Page 39 of In Too Deep

“What’s the problem? Who’s going to steal it?”

“Said everyone who’s ever gotten anything stolen. Sorry. It just seems like asking for trouble. Especially when there’s an easy solution.”

“Such as?”

“One of us stays here.”

“Who?”

“Paris.”

Paris said, “No way. You patronizing asshole. I set up this job. I’m just as capable—”

Kane started talking over her. “Like hell. We get back here. She’s gone. With the van. You act all outraged. Then you lovebirds meet up later. Grow fat and happy together after you’ve sold all our stuff. Forget about it.”

Vidic held up his hands like he was surrendering. “Guys. Please. Take a breath. One, we’re not lovebirds. Look at Paris. She wouldhappily strangle me right now. Two, Paris, of course you’re totally capable. But when you planned this job we were expecting another delivery. That hasn’t arrived. There’s less stuff to carry. So we can get by with fewer people. You staying here to guard the van is a better use of resources. That’s just a fact. And three, Kane, the van’s locked. You take the keys. Or Fletcher can take them. Then there’s no way Paris can drive it anywhere. All she can do is protect it. Which benefits all of us. Right?”

Kane and Paris and Vidic exchanged sullen glances but no one spoke for a long minute. Then Fletcher said, “It makes sense. Paris, you stay. Kane, Vidic, get ready. We go in fifteen.”

Chapter18

Reacher heard Knight calling hisname. She was on the first floor. Reacher put his hand on the Glock in his waistband and took the stairs, two at a time, as quietly as possible. He paused in the hallway and heard her voice again. She said, “Reacher? In the kitchen.”

Reacher found her standing next to an open door. It was about fifteen feet farther into the room than the door Reacher had come through after his encounter with Fletcher. Reacher moved up next to her and looked inside. It was a walk-in refrigerator. There were plastic containers of beef and chicken. Wooden crates of carrots and green beans. And on the floor, with pale skin and blank eyes and one ear resting on his shoulder, was a man’s body.

Knight said, “Is it Gibson?”

Reacher said, “It must be. We know they brought him here. And there’s another shirt just like the one he’s wearing in a closet, upstairs.”

“You don’t recognize him? You were with him when he died.”

Reacher crouched down and took a closer look at Gibson’s face. His hands. His clothes. His shoes. There were a few things that were unnatural. The angle of his neck. The pallor of his skin. The utter, unworldly stillness that only settles on the dead. But as far as his features went, he appeared totally normal. Anonymous, even. There was nothing remarkable about his nose. His eyes. His mouth. His fingers. Reacher took it all in. He willed himself to remember something about the guy. Anything. His manner. His voice. Whether they had talked during the drive from the motel. Whether he had seemed confident. Happy. Scared. But nothing came. Reacher stood up and a question popped into his head. What if he hadn’t stopped the car thieves from stealing Gibson’s Lincoln? Would the guy still be alive? He pushed the thought away and turned to Knight. “It’s like I never saw him before.”

Knight took Reacher’s place by the body. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’ll come back.” She pulled out her phone, experimented for a moment until she found the best angle, and took two pictures of Gibson’s face. Then she stood up and took a bunch more shots to show his full body and the place where it had been dumped.

Knight moved to the regular refrigerator and took out a pack of butter. She said, “Have you seen any paper in the house?”

Reacher said, “On its way.” He made his way back to Paris’s room and took the spiral notebook from her desk. He took a pen, as well, just in case. And as he closed the door he again picked up the feeling that he was missing something.

Reacher handed the notebook to Knight. She opened it and set it down on Gibson’s chest. Then she took the butter, smeared some on Gibson’s thumb and each finger on his right hand, and pressed a greasy version of his prints onto the first page.

Knight stood and caught the look on Reacher’s face. She said, “I know. You’re horrified. You think I’ve contaminated the crime scene.Which in a way I have. But we’re not going to be here all the time until the Feds show up. Anything could happen in the meantime. Fletcher could move the body. Kane could do God knows what to it. The house could burn down. And we want the Feds to be able—”

Reacher said, “Stop. Come with me.”

—

Reacher led theway back to Paris’s bedroom. He took the notebook from Knight, tore out the page with Gibson’s prints, and put it back in its place on the table. He returned the pen to its mug. Continued to the bathroom. Opened the closet. Moved the tangle of towels out of the way, and lifted the lid off the crate.

Knight said, “Sand? What the…? What kind of bathroom product needs that kind of protection?”

Reacher said, “Like I’m an expert on bathroom products. Pass me the trash can?”

Knight grabbed it from next to the toilet, then realized what Reacher wanted it for. She said, “Move aside. I’ll do it.” She knelt down and started scooping out the sand and dumping it into the trash can. She moved carefully, beginning in the center, and working her way around in a circle. She soon came to the glass object Reacher had found earlier. She exposed more of it. Kept digging. Got down another three inches. Four. Then she stopped. Something silver colored was nestling in the liquid at the bottom of the vial. It was bright. Shiny. Metallic.

Reacher said, “The house is going to burn down. That’s for sure. Only it won’t be any kind of an accident.”

“That metal is phosphorus. They must figure if it makes the fire hot enough it’ll destroy Gibson’s DNA. Prevent the Feds from identifying him.”

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