Make Me

“Statistically, maybe. And linguistically. With a little sociology thrown in. Plus a deep and innate understanding of human nature. Think about the number two hundred. Sounds like a nice round figure, but it isn’t, really. No one says two hundred purely at random. People say a hundred, or a thousand. Or hundreds or thousands. Two hundred deaths sounds specific to me. Like a true number. Maybe rounded up from the high 180s or 190s, but it sounds to me like there’s information behind it. Enough to keep me interested, anyway. For instance. Speaking as an investigator.”

Westwood said nothing.

Reacher said, “Plus we assume the cops already heard the story, and already dismissed it.”

Westwood nodded. “Because you assume Mr. Keever’s client called everyone from the White House downward. Including me.”

“Which is where we have to start. With the client. We need to find the guy. We need to hear the story over again, from the beginning, like Keever did. Then maybe we can predict what happened next.”

“I get hundreds of calls. I told you.”

“How many?”

“Point taken.”

“And you note them all down. You told us that, too.”

“Not in any great detail.”

“We might be able to puzzle it out.”

“You would need a name, at least.”

“I think we have a name.”

Chang glanced at Reacher.

“Possibly,” Reacher said to her. Then he turned back to Westwood. He said, “It’s probably not a real name, but it might be a start. You told us sooner or later you block the nuisance calls. When they wear out their welcome. Suppose a guy got frustrated by that, and tried to start over by coming back to you under a different name and number?”

“Might happen,” Westwood said.

Reacher turned to Chang and said, “Show him Keever’s bookmark.”

Chang dug the paper out of her pocket and smoothed it on the table. The 323 phone number, and Mother’s Rest — Maloney.

Westwood said, “That’s my number. No doubt about that.”

Reacher said, “We took it to mean there was a guy in Mother’s Rest named Maloney, who was of interest in some way. But there’s no such guy. We’re sure of that. We asked, and the answers weren’t evasive. They were dismissive, and even a little confused. So what if you had gotten sick of Keever’s client, whatever his name is, so he decided to start over, and he came back to you under the name of Maloney? And then he called Keever again, and as always told him to check with you, for corroboration, but this time warned him the issue wouldn’t be filed under his real name anymore, but under the fake name Maloney? Maybe that’s what this note means.”

“Maybe.”

“You got a third interpretation?”

“I could check,” Westwood said.

“We’d appreciate it. We’re clutching at straws here.”

“No shit. Keever’s notes are as bad as mine.”

“They’re all we’ve got.”

“But even so, with a missing guy and a rumor about two hundred deaths, don’t you think you should at least try the cops again?”

“I was a cop,” Reacher said. “And I knew plenty more. I never met one who went looking for extra work. So right now they wouldn’t listen. Not yet. I can guarantee that. Just like you didn’t.”

“I could check,” Westwood said again. “But I don’t see how a fake name will help.”

“By leading us to the real name.”

“How can it do that? It conceals the real name.”

“Check who you blocked just before Maloney started calling. That’s the client.”

“We’ll find more than one candidate. I block lots of people.”

“We’ll figure it out. Geography could be significant. We know he hired an investigator from Oklahoma City, and we know he reads the LA Times. That might narrow it down some.”

Westwood shook his head. “My phone number ain’t exactly easy to find. I don’t pay Google to put it front and center. If your guy is good enough with computers to dig it up off the internet, then he’s reading the paper on-line. That’s for sure. Guys like that haven’t bought physical print for a decade. He could be living anywhere.”

“Good to know,” Reacher said.

“Meet me in my office in an hour. In the Times building.”

Chang nodded and said, “I know where it is.”

Then the waitress came by and Westwood ordered breakfast, and Reacher and Chang left him alone to eat it.

Less than ten minutes later, twenty miles south of Mother’s Rest, the man with the ironed jeans and the blow-dried hair took a second call on his land line. His contact told him Hackett had observed the meeting in the Inglewood coffee shop. He had not been close enough to hear much detail, but he had caught Keever’s name, and he had lip-read Chang say they had hit the wall, where he was concerned. Then at the end of the conversation he had inferred a second rendezvous had been suggested, at a location he hadn’t caught, but he had heard Chang saying she knew where it was. He would stay on Westwood for the time being, who would no doubt lead him there.

Chapter 25