to search his house. ETA, twenty minutes.’
Reacher hung up and started walking towards the house. He crossed the porch. Went inside. Crunched over the pieces of shattered door frame. Made his way down the corridor. Past the photographs. And continued all the way to the end. He knew the last door on the right was the living room, which gave him three to pick from. He tried the last on the left. And found what he was looking for straight away. Klostermann’s study.
The room was square with windows on two sides. There was a desk in front of the one to the right, facing into the room. It was big and oppressive, made of polished mahogany, with a green leather inlay on top. Behind it was a green leather captain’s chair with a row of heavy brass studs around its edge. There was a bookcase next to the door. And a line of waist-high filing cabinets against the fourth wall. Hanging above them was a framed portrait, in oils. It was of Stalin. He was wearing his World War II military uniform. Reacher took it down. There was a different image on its other side. Adolf Hitler. Reacher replaced the picture with the Nazi leader facing out.
Reacher checked the drawers in the desk and the cabinets. All were locked. He considered breaking in, but decided against it. He would have been interested in any historical artefacts unique to Klostermann’s life and times, but the FBI was welcome to the job of sifting through papers and documents. He looked behind the books on the shelf out of pure habit, found nothing, then settled in next to the bookcase to wait.
Five minutes passed in silence, then Reacher heard footsteps in the corridor. Someone medium weight, he thought. Wearing sturdy shoes. Trying to be discreet, but also in a hurry. The sound came closer. It paused outside the door. The handle turned. The door began to swing. Slowly. Its leading edge moved about a foot, then stopped. The muzzle of a gun appeared in the gap. A whole barrel came into view. It belonged to a revolver. A Smith & Wesson Model 60. The first stainless steel revolver made anywhere in the world. Designed to avoid the danger of corrosion when carried close to the body. Not police issue. The hand holding it became visible. Followed by a wrist. Protruding from the cuff of a white shirt beneath a grey suit sleeve.
Reacher kicked the door. It slammed shut, crushing the wrist. The guy screamed. He dropped the gun, pulled his hand free, and jumped back. Reacher jerked the door all the way open. And saw Detective Goodyear cowering against the far wall, clutching his forearm. Reacher stepped into the corridor. Grabbed Goodyear by the lapels. Dragged him into the study. And flung him head first into the wall beneath the window. Then he leaned on the edge of the desk and waited for the guy to roll over and pull himself into a half-sitting position.
‘I guess you’ve answered one question,’ Reacher said. ‘The one I asked you at the courthouse when we first met. About why you were so desperate to sweep Rutherford’s attempted kidnapping under the rug.’
Goodyear didn’t respond.
‘That means there’s one question left,’ Reacher said. ‘Why were you helping Klostermann? Money? Blackmail? What?’
‘Principle,’ Goodyear spat back. ‘Mr Klostermann was working to save our country. Our race. I was proud to help him.’
‘Stand up.’
Goodyear didn’t move.
Reacher pushed away from the desk.
Goodyear hauled himself to his feet.
‘Take off your jacket,’ Reacher said.
Goodyear slipped his arms out of his sleeves and dropped the coat.
‘Open your shirt.’
Goodyear undid his buttons, one by one, starting at the top, working down to his waist.
‘All the way,’ Reacher said.
Goodyear slowly pulled the sides of the shirt apart. Reacher looked at his chest. At the left side. Where there was a tattoo. Of an eagle. With a swastika.
‘You might have heard that I met some of your so-called brothers the other night,’ Reacher said. ‘They all resigned from your little band. With orders to explain that anyone who didn’t would get their house burned down. With them inside.’
‘No,’ Goodyear said. ‘Don’t do that. Please. I’ll resign.’
‘You will. But not just yet. Your buddies told me Klostermann was planning to recreate Hitler’s Cathedral of Light. They were too stupid to understand what that was. I’m hoping you have a better grasp of history.’
‘You’re damn right I do. I helped Mr Klostermann with every stage of the planning.’
‘So you know about