“People worry about their jobs,” Vaughan said. “Especially in a company town, because they don’t have any alternatives.” She opened a cabinet and took out a mug. It was white, perfectly cylindrical, four inches high, and two and a half inches wide. It was made of fine bone china as thin as paper. She filled it from the pot and immediately from the aroma Reacher knew it was going to be a great one. She glanced at the living room but carried the mug to the kitchen table instead, and placed it down in front of one of the three chairs. Reacher glanced at the boxes and the lone armchair in the living room and said, “Just moved in?”

“A year and a half ago,” Vaughan said. “I guess I’m a little slow unpacking.”

“From where?”

“Third Street. We had a little cottage with an upstairs, but we decided we wanted a ranch.”

“We?”

“David and I.”

Reacher asked, “So where is he?”

“He’s not here right now.”

“Should I be sorry about that?”

“A little.”

“What does he do?”

“Not so much anymore.” She sat in one of the chairs without the mug in front of it and tugged the hem of her T-shirt down. Her hair was drying and going wavy again. She was naked under the shirt, and confident about it. Reacher was sure of that. She was looking straight at him, like she knew he knew.

He sat down opposite her.

She asked, “What else?”

“My motel clerk figures the plant makes way too much money.”

“That’s common knowledge. Thurman owns the bank, and bank auditors gossip. He’s a very rich man.”

“My motel clerk figures he’s smuggling dope or something with his little airplane.”

“Do you think he is?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s your conclusion?”

“Not entirely.”

“So what else?”

“A quarter of the plant is screened off. There’s a secret area. I think he’s got a contract to recycle military scrap. Hence the wealth. A Pentagon contract is the fastest way on earth to get rich these days. And hence the MP unit down the road. Thurman is breaking up classified stuff back there, and people would be interested in it. Armor thickness, materials, construction techniques, circuit boards, all that kind of stuff.”

“So that’s all? Legitimate government business?”

“No,” Reacher said. “That’s not all.”

40

Reacher took the first sip of his coffee. It was perfect. Hot, strong, smooth, and a great mug. He looked across the table at Vaughan and said, “Thank you very much.”

She said, “What else is going on there?”

“I don’t know. But there’s a hell of a vigilante effort going on about something. After the PD ended up depopulated I went to see the local judge about getting sworn in as a deputy.”

“You weren’t serious.”

“Of course not. But I pretended I was. I wanted to see the reaction. The guy panicked. He went crazy. He said he’d deputize the whole population first. They’re totally serious about keeping strangers out.”

“Because of the military stuff.”

“No,” Reacher said. “That’s the MPs’ job. Any hint of espionage, Thurman’s people would get on the radio and the MPs would lock and load and about a minute later the whole town would be swarming with Humvees. The townspeople wouldn’t be involved.”

“So what’s going on?”

“At least two other things.”

“Why two?”

“Because their responses are completely incoherent. Which means there are at least two other factions in play, separate and probably unaware of each other. Like this morning, Thurman had me checked out. He saw that my paper trail went cold ten years ago, and therefore I was no obvious danger to him, and then he ran your plate and saw that I was in some way associated with a cop from the next town, and therefore in some way untouchable, so he played nice and gave me a guided tour. But meanwhile without all that information someone else was busy busting your windows. And nobody busts a cop’s windows for the fun of it. Therefore the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing.”

“Thurman gave you a tour?”

“He said he’d show me everything.”

“And did he?”

“No. He stayed away from the secret area. He said it was just a junkyard.”

“Are you sure it isn’t?”

“I saw activity in there earlier. Smoke and sparks. Plus it’s carefully screened off. Who does that, for a junkyard?”

“What are the two other factions?”

“I have no idea. But these young guys are involved somehow. Lucy Anderson’s husband and the dead guy. And Lucy Anderson’s husband is another example of the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing. They sheltered him and moved him on but threw his wife out of town like a pariah. How much sense does that make?”

“He moved on?”

“I saw him at the rooming house at three o’clock and he was gone by seven. No trace of him, and nobody would admit he had ever been there.”

“The plane flies at seven,” Vaughan said. “Is that connected?”

“I don’t know.”

“No trace at all?”

“No physical sign, and a lot of zipped lips.”

“So what’s going on?”

“When was the last time any normal person entered Despair and stayed as long as he wanted and left of his own accord? To your certain knowledge?”

“I don’t know,” Vaughan said. “Months, certainly.”