The Sentinel

NINETEEN

Rutherford emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and scurried to his sleeping area behind the wooden divider. Sands got up and followed around to hers. Reacher stayed on the couch. He could hear the others rustling and rubbing and fidgeting, then two hairdryers started up almost simultaneously. They ran for almost the same length of time. There was more rustling. Then Sands reappeared. She was wearing loose linen pants and a pale blue T-shirt. She was using her sunglasses to hold back her hair, and her purse was slung over her left shoulder. Positioned to ensure easy access for her right hand, Reacher thought. No doubt with the Colt at the top. Maybe in a special built-in holster, so that it wouldn’t get buried or snagged.

Rutherford rejoined them. He had on a fresh pair of chinos and a clean polo shirt. Another sombre colour. Another logo. To show he still meant business.

Sands left the apartment first, alone, to avoid being seen with the others. She retrieved the minivan, rendezvoused with Rutherford and Reacher in the alley with the dumpsters, and entered the waste company’s address into the GPS. The machine predicted a ten-minute drive, which turned out to be accurate. It led them to a compound at the end of a long straight road with squat, shabby warehouses on either side. The site was surrounded by a chain-link fence made of heavy-gauge steel. Eight feet tall. The only entrance they could see was blocked by a red and white striped barrier. Sands drove up close and stopped next to a tall metal post. There were two keypads attached to it. One high, for trucks. One low, for cars. Sands wound down her window and hit the intercom button on the lower one. There was no response. She hit it again. The box didn’t make a sound. Not even a buzz of static. She stretched up to give the other one a try but stopped before her finger made contact. There was movement from inside the compound. A shiny black pickup was approaching. It looked like a regular F150. No light bar on the roof. No security company logo on the door. Sands took her fake federal ID out of her purse, just in case.

The Ford slowed as it drew nearer, almost to a walking pace. The barrier twitched like it was waking from a deep sleep, then jerked its way up through ninety degrees. The pickup accelerated and sped away. The driver didn’t give them a second glance. The barrier stayed up. It was swaying slightly from its recent movement. But it wasn’t descending. Yet. The timing had probably been calculated with trucks in mind. Long. Heavy. Slow to get moving. Sands glanced around. No one else was watching so she hit the gas and they were inside the compound long before the pole lurched back down on to its supports.

There were two buildings on the site, set at four and eight o’clock when viewed from the gate. The eight o’clock unit was the smaller of the two. The office, Reacher assumed. It was a single storey, built of rough brick, with a flat roof, six square windows, and a crude concrete slab sticking out to shelter its doorway. It had parking for thirty cars. Half the spaces were occupied. There were two silver German sedans sitting alone in the row nearest the building’s entrance. The rest were middle spec, medium-sized domestic models in varying pale colours, scattered at random throughout the rest of the lot. Belonging to the office workers, most likely.

Not the cars they were looking for.

The four o’clock building must have been what the guy with the shotgun had called the depot. It was a simple rectangular shape, built out of cinderblocks, painted white, with a pitched metal roof and a line of four roll-up vehicle doors along one side. All were tall enough for a full-size garbage truck to fit through. All were wide enough. All were closed. There was a single line of parking spots outside to the left of them, near a personnel door. Four were taken. All by pickups. Three Fords and a Dodge Ram. Not new but clean and well maintained. Belonging to the mechanics, Reacher figured.

Not the cars they were looking for.

There was an empty area on the right of the depot building. It stretched across to the fence. Where the trucks parked at night. There was room for at least half a dozen. And beyond that, where the fence turned back towards the entrance and the space narrowed, there was another line of vehicles. Seven of them. An old, open-top Jeep with most of its paint missing. A Chrysler 300 sedan in black with chrome wheels and heavy tints on the windows. A Porsche 911, dark blue and gleaming in the afternoon sun. A 1980s Cadillac, originally burgundy, now chalky and dull. A mustard-coloured Volvo station wagon. A tiny, sky blue Fiat. And a white Hyundai SUV.

Possibly the cars they were looking for.

A sign mounted to the fence said Unauthorized Vehicles Will Be Towed At Owner’s Expense. Sands swung the minivan around and reversed right up to it, at the side of the Hyundai. She kept the engine running and adjusted the air. Outside the heat shimmered off the cracked concrete slabs. The flat surfaces in the distance wobbled and danced. Sands unfastened her seat belt and leaned back, relaxed but alert. Rutherford was beside her in the passenger seat, anxious and fidgety. Reacher stretched out behind them, so still he could have been asleep.

Thirty minutes passed. No trucks appeared. Fifteen more minutes passed with no arrivals. Then after another five minutes they heard a vehicle engine. A big diesel. Coming their way. Sands and Reacher simultaneously snapped upright. A garbage truck came into view at the far end of the road. It was full size. So not Thomassino’s. They watched it creep along the road, negotiate the gate, lumber across to the parking area, then settle to a halt with a long hiss of its air brakes. Two men jumped down. They were wearing blue coveralls like the guy at the recycling plant. They made their way to the line of cars. The first guy climbed into the Jeep. The second, the Chrysler. They set off together, driving side by side until they were close to the gate. Then the Jeep took the lead. They made it through while the barrier was still up from their entrance, accelerated hard, and soon disappeared from view.

Another truck appeared seven minutes later. Also full size. So not Thomassino’s. It followed the same routine. Its occupants took the Cadillac and the Volvo. That left three cars. The Hyundai. The Fiat. And the Porsche.

The next truck to arrive was smaller. They had to wait until it passed them to read the licence plate on the rear. It matched the entry on the recycling site log next to Thomassino’s ID number. It parked alongside the two larger trucks, but it pulled further in, vanishing from sight. A man appeared after thirty seconds. He was around five ten. He had blond hair, buzzed short. Mirrored aviator sunglasses. Shiny black boots. And the same blue coveralls, only darker and crisper, like in his mind he was wearing a flight suit. He walked towards them. Heading for the Porsche. Sands reached for her door handle, then paused. The guy was on the wrong side of the car. He went up to the Porsche’s passenger window. Leaned in close. Cupped his hand against the sun. Gazed inside for ten seconds. Then straightened up, shook his head, continued past the Fiat, and made his way between the Hyundai and the minivan. Sands jumped out and hurried around, holding her black wallet out in front.

‘David Thomassino?’ she said.

‘That’s me.’ The guy paused. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘Federal agents. We need to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘Get in the van for a second. I’ll explain everything.’

Rutherford twisted around in his seat and hit a button which caused the side door to slide open, revealing Reacher crammed inside like a caged gorilla.

‘I don’t think so.’ Thomassino stepped back. ‘I’m not getting in there with him. I’ll talk to you. But at the police station. I’ll drive. You can follow.’

‘Let me put it another way.’ Reacher leaned out, grabbed the front of Thomassino’s coveralls, and pulled him inside. Sands climbed in after Thomassino and guided him through to the bench seat at the very back. She pulled a lever that made her middle row seat swivel around so she was facing him, then hit the button to close the door. Reacher rotated his seat as well. Rutherford peered through the gap between the front seats.

‘Before we start it’s very important that you understand something,’ Sands said. ‘We’re not here for you. We’re not looking to jam you up or cause you trouble of any kind. We don’t care about you at all. All we want is one piece of information. Give it to us and you can go about your business. You’ll never see us again. And no one will ever know you helped us. Is that clear?’

Thomassino swallowed hard, then nodded.

‘Good,’ Sands said. ‘Now, your job is to collect unwanted electronic equipment and take it to the recycling facility outside town, correct?’

‘It’s just a sorting facility. The actual recycling’s done somewhere else.’

‘But you take the electronic things there?’

‘Right.’

‘This month you’ve made two collections from the town’s IT department.’

‘If you say so.’

‘That’s what the site log says.’

‘Then I’m sure it’s right.’

‘On one of those occasions you picked up eight network servers.’

‘I don’t know what they are.’

‘Boring-looking black boxes,’ Rutherford said. ‘But they were in a cabinet. In the equipment room. Right in the middle. With a broken glass door.’

‘Do you know how many things I move in a week?’ Thomassino said. ‘I can’t remember all of them.’

‘I see you’re wearing a wedding ring, Dave,’ Reacher said. ‘Do you have any kids? Or is it just you and your wife?’

‘One kid. On the way,’ Thomassino said. ‘Why?’

‘Boy or girl?’

‘A girl. Why?’

‘Because I can picture the scene,’ Reacher said. ‘Her first day of kindergarten. Your wife goes to bring her home and she says, “Mommy, how come I don’t have a daddy? All the other children do.” And your wife says, “You do have a daddy, sweetheart. Only he’s in federal prison. Because he was too stupid to help himself when he had the chance.”’

‘All right.’ Thomassino closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I collected them. On my second visit. They were there the first time too but I pretended I hadn’t seen them. They were a pain in the ass to move so I was hoping one of the regular garbage crews would take them.’

‘What did you do with them?’ Sands said.

‘Put them in the truck. Then later that day I emptied the truck at the sorting plant.’

‘Let’s try that again.’

‘What? It’s the truth.’

‘I believe you put them in the truck. But they never made it to the sorting plant. What happened to them?’

‘I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re implying,’ Thomassino said. ‘I didn’t sell them. I didn’t pitch them on the way. Everything that was in the truck, I unloaded at the plant.’

‘But they weren’t at the plant,’ Sands said. ‘We checked. So what happened to them?’

‘I have no idea. Search my house if you don’t believe me. Talk to my wife. My friends. Check my bank account. I’ll take a lie detector test. But I didn’t steal them. I didn’t sell them. And I don’t know where they are.’

Reacher looked at Sands. She replied with the slightest shrug of her shoulders. It wasn’t the answer they wanted. It didn’t help them. But Reacher was inclined to believe it. He had questioned a lot of suspects over the years. He had a good sense of when someone was lying and Thomassino seemed sincere in what he said.

‘OK, then.’ Sands took a piece of paper and a pen from her purse. ‘I’m going to give you a number, and if you—’

‘I have a question,’ Rutherford said. ‘Sarah, at the recycling place, did anything strike you as strange?’

‘No. It was just a heap of junk.’

‘Exactly. And the old weird guy? When you asked him about itemization, he said what would be the point? Computer mouse, beige, not working. Over and over.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘What are the odds of every single electronic device discarded by people in the town being broken? Surely some things would still work, even if they were old and slow. Like the servers. There was nothing wrong with them. It’s like everything with life left in it had been syphoned off, somehow.’

Thomassino looked at the floor. His first tell.

‘Dave?’ Reacher said. ‘Anything to add?’

Thomassino didn’t answer.

‘I wonder if your daughter will get married, Dave. I bet she will. Most people do, in the end. The question is, who will walk her down the aisle? Who will be there when she has a kid of her own?’

Thomassino leaned forward and held his head in his hands. ‘It started in my second week on the job. My boss asked me to lunch. Said there were a couple of things he needed to bring me up to speed with. So I went to meet him. At a diner. Fat Freddie’s.’

‘I know the place,’ Rutherford said. ‘It’s supposed to have the best milkshakes in town.’

‘I got there first,’ Thomassino continued. ‘So I sat down and waited. I got a text from the boss. He said he was running late so I should go ahead and order. I did, and after my food came I got another text. He said he couldn’t make it after all. I finished eating and asked for my check and the waitress told me my meal was on the house. I asked why, and she said I should hang on a minute. Someone would come and explain. Then a big fat guy appeared and sat opposite me. I think he’s the owner. I thanked him, and he said it was no problem. He said I could always eat there for free. I just had to do one thing in return. Always stop in on my way to the sorting plant. And make sure my truck wasn’t locked.’

‘What did you do?’ Sands said.

‘Tried to talk my way out of it. Said my routes varied, it wouldn’t always be practical, sometimes I ran late, that kind of thing.’

‘But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

‘He handed me a photograph. Of my wife. Taken through a windshield. She was crossing the street outside her work. The car was real close to her. Only a couple of feet away. She’d turned towards it. I’ll never forget the look on her face. Pure terror. Like she was certain she was getting run down.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘He didn’t have to. The message was clear.’

‘So you always stop there on the way to the plant,’ Reacher said. ‘Can you just show up? Or do you have to call ahead? Give notice?’

‘Just show up. And stay at least thirty minutes. And always leave the truck in one particular spot.’

‘Which one?’

‘Around the back, to the side of the staff parking lot, there’s a brick outhouse. Where the dumpsters are. And where they keep the used cooking oil. There’s a patch of ground marked off in yellow. I have to leave the truck there.’

‘How many doors does the outhouse have?’

‘One. Right by where I have to park.’

‘Any windows?’

‘None.’

‘Is the door locked?’

Thomassino thought for a moment. ‘I guess. It has a padlock. A big one.’

‘So while you’re inside eating your free food someone rifles through your truck, takes everything that looks valuable, and locks it in this outhouse?’

Thomassino shrugged.

‘What?’ Reacher said. ‘Is there more to the story?’

‘I honestly don’t know. I’m in a crappy situation here. Am I really going to put my wife’s life in danger over some worn-out electronics? Stuff that people have already thrown in the trash? Which is part of a racket that even my boss is in on? No. I’m not. So I see no evil and I hear no evil. I go in. I eat. I go back out. I empty the truck at the plant. If someone helped themselves to some stuff when I wasn’t looking, I don’t know anything about it.’

‘Plausible deniability,’ Rutherford said. ‘I get it.’

‘Semi-plausible,’ Sands said.

‘Plausible or not, you went to the diner the day you picked up the servers?’ Reacher said.

Thomassino nodded.

‘And the servers were gone when you got to the plant?’

‘I guess,’ Thomassino said. ‘I mean, it’s not like we keep records. But I remember the cabinet thing. It was a pain in the ass getting it into the truck. I don’t remember getting it back out.’

‘All right,’ Reacher said. ‘One more question. The guy at the diner. The owner. Who had the picture of your wife. What’s his name?’

‘I heard someone call him Bud,’ Thomassino said. ‘But I think his real name is Budnick. Bill Budnick. There was a story about Fat Freddie’s in the paper one time and he was mentioned. About a year ago. Right after he bought the place.’

‘Good,’ Reacher said. ‘Now did this guy Budnick ever talk to you about what to do if anyone came around asking questions about him?’

‘No. Nothing like that came up. I only spoke to him that one time.’

‘So if we happen to visit Fat Freddie’s to, say, check out their reputation for milkshakes, Budnick wouldn’t be expecting us?’

‘Would I tip him off, do you mean? Look, that asshole threatened my wife. I wouldn’t piss in his mouth if his teeth were on fire. I’d love for you to pay him a visit. I’d love for you to bust him and throw his ass in jail. Just please, keep my name out of it.’

‘How could we bring your name into it?’ Reacher said. ‘We’ve never met.’

Sands hit the door button, climbed out, and beckoned Thomassino to follow her. He got halfway out of his seat then sank back down.

‘There’s one other thing,’ he said. ‘Something I want you to know. The food I eat at Fat Freddie’s. I always pay for it. Apart from that first time when they caught me by surprise. I do what I do for my wife. To keep her safe. Not to get something for nothing. As far as I’m concerned, maybe they rob my truck. Maybe they don’t. But I am not one of them.’