has gone back out again yet. We think Carrington is still in the area.”
“Which is why you need me there. No point coming back after they take him away.”
“No,” she said again.
“What was the maybe?”
“Allegedly he was seen entering the county offices. But no one else remembers him, and he isn’t there now.”
“Was he alone, or with Elizabeth Castle?”
“It was hard to say. It was a busy time of day. Lots of people. Hard to say who was with who.”
“Was it the census archive?”
“No, something else. The county has offices all over town.”
“Did you get a minute for ancient history?”
She paused again.
“It was longer than a minute,” she said.
“What did you find?”
“I need advice before I tell you. From Carter Carrington, ironically.”
“Why?”
“You asked for unsolved cases. I found one. It has no statute of limitations.”
“You found an unsolved homicide?”
“Therefore technically it’s still an open case.”
“When was it?”
“Within the dates you specified.”
“I wasn’t born yet. I can’t be a witness. Certainly I can’t be a perpetrator. Talking to me is no legal hazard.”
“It has implications for you.”
“Who was the victim?”
“You know who the victim was.”
“Do I?”
“Who else could it be?”
“The kid,” Reacher said.
“Correct,” Amos said. “Last seen face down on the sidewalk, late one September evening in 1943. Then later he shows up again, now twenty-two years old, just as much of an asshole as he was before, and he gets killed. The two files were never connected. I guess there was a lot going on back then. It was wartime. Detectives came and went. They didn’t have computers. But today’s rules say the first file makes a material difference to the second file. Which it does, no question. We can’t pretend we haven’t seen it. Therefore we’re obliged to re-open the homicide as a cold case. Just to see where it goes. Before we close it again.”
“How did the kid get killed?”
“He was beaten to death with a pair of brass knuckles.”
Reacher paused a beat.
He said, “Why wasn’t it solved?”
“There were no witnesses. The victim was an asshole. No one cared. Their only suspect had disappeared without a trace. It was a time of great chaos. Millions and millions of people were on the move. It was right after VJ Day.”
“August 1945,” Reacher said. “Did the cops have a name for the suspect?”
“Only a kind of nickname. Secondhand, overheard, all very mysterious. A lot of it was hearsay, from the kind of people who pick things up from casual conversations on the street.”
“What was the nickname?”
“It’s why we have to re-open the case. We can’t ignore the link. I’m sure you understand. All we’re going to do is type out a couple new paragraphs.”
“What was the name?”
“The birdwatcher.”
“I see,” Reacher said. “How soon do you need to type out your paragraphs?”
“Wait,” she said.
He heard a door, and a step, and the rustle of paper.
A message.
He heard a step, and a door, and on the phone she said, “I just got an alert from the license plate computer.”
She went quiet.
Then she breathed out.
“Not what I thought it was,” she said. “No one left town. Not yet. Carrington is still here.”
“I need you to do something for me,” Reacher said.
He could still hear the paper. She was reading it.
“More ancient history?” she said.
“Current events,” he said. “A professor at the university told me that thirty years ago an old man named Reacher came home to New Hampshire after many years on foreign shores. As far as I know he has been domiciled here ever since. As far as I know he lives with the granddaughter of a relative. I need you to check around the county. I need you to see if you can find him. Maybe he’s registered to vote. Maybe he still has a driver’s license.”
“I work for the city, not the county.”
“You found out all about the Reverend Burke. He doesn’t live in the city.”
He could still hear the paper.
“I called in favors,” she said. “What is the old man’s first name?”
“Stan.”
“That’s your father.”
“I know.”
“You told me he was deceased.”
“I was at the funeral.”
“The professor is confused.”
“Probably.”
“What else could he be?”
“The funeral was thirty years ago. Which was also when the guy showed up in New Hampshire after a lifetime away.”
“What?”
“It was a closed casket. Maybe it was full of rocks. The Marine Corps and the CIA worked together from time to time. I’m sure all kinds of secret squirrelly shit was going on.”