The Affair_ A Reacher Novel - Lee Child [50]
The boy was still staring. Quiet, baleful, and patient.
“So let’s go,” I said. “I need to use the phone.”
Chapter
28
Deveraux let me use the phone in her office. Not a democracy, not yet, but we were getting there. She found the number Munro had left for her, and she dialed it for me, and she told whoever answered that Sheriff Elizabeth Deveraux was on the line for Major Duncan Munro. Then she handed the receiver to me and vacated her chair and the room.
I sat down behind her desk with nothing but dead air in my ear and the remnant of her body heat on my back. I waited. The silence hissed at me. The army did not play hold music. Not back in 1997. Then a minute later there was a plastic click and clatter as a handset was scooped up off a desk, and a voice said, “Sheriff Deveraux? This is Major Munro. How are you?”
The voice was hard, and brisk, and hyper-competent, but it had an undertone of good cheer in it. But then, I figured anyone would be happy to get a call from Elizabeth Deveraux.
I said, “Munro?”
He said, “I’m sorry, I was expecting Elizabeth Deveraux.”
“Well, sadly you didn’t get her,” I said. “My name is Reacher. I’m using the sheriff’s phone right now. I’m with the 396th, currently TDY with the 110th. We’re of equal rank.”
Munro said, “Jack Reacher? I’ve heard of you, of course. How can I help you?”
“Did Garber tell you he was sending an undercover guy to town?”
“No, but I guessed he would. That would be you, right? Tasked to snoop on the locals? Which must be going pretty well, seeing as you’re calling from the sheriff’s phone. Which must be fun, in a way. People here say she’s a real looker. Although they also say she’s a lesbian. You got an opinion on any of that?”
“That stuff is none of your business, Munro.”
“Call me Duncan, OK?”
“No, thanks. I’ll call you Munro.”
“Sure. How can I help you?”
“We’ve got shit happening out here. There was a guy shot to death this morning, close to your fence, northwestern quadrant. Unknown assailant, but probably a military round, and definitely a half-assed attempt to patch the fatal wound with a GI field dressing.”
“What, someone shot a guy and then gave him first aid? Sounds like a civilian accident to me.”
“I hoped you weren’t going to be that predictable. How do you explain the round and the dressing?”
“Remington .223 and a surplus store.”
“And two guys were beat up before that, by someone they swear was a soldier.”
“Not a soldier based at Kelham.”
“Really? How many Kelham personnel can you vouch for? In terms of their exact whereabouts this morning?”
“All of them,” Munro said.
“Literally?”
“Yes, literally,” he said. “We’ve got Alpha Company overseas as of five days ago, and I’ve got everyone else confined to quarters, or else sitting in the mess hall or the officers’ club. There’s a good MP staff here, and they’re watching everyone, while also watching each other. I can guarantee no one left the base this morning. Or since I got here, for that matter.”
“Is that your standard operating procedure?”
“It’s my secret weapon. Sitting down all day, no reading, no television, no nothing. Sooner or later someone talks, out of sheer boredom. Never fails. My arm-breaking days are over. I learned that time is my friend.”
“Tell me again,” I said. “This is very important. You’re absolutely sure no one left the base this morning? Or last night? Not even under secret orders, maybe local, or from Benning, or maybe even from the Pentagon? I’m serious here. And don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
“I’m sure,” Munro said. “I guarantee it. On my mother’s grave. I know how to do this stuff, you know. Give me that, at least.”
“OK,” I said.
Munro asked, “Who was the dead guy?”
“No ID at this time. Civilian, almost certainly.”
“Near the fence?”
“Same as the guys that got beat up. Like a quarantine zone.”
“That’s ridiculous.