Blue Moon (Jack Reacher #24)(96)

“Human nature,” Abby said. “I figured in the end he couldn’t bring himself to rent it out. He needed to be absolutely sure. He didn’t want to worry about someone putting a display cabinet against his secret door. He needed control. So I looked for vacant units. There’s only one. The window is papered over. It’s that way.”

She pointed again, back the way Hogan had come.



* * *



—

The vacant store was a classic unit, built in an old-fashioned style, with a floor to ceiling display window that curved around inward, to meet the front door maybe twelve feet back from the sidewalk, at the end of what amounted to a viewing arcade, with mosaic tile on the floor. The door itself was glass in a frame, papered over. Reacher guessed the lock would be simple. Like an old-fashioned household item. Twist the stubby lever, pull, and you were good to go. No key required. A key might be in the wrong pants pocket at the critical moment. And keys were slow. Gregory didn’t want slow. He would be running, probably for his life. He wanted twist, pull, go.

“Is there an alarm?” Hogan asked. “He’s a paranoid guy. He would want to know if someone was messing around back here.”

Reacher nodded.

“I’m sure he would,” he said. “But in the end I think he acted realistic. Alarms go wrong. He didn’t want to risk it beeping when he was out of the office. Because Danilo might be there to hear it. In which case questions would be asked, for sure. The secret wouldn’t last for long. So I think no alarm. But I’m sure it was a tough decision.”

“OK, then.”

“Ready?”

A tight nod from Hogan.

A determined nod from Abby.

Reacher took out his ATM card. The best way past such a household item. He fiddled it into the crack, and curved and curled it around, until it jammed against the tongue of the lock. He yanked the door back toward the hinge, and some combination of sudden pressures told the crude mechanism the key had been turned, so the lock sprang back obediently.

Reacher pushed the door and stepped inside.





Chapter 45


The store had been renovated but never occupied. It was still full of faint construction smells. Wallboard, spackle, paint. The paper on the window gave a soft, cloudy light. The place was just an empty white space. A huge bare cube. Not fitted out in any way. Reacher knew nothing about the retail trade. From what he saw, he assumed the merchant was responsible for bringing in what was needed. Counters, registers, shelves, and racks.

The back wall had a single door in it, properly cased with millwork, painted white, with a big brass lever handle. Not a secret door. Behind it was a short dark hallway. Restroom to the left, office to the right. At the end of the hallway was another door. Properly cased with millwork, painted white, with a big brass handle. Not secret. Behind it was another raw space, full width, maybe twenty feet deep. The left side was for storing stock, maybe. The right side was mechanical. There was a forced-air furnace and a water heater and an air conditioning unit. The air shared the same ductwork as the heat. The ducts were still new and bright. The joins were taped with duct tape. What it was for, originally. There were water pipes and gas pipes coming up out of the concrete floor. There was an HVAC unit in the rear wall. Reacher had seen similar items in hotel rooms. Tall, narrow, all-in-one units. There were electrical panels standing open in the gloom. None of the breakers were labeled.

There were no more doors.

Abby said nothing.

Reacher turned and looked back. Everything else was right. A straight shot out through the hallway, onward through the retail space, twist, pull, go, and out to the street. Fast. Unimpeded. Nothing in the way. All good. Except no more doors.

“He’s paranoid,” Hogan said. “Even though he never rented the unit, he knew he could still get people coming in here from time to time. City inspectors, pest control, maybe an emergency plumber if there’s a leak. He didn’t want guys like that seeing a door and wondering what was behind it. They might have taken a look. Professional curiosity. Therefore the door is disguised somehow. Maybe it’s not even a door at all. Maybe it’s just a bust-out panel of wallboard. No studs behind it.”

He tapped his way along the wall. The sound didn’t change. Halfway between hollow and solid, everywhere.

“Wait,” Reacher said. “We’ve got a forced-air furnace and an air conditioner feeding the same network of ducts, presumably controlled by some kind of a complicated thermostat on a wall somewhere. A brand new installation, still bright and shiny.”

“So?” Hogan said.

“Why did they need a separate HVAC unit in the wall? If they wanted more heat or air back here, they could have put a couple extra vents in the ceiling. It would have cost them a dollar.”

They gathered in front of the unit. They looked at it like a sculpture in a gallery. It was about head height to Abby. The bottom two-thirds was a plain metal panel attached by turnbuckle screws. Then came two rotary controls, one for heat-off-cool, the other for temperature, cold to warm, illustrated by a circular swipe that shaded from blue to red. Above the controls was a grille where the air came out, either warmed or cooled as instructed.

Reacher hooked his fingertips in the grille and pulled.

The whole panel came away as one. It snicked off magnetic closures and clattered to the floor. Behind it was a long straight corridor running away into darkness.