Better off Dead (Jack Reacher #26)(27)

“Don’t worry. I’ll take the trash out when I leave. You won’t see these guys again.”

I started with the guy Dr. Houllier had called Mansour. I checked his pants pocket and found what I was looking for straightaway. His keys. A big bunch on a plastic fob. With one kind in particular. A car key. The logo molded into the plastic grip said Lincoln. I hoped it was for a Town Car. They’re spacious vehicles. Plenty of room for passengers. Conscious or unconscious. Alive or dead. That fact was established almost immediately after the first model rolled off the production line. They’d been popular with people who appreciated that quality ever since. People like me, at that moment.

I figured I could tie the three guys up. Load them in. Dump the car. And call 911. I bet they all had pretty substantial records. Although I wasn’t impressed with the way the police had responded to my report of the bodies by The Tree. I hadn’t seen a single uniformed cop in the town. Or a detective. Or a crime scene truck. It made me think of a conversation I had recently with a guy in Texas. He had a theory. He said that in remote regions any officer sent to deal with something messy like a bunch of dead bodies must be on his boss’s bad side. Which meant he wouldn’t be looking to carry out a thorough investigation. He’d be looking to get the case closed, quickly and tidily. To get back in his boss’s good graces. And to make sure someone else would get sent the next time there was a problem out in the sticks.

    Maybe the guy had been right. Maybe I’d be better off dumping the car somewhere farther away. At the side of the highway. Or in a bigger town. Or a city. I didn’t want to invite extra work. But I did want the right result. And on top of that, I was hungry. Making plans on an empty stomach is a bad idea. It can distort your priorities. I figured I should grab something to eat, then decide.

I said, “It’s been a busy morning. I could use some breakfast. Want to join me?”

Dr. Houllier pulled a face like he’d smelled something vile. “Eat? Now? No. No thank you. I couldn’t.”

I tried to slip Mansour’s keys into my pocket but the bunch got all snagged up. It was big. And heavy. When I tried to streamline it, one key in particular stood out. A mortise. It was similar to the ones the guys had been carrying yesterday.

I said, “Which place around here has the best coffee?”

Dr. Houllier blinked a few times. Then he shrugged. “You could try the Prairie Rose. I’ve heard theirs is good. Turn left out of the main exit. Walk a hundred yards. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” I glanced around the room. “Have you got anything I could use to tie these guys up?”

Dr. Houllier thought for a moment. “Wait here. I have an idea.” Then he hurried out through the door.

I used the time to work my way through Mansour’s other pockets. I found his wallet. He had cash, but no ID. Nothing with an address. I tried his phone. It asked for a Face ID. I had no idea what that was but on a whim I held it level with the guy’s nose. After a second its screen unlocked. There was no record of any calls being received. Or made. There were no texts. And no contacts. Nothing to help me, so I took his gun and moved on to the guys in the suits. They had a similar range of stuff. Guns, wallets, phones, and keys. Including plastic fobs. And a mortise key. The keys were scuffed and scratched. I held them up next to one another. The teeth lined up. They were a perfect match. I tried Mansour’s. It matched just as well. I figured the keys must be connected to Dendoncker’s operation in some way. I was curious, but the question didn’t need to be answered. Dendoncker was at the wrong end of Fenton’s Glock. His crew was heading to jail. And I would be on my way out of town as soon as I had eaten.

    The door swung open. There was no knock, but it was pushed gently this time. Dr. Houllier appeared in the gap. He was clutching a bunch of packages. They were identical. Wrapped in clear packaging. And they were slippery. He tried to pass one to me and the whole lot fell and went skittering across the floor. I helped him gather them up and saw they were crepe bandages. They each had a manufacturer’s logo and a sticker indicating their size. Four inches wide by five feet long.

“They’re elasticated,” Dr. Houllier said. “They’ll stretch, but they shouldn’t break. They’re full of polyurethane fibers. They’re added to the cotton. It makes them strong. In most places they’re used to immobilize limbs. After a sprain, normally. Here we need them for snakebites. You have to bind the area around a wound really tight to stop the venom from spreading.”

I opened one of the packets and tried to break the material.

“If you double it up it’ll be even stronger,” Dr. Houllier said.

I used the first bandage to tie Mansour’s ankles. I checked the knot and figured Dr. Houllier was right. It should hold. I secured Mansour’s hands behind his back. Then I did the same with the guys in the suits. Dr. Houllier watched me work and when I was done he scooped up the pile of empty wrappers and dumped them in the trash. I dropped the guys’ guns and wallets and other stuff in the clinical waste bucket.

    I said, “If I was a secretive person and wanted to get in and out of the building without being seen, how would I do it?”

“Through the ambulance bay. The way I brought you in last night.”

“I was in a body bag last night. You could have brought me down the chimney for all I could see.”