The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25) - Lee Child Page 0,14
create any extra work for you.’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ Goodyear’s grin was creeping back. ‘There’s no need to send up the federal balloon just yet. Maybe those guys you tangled with were trying to grab Rutherford. Are you a mind-reader? You don’t know what they were planning to do with him. If they were trying to grab him – and I’m not saying they were because we don’t know – they probably just wanted to take him someplace private where they could have a full and frank exchange of views. Maybe even dole out a good old-fashioned ass-kicking. If I take my detective hat off I can’t say he doesn’t deserve one. Hell, if it was an attempt at payback the whole town would be suspects. I’d need a bigger jailhouse. And even if you’re right, I say no harm, no foul. So why don’t we leave it at that?’
‘Why don’t I write a statement? You give it to the feds. Do your job. Protect and serve, or whatever you say in this state. You don’t need computers to do that.’
‘Why don’t you keep your whacked-out theories to yourself?’
‘Why are you so desperate to sweep this under the rug? What has Rutherford done?’
‘Why are you so desperate to keep it in the spotlight? Not the smartest move from your point of view, Reacher. Keep it up and I may have to take a closer look at your role. I hear you knocked one man out cold. Threw another through a car window. Assaults like that, you could be looking at jail time.’
‘I didn’t assault anyone. The sidewalk was slippery. That’s all. The first guy slid into a wall. The second tripped. He’s lucky the car window was open or he could have gotten a nasty bruise.’
‘All right. Let’s take a step back. You say these guys tried to kidnap Rutherford. Why would they do that?’
‘How would I know? No one will tell me what he’s done.’
‘What’s your connection to him?’
‘We don’t have a connection.’
‘Did he give you this cash?’ Goodyear gestured to the pile on the table.
‘No.’
‘Did he hire you as a bodyguard?’
‘No.’
‘How did he contact you?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘Where did you first meet?’
‘We never met. Not before today. I saw him walking into an ambush. I helped him escape. It was a spur of the moment thing.’
‘You’re just a Good Samaritan?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Where did Rutherford go before the coffee shop?’
‘The moon. He has a secret love nest there. I was thinking of renting it but the mirrors on the ceiling are too small.’
‘I advise you to take this process seriously, Mr Reacher.’
‘Why? You’re not.’
Goodyear didn’t answer.
‘If you want me to get serious, give me some paper. I’ll write a statement for the FBI.’
‘I’m not giving you any paper.’
‘Then give me a ride to the highway.’
‘I’m a detective. I don’t give rides.’
‘Then unless you’re charging me with holding up an imaginary store, it sounds like our business here is done. Or I could bring in a lawyer.’
‘There’s no need for a lawyer.’ Goodyear paused. ‘All right. You can go. But take my advice. Don’t stick around. Leave town. Right away. And here’s the most important thing. Have nothing more to do with Rusty Rutherford.’
FOUR
Goodyear escorted Reacher back to the booking area, set his cash and toothbrush down on the table, and went to his office. He needed privacy to make a call. The other cop added Reacher’s passport and ATM card like a poker player calling a bet, then followed up with a form and a pen. Reacher signed, stowed his possessions in his pockets, and shook his head when the cop tried to steer him towards the rear exit. He took the public stairs instead and hurried past the bank of framed portraits hanging in the echoey marble foyer. He pushed through the central door in a row of three, skirted a roughly boxed-in temporary structure where an access ramp was being constructed, and turned to head back to the main street. He wasn’t about to hit the road without his coffee. Priorities were priorities. He started across the lawn and as he drew level with the parking lot he heard a voice calling to him. It was Rutherford. He had been waiting by the metal door but now he was scampering forward with one arm raised.
‘Excuse me, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. Please wait.’
Reacher slowed and allowed Rutherford to catch up.
‘My name’s Rusty Rutherford.’ He held out his hand.