“Plenty of evidence,” Reacher said.

“For real?”

“No question.”

Barr closed his eyes.

“How many people?” he asked.

“Five.”

Barr’s chest started moving. Tears welled out of his closed eyes. His mouth opened in a ragged oval. He was crying, with his head in a vise.

“Why did I do it?” he said.

“Why did you do it the first time?” Reacher said.

“I was crazy then,” Barr said.

Reacher said nothing.

“No excuses,” Barr said. “I was a different person then. I thought I’d changed. I was sure I had. I was good afterward. I tried real hard. Fourteen years, reformed.”

Reacher said nothing.

“I would have killed myself,” Barr said. “You know, back then. Afterward. I came close, a couple of times. I was so ashamed. Except those four guys from KC turned out to be bad. That was my only consolation. I clung on to it, like redemption.”

“Why do you own all those guns?”

“Couldn’t give them up. They were reminders. And they keep me straight. Too hard to stay straight without them.”

“Do you ever use them?”

“Occasionally. Not often. Now and then.”

“How?”

“At a range.”

“Where? The cops checked.”

“Not here. I go across the line to Kentucky. There’s a range there, cheap.”

“You know the plaza downtown?”

“Sure. I live here.”

“Tell me how you did it.”

“I don’t remember doing it.”

“So tell me how you would do it. Theoretically. Like a recon briefing.”

“What would the targets be?”

“Pedestrians. Coming out of the DMV building.”

Barr closed his eyes again. “That’s who I shot?”

“Five of them,” Reacher said.

Barr started crying again. Reacher moved away and pulled a chair from against a wall. He turned it around and sat down on it, backward.

“When?” Barr said.

“Friday afternoon.”

Barr stayed quiet for a long time.

“How did they catch me?” he asked.

“You tell the story.”

“Was it a traffic stop?”

“Why would it be?”

“I would have waited until late. Maybe just after five. Plenty of people then. I would have stopped on the highway behind the library. Where it’s raised. Sun in the west, behind me, no reflection off the scope. I would have opened the passenger window and lined it all up and emptied the mag and hit the gas again. Only way to get caught would be if a state trooper pulled me over for speeding and saw the rifle. But I think I would have been aware of that. Wouldn’t I? I think I would have hidden the rifle and driven slow. Not fast. Why would I have risked standing out?”

Reacher said nothing.

“What?” Barr said. “Maybe a trooper stopped to help me right there. Was that it? While I was parked? Maybe he thought I had a flat. Or I was out of gas.”

“Do you own a traffic cone?” Reacher asked.

“A what?”

“A traffic cone.”

Barr started to say no, but then he stopped.

“I guess I’ve got one,” he said. “Not sure if I own it, exactly. I had my driveway blacktopped. They left a cone on the sidewalk to stop people driving on it. I had to leave it there three days. They never came back for it.”

“So what did you do with it?”

“I put it in the garage.”

“Is it still there?”

“I think so. I’m pretty sure.”

“When was this driveway work done?”

“Start of spring, I think. Months ago.”

“You got receipts?”

Barr tried to shake his head. Winced at the pressure from the clamp.

“It was a gypsy crew,” he said. “I think they stole the blacktop from the city. Probably from where they were starting to fix First Street. I paid cash, quick and dirty.”

“You got any friends?”

“A few.”

“Who are they?”

“Just guys. One or two.”

“Any new friends?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Women?”

“They don’t like me.”

“Tell me about the ballgame.”

“I already did.”

“Where were you? In the car? At home?”

“Home,” Barr said. “I was eating.”

“You remember that?”

Barr blinked. “The shrink lady said I should try to remember the circumstances. It might bring more stuff back. I was in the kitchen, eating chicken, cold. With potato chips. I remember that. But that’s as far as I can get.”

“Drink? Beer, juice, coffee?”

“I don’t remember. I just remember listening to the game. I’ve got a Bose radio. It’s in the kitchen. There’s a TV in there too, but I always listen to the game, never watch. Like when I was a kid.”

“How did you feel?”

“Feel?”

“Happy? Sad? Normal?”

Barr went quiet again for a moment.

“The shrink lady asked the same question,” he said. “I told her normal, but actually I think I was feeling happy. Like something good was on the horizon.”

Reacher said nothing.

“I really blew that call, didn’t I?” Barr said.

“Tell me about your sister,” Reacher said.

“She was just here. Before the lawyer came in.”

“How do you feel about her?”

“She’s all I’ve got.”

“How far would you go to protect her?”

“I would do anything,” Barr said.

“What kind of anything?”

“I’ll plead guilty if they let me. She’ll still have to move, maybe change her name. But I’ll spare her what I can. She bought me the radio. For the baseball. Birthday gift.”

Reacher said nothing.

“Why are you here?” Barr asked him.

“To bury you.”

“I deserve it.”

“You didn’t fire from the highway. You were in the new parking garage.”

“On First Street?”

“North end.”

“That’s nuts. Why would I fire from there?”

“You asked your first lawyer to find me. On Saturday.”

“Why would I do that? You ought to be the last person I wanted to see. You know about Kuwait City. Why would I want that brought up?”

“What was the Cards’ next game?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try to remember. I need to understand the circumstances here.”

“I can’t remember,” Barr said. “There’s nothing there. I remember that winning run, and that’s all. The announcers were going crazy. You know how they are. They were kind of incredulous. I mean, what a stupid way to lose a ballgame. But it’s the Cubs, right? They were saying they always find some way to lose.”

“What about before the game? Earlier that day?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What would you normally be doing?”

“Not much. I don’t do much.”

“What happened in the Cardinals’ previous game?”

“I don’t recall.”

“What’s the next to last thing you remember?”

“I’m not sure. The driveway?”

“That was months ago.”

“I remember going out somewhere,” Barr said.

“When?”

“Not sure. Recently.”

“Alone?”

“Maybe with people. I’m not sure. Not sure where, either.”

Reacher said nothing. Just leaned back in his chair and listened to the quiet beep from the heart machine. It was running pretty fast. Both handcuffs were rattling.

“What’s in the IVs?” Barr asked.

Reacher squinted against the daylight and read the writing on the bags.

“Antibiotics,” he said.

“Not painkillers?”

“No.”

“I guess they think I don’t deserve any.”

Reacher said nothing.

“We go way back, right?” Barr said. “You and me?”

“Not really,” Reacher said.

“Not like we were friends.”

“You got that right.”

“But we were connected.”

Reacher said nothing.

“Weren’t we?” Barr asked.

“In a way,” Reacher said.

“So would you do something for me?” Barr asked. “As a favor?”

“Like what?” Reacher said.

“Pull the IV needles out of my hand.”

“Why?”

“So I can get an infection and die.”

“No,” Reacher said.

“Why not?”

“Not time yet,” Reacher said.

He stood up and put his chair back against the wall and walked out of the room. He processed out at the security desk and passed through the airlock and rode the elevator down to the street. Helen Rodin’s car wasn’t in the lot. She was already gone. She hadn’t waited for him. So he set out walking, all the way from the edge of town.