“Are you kidding? We see this all the time. Better to face it early and pick up the true value. You’re doing the right thing, believe me. But then women usually do, Marilyn, because we can handle this stuff better than men, can’t we?”

Marilyn breathed out and smiled into the phone. Felt like she was doing exactly the right thing, and like this was exactly the right person to be doing it with.

“I’ll list it right away,” Sheryl said. “I suggest an asking price a dollar short of two million, and a target of one-point-nine. That’s achievable, and it should spark something pretty quickly.”

“How quickly?”

“Today’s market?” Sheryl said. “With your location? Six weeks? Yes, I think we can pretty much guarantee an offer inside six weeks.”

DR. MCBANNERMAN WAS still pretty uptight about confidentiality issues, so although she gave up old Mr. and Mrs. Hobie’s address, she wouldn’t accompany it with a phone number. Jodie saw no legal logic in that, but it seemed to keep the doctor happy, so she didn’t bother arguing about it. She just shook hands and hustled back through the waiting area and outside to the car, with Reacher following behind her.

“Bizarre,” she said to him. “Did you see those people? In reception?”

“Exactly,” Reacher replied. “Old people, half-dead.”

“That’s what Dad looked like, toward the end. Just like that, I’m afraid. And I guess this old Mr. Hobie won’t look any different. So what were they up to together that people are getting killed over it?”

They got into the Bravada together and she leaned over from the passenger seat and unhooked her car phone. Reacher started the motor to run the air. She dialed information. The Hobies lived north of Garrison, up past Brighton, the next town on the railroad. She wrote their number in pencil on a scrap of paper from her pocketbook and then dialed it immediately. It rang for a long time, and then a woman’s voice answered.

“Yes?” the voice said, hesitantly.

“Mrs. Hobie?” Jodie asked.

“Yes?” the voice said again, wavering. Jodie pictured her, an old, infirm woman, gray, thin, probably wearing a flowery housecoat, gripping an ancient receiver in an old dark house smelling of stale food and furniture wax.

“Mrs. Hobie, I’m Jodie Garber, Leon Garber’s daughter.”

“Yes?” the woman said again.

“He died, I’m afraid, five days ago.”

“Yes, I know,” the old woman said. She sounded sad about it. “Dr. McBannerman’s receptionist told us at yesterday’s appointment. I was very sorry to hear about it. He was a good man. He was very nice to us. He was helping us. And he told us about you. You’re a lawyer. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Jodie said. “But can you tell me about whatever it was he was helping you with?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Doesn’t it? Why not?”

“Well, because your father died,” the woman said. “You see, I’m afraid he was really our last hope.”

The way she said it, it sounded like she meant it. Her voice was low. There was a resigned fall at the end of the sentence, a sort of tragic cadence, like she’d given up on something long cherished and anticipated. Jodie pictured her, a bony hand holding the phone up to her face. a wet tear on a thin pale cheek.

“Maybe he wasn’t,” she said. “Maybe I could help you.”

There was a silence on the line. Just a faint hiss.

“Well, I don’t think so,” the woman said. “I’m not sure it’s the kind of thing a lawyer would normally deal with, you see.”

“What kind of thing is it?”

“I don’t think it matters now,” the woman said again.

“Can’t you give me some idea?”

“No, I think it’s all over now,” the woman said, like her old heart was breaking.

Then there was silence again. Jodie glanced out through the windshield at McBannerman’s office. “But how was my father able to help you? Was it something he especially knew about? Was it because he was in the Army? Is that what it was? Something connected with the Army?”

“Well, yes, it was. That’s why I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to help us, as a lawyer. We’ve tried lawyers, you see. We need somebody connected with the Army, I think. But thank you very much for offering. It was very generous of you.”

“There’s somebody else here,” Jodie said. “He’s with me, right now. He used to work with my father, in the Army. He’d be willing to help you out, if he can.”

There was silence on the line again. Just the same faint hiss, and breathing. Like the old woman was thinking. Like she needed time to adjust to some new considerations.

“His name is Major Reacher,” Jodie said into the silence. “Maybe my father mentioned him? They served together for a long time. My father sent for him, when he realized he wouldn’t be able to carry on any longer.”

“He sent for him?” the woman repeated.

“Yes, I think he thought he would be able to come and take over for him, you know, keep on with helping you out.”

“Was this new person in the military police, too?”

“Yes, he was. Is that important?”

“I’m really not sure,” the woman said.

She went quiet again. She was breathing close to the phone.

“Can he come here to our house?” she asked suddenly.

“We’ll both come,” Jodie said. “Would you like us to come right away?”

There was silence again. Breathing, thinking.

“My husband’s just had his medication,” the woman said. “He’s sleeping now. He’s very sick, you know.”

Jodie nodded in the car. Opened and closed her spare hand in frustration.

“Mrs. Hobie, can’t you tell us what this is about?”

Silence. Breathing, thinking.

“I should let my husband tell you. I think he can explain it better than me. It’s a long story, and I sometimes get confused.”

“OK, when will he wake up?” Jodie asked. “Should we come by a little later?”

There was another pause.

“He usually sleeps right through, after his medication,” the old woman said. “It’s a blessing, really, I think. Can your father’s friend come first thing in the morning?”

HOBIE USED THE tip of his hook to press the intercom buzzer on his desk. Leaned forward and called through to his receptionist. He used the guy’s name, which was an unusual intimacy for Hobie, generally caused by stress.

“Tony?” he said. “We need to talk.”

Tony came in from his brass-and-oak reception counter in the lobby and threaded his way around the coffee table to the sofa.

“It was Garber who went to Hawaii,” he said.

“You sure?” Hobie asked him.

Tony nodded. “On American, White Plains to Chicago, Chicago to Honolulu, April fifteenth. Returned the next day, April sixteenth, same route. Paid by Amex. It’s all in their computer.”

“But what did he do there?” Hobie said, more or less to himself.

“We don’t know,” Tony muttered. “But we can guess, can’t we?”

There was an ominous silence in the office. Tony watched the unburned side of Hobie’s face, waiting for a response.

“I heard from Hanoi,” Hobie said, into the silence.

“Christ, when?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“Jesus, Hanoi?” Tony said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Thirty years,” Hobie said. “And now it’s happened.”

Tony stood up and walked around behind the desk. Used

his fingers to push two slats of the window blind apart. A bar of afternoon sunlight fell across the room.

“So you should get out now. Now it’s way, way too dangerous.”

Hobie said nothing. He clasped his hook in the fingers of his left hand.

“You promised,” Tony said urgently. “Step one, step two. And they’ve happened. Both steps have happened now, for God’s sake.”

“It’ll still take them some time,” Hobie said. “Won’t it? Right now, they still don’t know anything.”

Tony shook his head. “Garber was no fool. He knew something. If he went to Hawaii, there was a good reason for it.”