Page 38 of The Secret

Veronica Sanson heldthe lid of the coal hatch open until Roberta had climbed out, then the sisters stood together and surveyed the area to the west of Neville Pritchard’s house. The garage wall was behind them. The street was to their left but they couldn’t see it because of a line of shrubs. They had been planted close together and laid out carefully to look like they happened to have sprung up there, naturally, on their own. Over the years they’d grown thick and tight and impenetrable. They formed a perfect screen. Impossible to see through. They were standing right there in the open and yet a thousand people could walk by and not realize their purpose. It was the same story to their right. There was another set of bushes, sprouting apparently at random but totally blocking the view from the rest of Pritchard’s yard. Someone could be watching the back of the house with binoculars and they’d still have no idea what was happening in that space. The ground was covered with some kind of short, wiry grass. It was silent to walk on and didn’t reach high enough to leave suspicious damp patches on the cuffs of anyone’s pants. Ahead was a fence separating Pritchard’s property from his neighbor’s. It was a standard affair, six feet tall, with vertical planks attached to horizontal rails strung between sturdy posts. Veronica and Roberta moved across to take a closer look. At first the planks looked uniform, but Roberta noticed a set of five that had an extra row of nails. She pushed near the top of the central one and the lower edge of the group swung up and away from the fence frame. It left plenty of room to crawl through.

The neighbor’s yard was tidy, but plain. It suggested older residents, happy to pay a college student or grandchild to go through the place occasionally and do just enough to stop the trees and shrubs from getting out of hand. Nothing was neglected, but there was no sign of any new planting or recent attempts at cultivation. Ahouse sat on the far side of the lot, away in the distance. Another structure was much closer. A standalone garage. Which was strange given that all the properties on that street had been built with garages attached. Roberta and Veronica crept closer. There was a window in the side wall. They peered through. There was no vehicle inside. The space looked like it was empty.

There was a personnel door next to the window. Roberta took hold of the handle but Veronica grabbed her arm before she could turn it.

“Stop.” Veronica pointed to the top corner of the window. A pair of wires was just visible through a wad of cobwebs. Part of a security system.

Roberta pulled her arm free. She said, “I bet that it’s connected to Pritchard’s house. Not the police. Not the neighbors. I bet Pritchard built this place. Probably pays rent, or does them some other kind of favor.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“Only one way to find out.” Roberta pushed on the handle. The door didn’t give. It was locked. She turned around, raised her knee, then drove her leg back. Her foot hit the wood, the frame split, and the door swung open. No bells rang. No siren sounded. Not anywhere in their earshot, anyway. Roberta darted inside. She said, “Come on. We’re burning daylight. The watchers will be on their way back.”

The garage was just as empty on the inside as it had seemed from the outside. There was no workbench. No tools. Nothing hanging on the walls. Nothing stacked in the corners. Nothing shoved in the rafters. But there were two things dangling from the roof trusses. An electric cable and a hose. The cable was thick. It was heavy gauge and it had an elaborate cylindrical plug at the end. The hose had a brass connector attached and faint white writing stamped along itslength. Roberta turned her head sideways and read it. She said, “Approved for potable water. This is a hookup for an RV.”

Veronica pointed at the floor. Four tires had left dark traces where the vehicle had been parked. They looked wide and splayed out. She said, “Right. And it was heavy. Carrying a full load. Pritchard was ready to disappear for quite a while.”

The sisters went back outside and around to the front of the garage. The vehicle door opened onto a driveway. The other houses they’d seen nearby all had driveways made of gravel. This one was made of compacted dirt. It would be silent to drive on. It sloped down toward the street. And its curve led away from Pritchard’s house. A heavy RV could roll down and coast a considerable distance without needing to start its engine. A near perfect setup for a covert getaway.

Roberta said, “I’m starting to like Neville Pritchard. I like his style.”

Veronica said, “Me too. Shame we’ll have to pump him full of LSD and let him loose in rush-hour traffic.”

“If we can find him. He could be anywhere.”

“I have an idea about that. We’re going to need a phone. And the Yellow Pages.”

—

Reacher let Neilsengo down the stairs first. He felt that was a sensible precaution, given the quantity of vodka Neilsen had sucked down. He was still moving on his own, but unsteadily. He took each step slowly and kept his palms pressed against the walls on either side. He made it to the bottom without falling. Sergei and the other guy were no longer lying there. That was fortunate. Their tangled limbs and outsized torsos could well have been one obstacle too many.

Neilsen fought his way through the curtain, took a moment to catch his balance, and started for the exit. Reacher and Smith followed close behind. The waiter stopped in his tracks when he saw them. He stood and stared with an expression of half shock, half admiration on his face. Neilsen plowed on, weaving between the tables, and the three of them got to the sidewalk unscathed. They walked around the corner to where they’d left the cars. Both had tickets on their windshields. Smith tore them off and dropped them into her purse.

“I’ll take care of those,” she said.

Neilsen stumbled past her, heading for his driver’s door. He pulled out his keys. Reacher stretched across and took them.

“Hey!” Neilsen scowled. “I’m fine to drive.”

Reacher said, “What you think you can do and what you’re going to do are two different things. Go around. Get in the other side.”

Neilsen didn’t move.

Reacher said, “Or walk. Your choice.”

—

Reacher followed Smith’scar through the downtown traffic and back to the hotel. She drove fast. He had to work hard to get close to keeping up. She was already parked in her regular spot when he pulled into the lot. He stopped by the hotel entrance and kept the engine running. Smith opened the passenger door, leaned in, and unfastened Neilsen’s seatbelt.

Neilsen said, “Why are we here? We should be at the office. There’s no reason I can’t work.”

Reacher said, “There’s no way Baglin won’t notice something’s up if he calls a meeting. Is that something you want?”

Neilsen struggled forward in his seat. “Maybe I’ll just spend some time here, in my room. Meet at six for dinner?”

“Sure. Take it easy. And thanks for doing the heavy lifting back there.”

“Please. You know me. And you know the two best words in the English language.Free alcohol. Not to be confused with the worst two words.Alcohol free.”

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