, “How much?”

The guy fumbled with his hat, pushed it back, and did his best to look like he was only flustered because he’d suddenly woken up. “How much? For what?”

“Calling Dendoncker. Telling him I was here. What did he pay you?”

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I grabbed the guy’s ankles and pulled. His ass slid off the chair. He crashed onto the floor and squealed as he hit the tile. I vaulted over the counter and landed straddling his legs. He reached up toward a little shelf that wasn’t visible from the other side. A shotgun was balanced there. It was an ancient thing. An L.C. Smith. Its barrel had been sawn down to about six inches. That would make it easy to wield. And it would still be plenty lethal at close quarters.

I said, “Leave it.”

The guy kept on trying to grab it so I kicked him in the face. Not hard. It was more of a push. Just enough to knock him onto his back. Then I stamped on his hand. To discourage him. In case he felt the urge to go for the gun, again.

I said, “How much?”

The guy was rolling from side to side, clutching his crushed hand to his chest. “Nothing extra. He pays me every month. Five hundred dollars, cash. I report anything unusual. Or anything weird his people staying here get up to. Sometimes he puts out an alert. Like this morning. I got a text with a description of you. I had to call when I saw you. I had no choice. Mr. Dendoncker – he’s a bad man.”

“You always have a choice. Right or wrong. It’s clear-cut. You just thought you wouldn’t get caught. You chose greed. You used poor judgment. So this is what’s going to happen. When you wake up, you’ll leave town. Immediately. And you’ll never come back. I’m going to check. And if I find you here, I’ll make Dendoncker look like the Easter Bunny. Are we clear?”

“When I wake up? What, like, in the morning?”

“In the morning. The afternoon. Whenever it happens to be.”

I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him into a sitting position. Then I kicked him in the face again. A little harder that time.