One Shot (10 page)

There were three doors made of painted fibreboard that
were closed and one set of double doors made of
polished wood that were open. Behind those was a
secretary at a desk.

The second gatekeeper. She was younger than the
downstairs lady, but presumably more senior.

'Mr Reacher?' she asked.

He nodded and she came out from behind her desk
and led him to where the windowed offices started. The
third door they came to was labelled A. A.

Rodin.

"What's the A. A. for?' Reacher asked.

'I'm sure Mr Rodin will tell you if he wants to,' the
secretary said.

She knocked on the door and Reacher heard a
baritone reply from inside. Then she opened the door
and stood aside for Reacher to go in past her.

'Thanks,' he said.

'You're most welcome,' she said.

Reacher went in. Rodin was already on his feet behind
his desk, ready to welcome his visitor, full of reflexive
courtesy. Reacher recognized him from the TV. He was
a guy of about fifty, fairly lean, fairly fit, grey hair cut
short. In person he looked smaller. He was maybe an
inch under six feet and a pound under two hundred. He
was dressed in a summer weight suit, dark blue. He had
a blue shirt on, and a blue tie. His eyes were blue. Blue
was his colour, no doubt about it. He was immaculately
shaved and wearing cologne. He was a very squared
away guy, no question. As opposed to me, Reacher
thought. It was like a study in contrasts. Next to Rodin,
Reacher was an unkempt giant. He was six inches taller
and fifty pounds heavier. His hair was two inches longer
and his clothes were a thousand dollars cheaper.

'Mr Reacher?' Rodin said.

Reacher nodded. The office was government-basic,
but neat. It was cool and quiet. No real view from the
window. Just the flat roofs of the off-brand stores and
the DMV office, with all the duct work showing. The
black glass tower was visible in the distance. There was
a weak sun in the sky. At right angles to the window
there was a trophy wall behind the desk, with college
degree certificates and photographs of Rodin with
politicians. There were framed newspaper headlines
reporting guilty verdicts in seven different cases.

On another wall was a photograph of a blonde girl
wearing a mortar board and a gown and holding a
degree scroll. She was pretty. Reacher looked at her for
a moment longer than he needed to. 'That's my
daughter,' Rodin said. 'She's a lawyer too.'

'Is she?' Reacher said.

'She just opened her own office here in town.'

There was nothing in his tone. Reacher wasn't sure
whether he was proud, or disapproving. You're due to
meet with her, I think,' Rodin said.

'Am I?' Reacher said. 'Why?'

'She's defending James Barr.'

'Your daughter? Is that ethical?'

'There's no law against it. It might not be sensible, but
it's not unethical.'

He said sensible with emphasis, hinting at a number of
meanings. Not smart to defend a notorious case, not
smart for a daughter to take on her father, not smart for
anyone to take on A. A. Rodin. He sounded like a very
competitive guy. 'She put your name on her provisional
witness list,' he said. my?'

'She thinks you have information.'

"Where did she get my name?'

'I don't know.'

'From the Pentagon?'

Rodin shrugged. 'I'm not sure. But she got it from
somewhere. Therefore people have been looking for
you.'

'Is that why I got in here?'

Rodin nodded.

'Yes, it is,' he said. 'That's exactly why. Generally I don't
encourage walkins.' 'Your staff seems to be on board
with that policy.'

'I certainly hope so,' Rodin said. 'Sit down, please.'

Reacher sat in the visitor chair and Rodin sat behind
his desk. The window was on Reacher's left and
Rodin's right. Neither man had the light in his eyes. It
was an equitable furniture arrangement. Different from
some prosecutors' offices Reacher had known.

'Coffee?' Rodin asked.

'Please,' Reacher said.

Rodin made a call and asked for coffee.

'Naturally I'm interested in why you came to see me
first,' he said. 'The prosecution, I mean, rather than the
defence.' 'I wanted your personal opinion,' Reacher
said.

'On what?'

'On how strong a case you've got against James Barr.'

Rodin didn't answer immediately. There was a short
silence and then there was a knock at the door and the
secretary came in with coffee. She had a silver tray with
the works on it. A cafetiere, two cups, two saucers, a
sugar bowl, a tiny pitcher of cream, two silver spoons.

The cups were fine china. Not government issue,
Reacher thought. Rodin likes his coffee done right. The
secretary put the tray on the edge of the desk, so that it
was exactly halfway between the desk chair and the
visitor chair. 'Thanks,' Reacher said.

"You're most welcome,' she said, and left the room.

'Help yourself,' Rodin said. 'Please.'

Reacher pushed the plunger down and poured himself
a cup, no cream, no sugar.

It smelled dark and strong. Coffee, done right. 'The
case against James Barr is exceptionally good,' Rodin
said.

'Eyewitnesses?' Reacher asked.

'No,' Rodin said. 'But eyewitness testimony can be of
random value. I'm almost glad we don't have
eyewitnesses. Because what we've got instead is
exceptional physical evidence. And science doesn't lie.

It doesn't get confused.' 'Exceptional?' Reacher said.

'A complete rock-solid evidence trail that ties the man
to the crime.' 'How solid?'

'As good as it gets. The best I've ever seen. I'm
completely confident' 'I've heard prosecutors say that
before.' 'Not this one, Mr Reacher. I'm a very cautious
man. I don't prosecute capital cases unless I'm certain
of the outcome.' 'Keeping score?'

Rodin gestured above and behind him at his trophy
wall. 'Seven for seven,' he said. 'One hundred per cent.'

'In how long?'

'In three years. James Barr will make it eight for eight. If
he ever wakes up.' 'Suppose he wakes up damaged?'

'If he wakes up with any brain function at all, he's
going to trial. What he did here can't be forgiven.' 'OK,'

Reacher said.

'OK what?'

'You've told me what I wanted to know.'

'You said you had information. From the army.' 'I'll keep
it to myself for now.'

'You were a military policeman, am I right?' 'Thirteen
years,' Reacher said.

'And you knew James Barr?'

'Briefly.'

'Tell me about him.'

'Not yet'

'Mr Reacher, if you have exculpatory information, or
anything to add at all, you really need to tell me now.'

'Do I?'

'I'll get it anyway. My daughter will submit it. She'll be
looking for a plea bargain.' 'What does the A. A. stand
for?'

'Excuse me?'

'Your initials.'

'Aleksei Alekseivitch. My family came from Russia. But
a long time ago. Before the October Revolution.' 'But
they keep up traditions.'

'As you can see.'

'What do people call you?'

'Alex, of course.'

Reacher stood up. 'Well, thanks for your time, Alex.

And the coffee.'

'Are you going to see my daughter now?'

'Is there any point? You seem pretty sure of yourself.'

Rodin smiled an indulgent smile.

'It's a matter of procedure,' he said. 'I'm an officer of
the court, and you're on a witness list. I'm obliged to
point out that you're obliged to go.

Anything less would be unethical.' "Where is she?'

'In the glass tower you can see from the window.'

'OK,' Reacher said. 'I guess I could drop by.'

'I still need whatever information you have,' Rodin
said.

Reacher shook his head.

'No,' he said. 'You really don't.'

He returned his visitor pass to the woman at the
reception desk and headed back to the public plaza.

Stood in the cold sun and turned a complete circle,
getting a sense of the place. All cities are the same, and
all cities are different. They all have colours. Some are
grey. This one was brown. Reacher guessed the brick
was made from local clay and had carried the colour of
old farmland into the facades. Even the stone was
flecked with tan, like it carried deposits of iron. There
were accents of dark red here and there, like old barns.

It was a warm place, not busy, but it was surviving. It
would rebound after the tragedy. There was progress
and optimism and dynamism. All the new construction
proved it. There were work zones and raw concrete
kerbs everywhere. Lots of planning, lots of rebuilding.

Lots of hope. The new parking garage extension
anchored the north end of the downtown strip. It
suggested commercial expansion. It was south and
slightly west of the kill zone. Very close. Directly west
and maybe twice as distant was a length of the raised
highway. It ran free and clear through a curve for maybe
thirty yards before curling in behind the library. Then it
straightened a little and passed behind the black glass
tower. The tower was due north of the plaza. It had an
NBC sign near the door, on a black granite slab. Ann
Yanni's workplace, Reacher guessed, as well as Rodin's
daughter's. East of the plaza was the office building
with the DMV and the recruiting office. That was where
the victims had come from. They had spilled out the
door. What had Ann Yanni said? At the end of a long
working week? They had hustled west across the plaza
towards their parked cars or the bus depot and had
stumbled into a nightmare. The narrow walkway would
have slowed them down and lined them up. Like
shooting fish in a barrel.

Reacher walked the length of the empty ornamental
pool to the revolving door at the base of the tower. He
went in and checked the lobby for a directory.

There was a glassed-in board made of ridged black felt
with press-in white letters. NBC was on the second
floor. Some of the other suites were empty and Reacher
guessed the rest changed hands fast enough to make it
worth holding on to the press-in letter system. Law
Offices of Helen Rodin was listed on four.

The letters were a little misaligned and the spacing
was off. Rockefeller Center it ain't, Reacher thought.

He waited for the elevator in a queue of two, him and a
pretty blonde woman.

He looked at her and she looked at him. She got out on
two and he realized it was Ann Yanni. He recognized her
from the broadcast. Then he figured all he needed to do
was meet Emerson from the local PD and he would
have brought the whole breaking-news tableau to life.

He found Helen Rodin's suite. It was at the front of the
building. Her windows were going to overlook the plaza.

He knocked. Heard a muffled reply and went in. There
was an empty reception room with a secretary's desk.

The desk was unoccupied. It was secondhand, but not
recently used. No secretary yet, Reacher thought. Early
days.