The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25) - Lee Child Page 0,42

he launched a huge scything roundhouse punch with his right hand. His fist hit the side of the guy’s head like a sledgehammer. His feet left the ground and he flew sideways, landing crumpled in the dirt where the grass should have been and sending up a thin plume of dust.

Holly ran to him, crouched down, and felt his neck for a pulse. ‘Is he OK?’ she said. ‘Is he alive?’

‘Probably.’ Reacher replaced the chair next to the table. ‘Physically, anyway. Now go inside. Get dressed. Grab your purse.’

‘Why? Where are you taking me?’

‘Nowhere. You’re going on your own. You need to stay away from the house for a couple of hours. The police will be here soon. After that you can come back. Or not. It’s up to you.’

It took Holly ten minutes to prepare herself to face the world. Reacher used the time to carry the inert guy on to the patio and tie him to the chair he’d just been brandishing. She appeared in the kitchen in a pink flowery sundress, white sneakers, and a denim baseball cap. She glared at Reacher then turned away without saying a word. He looped around the side of the garage and watched her drive away in an old silver Mazda roadster with its roof up. Then he returned to the kitchen and helped himself to the coffee that was left in the pot. He waited another ten minutes in case she doubled back. Then he made his way back to Marty’s car and told Rutherford to drive to the police station.

‘It’s time to level with me, Rusty,’ Reacher said as they took the first right-angle bend. ‘What are you not telling me?’

‘Nothing.’ Rutherford glanced across at Reacher. ‘I mean, like what?’

‘The guys who are after you. We need to figure out what they want. They don’t want to kill you – not yet, anyway – or they would have done it already. They don’t want retribution or they would have sent a couple of low-rent clowns like the ones from last night. Their operation is too sophisticated for that. And too expensive. So they must want something. Something valuable.’

‘I don’t have anything valuable.’

‘What about information? Something only you know.’

‘I don’t know anything. Nothing important anyway.’

‘Maybe you do. It could be something that seemed trivial when you learned it. Something you came across at work but didn’t realize the significance of at the time. You were the town’s IT manager, right? So you must have had access to all the town’s computers. All its data. Didn’t you ever get bored and search through confidential records? Read people’s emails?’

‘Of course I did. Everyone does that.’

‘What kind of secrets did you find?’

‘Nothing interesting.’

‘Anyone having an affair?’

‘No.’

‘Anyone being pressured to vote a particular way?’

‘Nothing about voting.’

‘Anyone taking bribes?’

‘No.’

‘Any money missing?’

‘Nothing like that.’ Rutherford blipped the gas and swung around a garbage truck.

‘Maybe you picked up some information without realizing. The email from the dead journalist, for example. Could there have been any kind of message hidden in it?’

‘No.’ Rutherford slowed as a minivan pulled out of a driveway. ‘There were no attachments. And her messages were just simple questions about property records. From the 1940s or 50s, I think. Nothing I have any knowledge about, anyway.’

‘What about the regular mail? Did you receive anything unusual? At home, or at the office?’

‘No. I get hardly any mail. Beside bills. And junk.’

‘Have you bought anything recently? An old book? A painting? A piece of furniture? A car? Some vintage clothes? Anything a document or a computer disc could be concealed in?’

‘I got some new Blu-rays. But the ones I haven’t watched yet are still sealed up in their wrappers.’

‘Have there been any other coincidences? Like the journalist contacting you, then winding up dead?’

‘I can’t think of any. My life really isn’t very exciting. All I did was work for the town.’

‘I believe you, Rusty. But if I find out you were moonlighting for NASA or the CIA, I’m going to be pissed.’

‘I wish. But can you really see a bunch of rocket scientists or spies knocking on my door? Asking for my help? I told you about my only side project. The one I was working on with my friend. And it’s worthless. It didn’t work. Nobody wants it. Not even me.’

ELEVEN

Reacher left Rutherford in the car like he was a kid. Or a dog.

It wasn’t a decision Reacher was entirely happy with. He knew there were risks. He’d heard there were laws against leaving kids