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The problem wasn’t so much that the original owners of the Riverside Lodge had built their hotel in the wrong place. It was that they had built it at the wrong time. They had broken ground when Winson’s economy was fueled by more than just the prison. When people still came to the area to explore its natural beauty, not just spend a few minutes talking to a family member or a friend through a sheet of perforated Perspex. Hence its position high on the bank of the Mississippi. It had uninterrupted views to the north and the south. And to Louisiana away to the west, so far across the water that it looked like another country. Those first investors thought their clientele would never dry up as they got funneled past within touching distance by the local roads. Then the interstate came along and siphoned the passing traffic far away to the east.

The Lodge was made up of three distinct sections. A central core, two stories high, housing the reception area, the bar, restaurant, function rooms, and admin facilities. Plus a wing on either side containing the guest rooms. The roofs were flat and the structure was built of brick. There were three colors. A dark band around the base of the building. Pale yellow for the bulk of the walls. And regular vertical strips of white. The architects had insisted on those. They were a nod to the columns that stood out front of all the finest buildings in the region. The other main feature was a porte cochere which jutted out from above the main entrance. It had been designed to protect guests from the sun or the rain when they climbed out of their cars but it no longer looked very welcoming. Or very safe. In its current state it looked more likely to injure anyone who ventured beneath it. Maybe from falling masonry. Maybe from total collapse.

Hannah stopped the truck in the center of the Lodge’s parking lot and wiped her chin with a paper napkin. She had eaten her burger as she drove from the Winson Garden. She had been hoping to get to it before it went completely cold, but that ship had long sailed. It had been nasty and rubbery and congealed. That didn’t stop her from finishing it, though. Or Reacher from plowing through both of his.

Hannah said, “This is not how the place looked on the website when I booked. They’re taking some major liberties with their advertising. Want me to find us somewhere else to stay?”

Reacher said, “No. It’ll do just fine.”

Hannah looked around the lot. There were three cars close together near the hotel entrance. Generic domestic sedans. Neutral colors. Probably rentals. And an ancient VW microbus away to the right near a blue metal storage container like the one they’d seen at the construction zone. It wasn’t clear if the bus was still capable of moving. Hannah said, “There can’t be many guests.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“You sure? It isn’t usually a good sign.”

“Today’s not a usual day.”

“I guess.” Hannah took her foot off the brake, looped around, and slotted the truck into the gap on the far side of the container. “This won’t fool anyone who’s searching for us but there’s no point advertising where we are, right?” She took off her seatbelt, reached for the door handle, then paused. “But here’s what I don’t get. The cop who stopped us wasn’t on the level, was he? He was expecting you to be driving. On your own. That was obvious. He was surprised when he saw me. He stammered, then he was all over my ID, and he didn’t even ask your name. And the idea that the DMV has updated Sam’s records already? Give me a break. So given that the cop was bent, why didn’t he shoot us? Or at least arrest us?”

“Ever heard the expression a fish rots from the head?”

“No. I hate fish. What have they got to do with the cop?”

“The way I see it, there’s bound to be plenty of contact between the police and the prison. Escape drills. Visitors getting caught smuggling. Relatives causing a nuisance in the town. So there’ll be plenty of opportunity for Minerva to get its hooks into someone. Makes sense to go for someone high up. With authority. Influence. The beat cops will just have orders to be on the lookout. For me. For the truck. To report anything they see.”

“You think our guy will report that he saw us go to the Winson Garden?”

“I’m counting on it.”

Chapter 35