Without Fail - Lee Child [80]
Stuyvesant seemed a little out of his depth, like he didn’t know how to broach the subject. Reacher squeezed past him and moved ahead toward the kitchen. Stopped in the doorway. There were seven school lunch boxes lined up on a counter. The lids were up, like they were ready for assembly-line loading first thing in the morning. He moved back to the hallway. Squeezed past Neagley and looked at the little coats. They were all colorful nylon items, like small versions of the things he had browsed in the Atlantic City store. He lifted one off its peg. It had a white patch inside the collar. Somebody had used a laundry marker and written J. Gálvez on it in careful script. He put it back and checked the other six. Each was labeled with a surname and a single initial. Total of five Gálvez and two Alvárez.
Nobody was speaking. Stuyvesant looked awkward. Reacher caught Mr. Gálvez’s eye and nodded him through to the living room. Two children scuttled out as they stepped in.
“You got five kids?” Reacher asked.
Gálvez nodded. “I’m a lucky man.”
“So who do the two Alvárez coats belong to?”
“My wife’s cousin Julio’s children.”
“Julio and Anita’s?”
Gálvez nodded. Said nothing.
“I need to see them,” Reacher said.
“They’re not here.”
Reacher glanced away.
“Where are they?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Gálvez said. “At work, I guess. They work nights. For the federal government.”
Reacher glanced back. “No, I mean their kids. Not them. I need to see their kids.”
Gálvez looked at him, puzzled. “See their kids?”
“To check they’re OK.”
“You just saw them. In the kitchen.”
“I need to see which ones they are exactly.”
“We’re not taking money,” Gálvez said. “Except for their food.”
Reacher nodded. “This isn’t about licenses or anything. We don’t care about that stuff. We just need to see their kids are OK.”
Gálvez still looked puzzled. But he called out a long rapid sentence in Spanish and two small children separated themselves from the group in the kitchen and threaded between Stuyvesant and Froelich and trotted into the room. They stopped near the doorway and stood perfectly still, side by side. Two little girls, very beautiful, huge dark eyes, soft black hair, serious expressions. Maybe five and seven years old. Maybe four and six. Maybe three and five. Reacher had no idea.
“Hey, kids,” he said. “Show me your coats.”
They did exactly what they were told, like kids sometimes do. He followed them out to the hallway and watched as they stood up on tiptoe and touched the two little jackets he knew were marked Alvárez.
“OK,” he said. “Now go get a cookie or something.”
They scuttled back to the kitchen. He watched them go. Stood still and quiet for a second and then stepped back to the living room. Got close to Gálvez and lowered his voice again.
“Anybody else been inquiring about them?” he asked.
Gálvez just shook his head.
“You sure?” Reacher asked. “Nobody watching them, no strangers around?”
Gálvez shook his head again.
“We can fix it,” Reacher said. “If you’re worried about anything, you should go ahead and tell us right now. We’ll take care of it.”
Gálvez just looked blank. Reacher watched his eyes. He had spent his career watching eyes, and these two were innocent. A little disconcerted, a little puzzled, but the guy wasn’t hiding anything. He had no secrets.
“OK,” he said. “We’re sorry to have interrupted your evening.”
He kept very quiet on the drive back to the office.
They used the conference room again. It seemed to be the only facility with seating for more than three. Neagley let Froelich put herself next to Reacher. She sat with Stuyvesant on the opposite side of the table. Froelich got on the radio net and heard that Armstrong was about to leave the hotel. He was cutting the evening short. Nobody