Reacher nodded. "Even if she hoarded it, nine hundred bucks doesn't buy you much. Certainly doesn't buy you somebody who can operate the way we've seen."
Walker said nothing.
"We need to go talk to her," Reacher said.
"We can't," Walker said. "She's on the road, headed for the penitentiary."
"She didn't do it," Reacher said. "She didn't do anything. She's completely innocent."
"So why did she confess?"
Reacher closed his eyes. Sat still for a moment.
"She was forced to," he said. "Somebody got to her."
"Who?"
Reacher opened his eyes.
"I don't know who," he said. "But we can find out. Get the bailiff's log from downstairs. See who came to visit her."
Walker's face was still blank and sweaty. But he picked up the phone and dialed an internal number. Asked for the visitor's log to be brought up immediately. Then they waited in silence. Three minutes later they heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the secretarial pen and the bailiff came in through the office door. It was the day guy. He was breathing hard after running up the stairs. He was carrying a thick book in his hand.
Walker took it from him and opened it up. Scanned through it quickly and reversed it on the desk. Used his finger to point. Carmen Greer was logged in during the early hours of Monday morning. She was logged out two hours ago, into the custody of the Texas Department of Correction. In between she had received one visitor, twice. Nine o'clock on Monday morning and again on Tuesday at noon, the same assistant DA had gone down to see her.
"Preliminary interview, and then the confession," Walker said.
There were no other entries at all.
"Is this right?" Reacher asked.
The bailiff nodded.
"Guaranteed," he said.
Reacher looked at the log again. The first ADA interview had lasted two minutes. Clearly Carmen had refused to say a word. The second interview had lasted twelve minutes. After that she had been escorted upstairs for the videotape.
"Nobody else?" he asked.
"There were phone calls," the bailiff said.
"When?"
"All day Monday, and Tuesday morning."
"Who was calling her?"
"Her lawyer."
"Her lawyer?" Alice said.
The guy nodded.
"It was a big pain in the ass," he said. "I had to keep bringing her in and out to the phone."
"Who was the lawyer?" Alice asked.
"We're not allowed to ask, ma'am. It's a confidentiality thing. Lawyer discussions are secret."
"Man or woman?"
"It was a man."
"Hispanic?"
"I don't think so. He sounded like a regular guy. His voice was a little muffled. I think it was a bad phone line."
"Same guy every time?"
"I think so."
There was silence in the office. Walker nodded vaguely and the bailiff took it for a dismissal. They heard him walk out through the secretarial pen. They heard the lobby door close behind him.
"She didn't tell us she was represented," Walker said. "She told us she didn't want representation."
"She told me the same thing," Alice said.
"We need to know who this person was," Reacher said. "We need to get the phone company to trace the calls."
Walker shook his head. "Can't do it. Legal discussions are privileged."
Reacher stared at him. "You really think it was a lawyer?"
"Don't you?"
"Of course not. It was some guy, threatening her, forcing her to lie. Think about it, Walker. First time your ADA saw her, she wouldn't say a word. Twenty-seven hours later, she's confessing. Only thing that happened in between was a bunch of calls from this guy."
"But what kind of threat could make her say that?"
* * *
The killing crew was uneasy in its new role as baby-sitter. Each member felt exactly the same way, each for the exact same reasons. Holding a child hostage was not a normal part of their expertise. Taking her in the first place had been. That was a fairly standard operation, based as always on lure and deception. The woman and the tall fair man had gone to the Red House as a pair, because they figured that would match the public's perception of how social workers operate. They had arrived in the big official-looking sedan and used a brisk professional manner. They had mixed it with a generous helping of pious do-gooder sanctimony, like they were desperately concerned with the child's welfare above all else. They had a thick wad of bogus papers to display. The papers looked exactly like Family Services warrants and relevant authorizations from state agencies. But the grandmother hardly even looked at them. She offered no resistance at all. It struck them as unnatural.