Never Go Back

NINE

The sentry Reacher had met the afternoon before was back in his hutch. The day watch. He nodded Reacher through the gate, and Reacher walked onward to the short flight of steps and the freshly painted door. The Humvee was still in the lot. As was the small red two-seater. The car with the dents in the doors was not.

There was a new sergeant at the desk in the lobby. The night watch, presumably, finishing up. This one was male, white, and a little more reserved than Leach had been in the end. Not explicitly hostile, but quiet and slightly censorious, like a milder version of the guys in the T-shirts from the night before: You brought the unit into disrepute. He said, ‘Colonel Morgan requires you to report to 207 immediately.’

Reacher said, ‘Immediately what?’

The guy said, ‘Immediately, sir.’

‘Thank you, sergeant,’ Reacher said. Room 207 was upstairs, fourth on the left, next to his own room. Or next to Susan Turner’s, or Morgan’s, now. Back in the day 207 had been Karla Dixon’s office, his number cruncher. His financial specialist. She had busted open plenty of tough things. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, crimes come down to love, hate, or money, and unlike what it says in the Bible, the greatest of these is money. Dixon had been worth her modest weight in gold, and Reacher had fond memories of room 207.

He used the stairs and walked the corridor and passed his old office. The name plate was still on the wall: Maj. S. R. Turner, Commanding Officer. He heard Captain Weiss’s voice in his head, and Major Sullivan’s: She took a bribe. Maybe there was an innocent explanation. Maybe a distant uncle had died and left stock in a uranium mine. Maybe it was a foreign mine, hence the offshore status. Australian, perhaps. There was uranium in Australia. And gold, and coal, and iron ore. Or somewhere in Africa. He wished Karla Dixon was there. She could have taken one look at the paperwork, and seen the truth in an instant.

He didn’t knock at 207’s door. No reason to. Apart from Morgan he was likely to be the highest rank in the building. And rank was rank, even in his peculiar circumstances. So he went straight in.

The room was empty. And it was no longer an office. It had been converted to a conference room of some kind. There was no desk, but there was a big round table and six chairs. There was a black spider-shaped thing in the centre of the table, presumably a speakerphone for group discussions with remote parties. There was a credenza against one wall, presumably for in-meeting coffee and sandwiches. The lightshade was the same glass bowl. There was an economy bulb in it, turned on already, glowing weak and sickly.

Reacher stepped over to the window and looked out. Not much to see. No parking in the lot on that side of the building. Just a big trash container, and a random pile of obsolete furniture, desk chairs and file cabinets. The chair upholstery looked swollen with damp, and the file cabinets were rusty. Then came the stone wall, and over it was a decent view east, all the way to the cemetery and the river. The Washington Monument was visible in the far distance, the same colour as the mist. A watery sun was behind it, low in the sky.

The door opened behind him and Reacher turned around, expecting Morgan. But it wasn’t Morgan. It was déjà vu all over again. A neat Class A uniform, with JAG Corps insignia on it. A woman lawyer. Her nameplate said Edmonds. She looked a little like Sullivan. Dark, trim, very professional, wearing a skirt and nylons and plain black shoes. But she was younger than Sullivan. And junior in rank. She was only a captain. She had a cheaper briefcase.

She said, ‘Major Reacher?’

He said, ‘Good morning, captain.’

She said, ‘I’m Tracy Edmonds. I’m working with HRC.’

Which was the Human Resources Command, which back in the days of plain English had been the Personnel Command. Which at first made Reacher think she was there to take him through the paperwork. Pay, bank details, the whole nine yards. But then he realized they wouldn’t have sent a lawyer for that kind of thing. A company clerk could do that stuff perfectly well. So she was there about the Candice Dayton thing, probably. But she was junior, and she had given up her first name unasked, and she had an open look on her face, all friendly and concerned, which might mean the Candice Dayton thing wasn’t as serious as the Big Dog problem.

He asked, ‘Do you know anything about Susan Turner’s situation?’

She said, ‘Who?’

‘You just walked past her office.’

She said, ‘Only what I’ve heard.’

‘Which is what?’

‘She took a bribe.’

‘For what?’

‘I think that’s confidential.’

‘It can’t be. She’s confined prior to trial. Therefore there must be probable cause in the record. Or have we abandoned civilized jurisprudence while I’ve been away?’

‘They say she took a day to pass on crucial information. No one understood why. Now they do.’

‘What information?’

‘She arrested an infantry captain from Fort Hood. An espionage case, allegedly. The captain gave up the name of his foreign civilian contact. Major Turner sat on it for twenty-four hours, and the contact used the time to get away.’

‘When was this exactly?’

‘About four weeks ago.’

‘But she wasn’t arrested until the day before yesterday.’

‘That’s when the foreign contact paid her. Which was evidence they had to wait for. Without it the delay could have been explained as incompetence, not criminality.’

‘Has the pre-trial confinement been appealed?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Who’s her lawyer?’

‘Colonel Moorcroft. Out of Charlottesville.’

‘You mean the JAG school?’

Edmonds nodded. ‘He teaches criminal defence.’

‘Is he commuting from there to here?’

‘No, I believe he’s in the Dyer VOQ.’

Which were the Visiting Officers’ Quarters, at Fort Dyer. Or, now, Joint Base Dyer-Helsington House. Not the Ritz exactly, but not too far from it, and no doubt a whole lot better than a crappy motel on a three-lane a mile from Rock Creek.

Edmonds pulled out a chair for him, and then one for herself, and sat down at the conference table. She said, ‘Candice Dayton.’

Reacher sat down, and said, ‘I don’t know who Candice Dayton is. Or was.’

‘Denial is not a smart way to go, I’m afraid, major. It never works.’

‘I can’t pretend to remember someone if I don’t.’

‘It creates a bad impression. It reinforces a negative stereotype. Both things will go against you in the end.’

‘Who was she?’

Edmonds lifted her briefcase on to the table and opened it up. She took out a file. She said, ‘You were posted to Korea several times, is that correct?’

‘Many times.’

‘Including at one time a short spell working with the 55th MP.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so. It’s all here in black and white. It was very late in your career. Almost the last thing you did. You were at Camp Red Cloud. Which is between Seoul and the demilitarized zone.’

‘I know where it is.’

‘Candice Dayton was an American citizen, and at that time she was temporarily resident in Seoul.’

‘A civilian?’

‘Yes. You remember her now?’

‘No.’

‘You had a brief affair.’

‘Who did?’

‘You and Ms Dayton, of course.’

‘I don’t remember her.’

‘Are you married?’

‘No.’

‘Have you ever been?’

‘No.’

‘Have you had many sexual liaisons in your life?’

‘That’s a very personal question.’

‘I’m your lawyer. Have you?’

‘As many as possible, generally. I like women. I guess it’s a biological thing.’

‘So many there may be some you don’t remember?’

‘There were some I try to forget.’

‘Does that category include Ms Dayton?’

‘No. If I was trying to forget her, that would mean I remember her. Right? And I don’t.’

‘Are there others you don’t remember?’

‘How would I tell?’

‘You see, this is what I meant about reinforcing a stereotype. It won’t help you in court.’

‘What court?’

‘Candice Dayton left Seoul pretty soon after you did, and she went home to Los Angeles, which is where she was from. She was happy to be back. She got a job, and she did quite well for a number of years. She had a daughter early on, who thrived and then did well in school. She got promoted at work, and she bought a bigger house. All the good stuff. But then the economy went bad, and she lost her job, and then she lost her house. As of right now, she and her daughter are living in her car, and she’s looking for financial assistance, from anywhere she’s entitled to get it.’

‘And?’

‘She got pregnant in Korea, major. Her daughter is yours.’