there, or not. It was very impressive. I believe it got picked up for a hobby magazine. The Associated Press said it was the first time Ryantown was ever mentioned outside the county.”
“What bird?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Pity,” Reacher said. “It must have been a big sensation.”
Mortimer’s hand came up again.
Excitement.
“You could find out,” he said. “Because of the birdwatching club. All their old ledgers will be in the library. They have a collection. All of those old clubs and societies. Part of history, they tell me. Part of the culture. Personally I thought television was better, when it arrived.”
“Which library?” Reacher asked.
“Laconia,” Mortimer said. “That’s where those clubs were.”
Reacher nodded.
“Probably takes three months to find anything,” he said.
“No, it’s all right there,” Mortimer said. “There’s a big room downstairs, with shelves like the spokes of a wheel. The reference section. They get anything you want. You should go. You could find out about the bird. Maybe it was your father who wrote the note. It’s a fifty-fifty chance, after all. Him or the other kid.”
“The downtown branch of the library?”
“That’s the only branch there is.”
* * *
—
They left old Mr. Mortimer in his wipe-clean armchair and walked the long pleasant corridor back to the desk. They signed out. The cheerful woman accepted their departure with grace and equanimity. They walked back to the ancient Subaru.
Reacher said, “Do you know the library in Laconia?”
The guy with the ponytail nodded.
“Sure,” he said.
“Can you park right outside?”
“Why?”
“So I can get in and out real fast.”
“It isn’t raining.”
“Other reasons.”
“No,” the guy said. “It’s a big building in a parcel all its own. It looks like a castle. You have to walk through the gardens.”
“How far?”
“Couple minutes.”
“How many people will I see in the gardens?”
“On a nice day like this, there could be a few. People like the sun. They got a long winter coming.”
“How far is the library from the police station?”
“Sounds like you have a problem, Mr. Reacher.”
Reacher paused a beat.
“What’s your name?” he asked. “You know mine, but I don’t know yours.”
The guy with the ponytail said, “The Reverend Patrick G. Burke, technically.”
“You’re a priest?”
“Currently I’m between parishes.”
“Since how long?”
“About forty years.”
“Irish?”
“My family was from County Kilkenny.”
“Ever been back?”
“No,” Burke said. “Tell me about your problem.”
“The apple farming folks aren’t the only ones mad at me. Apparently I upset someone in Boston, too. Different type of family. Different type of likely reaction. The Laconia police department doesn’t want its streets shot up like the Saint Valentine’s Day massacre. I’m supposed to stay out of town.”
“What did you do to the people in Boston?”
“I have no idea,” Reacher said. “I haven’t been in Boston in years.”
“Who are you exactly?”
“I’m a guy who followed a road sign. Now I’m anxious to get on my way. But first I want to know what bird it was.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why. Why not?”
“Aren’t you worried about the people from Boston?”
“Not really,” Reacher said. “I don’t suppose they’ll be hanging out at the library, reading a book. It’s the cops I’m worried about. I kind of promised I wouldn’t come back. I don’t want to let them down. One in particular. She was an army cop, too.”
“But you want to know about the bird.”
“Since it’s right there.”
Burke looked away.
“What?” Reacher said.
“I never saw a police officer in the library gardens,” Burke said. “Never once. Chances are they would never know you were there.”
“Now it’s you getting me in trouble.”
“Live free or die.”
Reacher said, “Just make sure you park as close as you can.”
* * *
—
Twenty miles to the north, Patty Sundstrom once again took off her shoes, and stepped up on the bed, and balanced flat-footed on the unstable surface. Once again she shuffled sideways, and looked up, and spoke to the light.
She said, “Please raise the window blind. As a personal favor to me. And because it’s the decent thing to do.”
Then once again she climbed down and sat on the edge of the mattress, to put her shoes back on. Shorty watched the window.
They waited.
“It’s taking longer this time,” Shorty mouthed.
Patty just shrugged.
They waited.
But nothing happened. The blind stayed down. They sat in the gloom. No electric light. It was working, but Patty didn’t want it.
Then the TV turned on.
All by itself.
There was a tiny crackle and rustle as circuitry came to life, and the picture lit up bright blue, with a line of code, like a weird screen on a computer you weren’t supposed to see.
Then it tugged sideways and was replaced by