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“I didn’t understand much of the data center stuff.”

“Neither did I,” she said. “But we can assume there’s a lot of money involved. Unimaginable billions, probably, depending on what data they get.”

“Which should pay for the best. But which didn’t on this occasion. Why not? How much warning did they get?”

“Not much,” she said. “I signed off on it, and an hour later he was on his way to the airport. An hour at the gate, four hours in the air, call it six total.”

“There you go. Six hours wasn’t enough for the cream of the crop. They couldn’t get anyone there in time. They would literally need to be on the same plane as him, and they weren’t. So they called ahead and subbed it out to a local contractor. Known to them, but not as good as them.”

“Plausible,” she said.

Reacher asked, “Is anyone taking care of Bisley’s family?”

“I have people there,” she said. “But unofficially. The protocol didn’t kick in, because he didn’t die on the job. But they’re getting support.”

“I suppose the kid won’t remember.”

“I hope not. But the wife will.”

“Julia,” Reacher said.

“The problem is that damn bar. It’s like it’s taunting me. There were thousands of potential suspects and thousands of potential witnesses, a torrent all day long, but they were gone before the sheriff got there, so we don’t even know who they are. All we have is two bartenders and two regular customers, who maybe saw Bisley or maybe didn’t. The bar is a waste of time. There’s no point in you even going there.”

“I’m not going there,” Reacher said.

He stepped over to the bed and shuffled through the stack of crime scene photographs. He slid out the one he wanted. The first close-up of Bisley’s body, limp in the pool of blood. He said, “What do you see?”

“Apart from the obvious?”

“His car, behind him.”

“What about it?”

“How far back the driver’s seat is.”

“It’s a swept-back design. Aerodynamic, for fuel efficiency.”

“Not that swept back. The headrest is showing through the back door window. Bisley was five-eight. He couldn’t have reached the steering wheel from there. Or the pedals.”

“So who was driving?”

“This all started at the motel in Summertown,” Reacher said. “It had to. A leak from inside your department could supply only his flight number, his ETA, his car rental booking, and his motel booking. A random drive to a bar forty miles away during his private downtime couldn’t have been predicted. Therefore almost certainly the locals staked out the motel immediately after they got the call. It was their only available tactic. Three guys minimum. They waited, and eventually they saw Bisley drive in, as they had been told he would. At some later point they overwhelmed him and forced him into his own car. The front passenger seat. A tall guy drove. A second guy was in the back, behind Bisley, with a gun or a knife, to keep him quiet. The third guy drove their own vehicle, following behind, heading west.”

“To the bar.”

“Which clearly they knew pretty well. They knew the yard was a convincing spot for a mugging gone wrong. They hauled Bisley out of the car and hustled him straight into the yard. Which is why no one remembers him. He never went inside. They knifed him, they remembered to take the wallet and the watch and the phone, but they forgot to set the Toyota’s seat to where it should be for a five-eight driver. Altogether second-rate, like you said. I look forward to meeting them.”

“You think you’ll find them?”

“I’ll have to,” Reacher said. “They’re the only place to start.”

“If they even exist,” Turner said. “We have no actual evidence that any of that stuff happened. Except the driver’s seat is back. Maybe Bisley drove himself out there and took a nap in the lot before he went in. He laid the seat back to get comfortable. Maybe he was overcome by fatigue, after his travel day, with the time zones and all. Maybe he doesn’t get much sleep at home, because of the baby. That would make him an easy target, asleep in a car. Maybe it happened that way.”

“Maybe it did,” Reacher said. “Bad things happen. It might be real.”

“I want a lot of updates. I want to know what you’re thinking, when you’re thinking it. In real time, if you can. Either way, good or bad. I need to be ready. OK?”

“Yes ma’am,” Reacher said.