Lee Child, The Affair—exclusive extract

 

An intriguing story from Jack Reacher's early career. He's fresh out of the military, but the Pentagon wants him down South to clear up a mystery murder near an army barracks. Trouble is, the local Sheriff is onto him right away, and there's no telling whether he's going to get help from the law or not.

The car came over into the wrong lane and stopped alongside me. It was an old Chevy Caprice police cruiser painted up in the Carter County Sheriff’s Department colours. The woman behind the wheel had an unruly mass of dark hair, tied back in an approximate ponytail. Her face was pale and flawless. I pegged her at somewhere in her middle thirties, old enough to show some mileage, young enough to still find some amusement in the world. She was smiling slightly and the smile was reaching her eyes, which were big and dark and liquid and seemed to have a glow in them. Although that might have been a reflection from the Chevy’s instrument panel.
 

She wound down her window and looked at me, with nothing but frankness in her gaze. I stepped in closer to give her a better look, and to take a better look. She was more than flawless. She was spect­acular. She had a revolver in a holster on her right hip and a shotgun stuffed muzzle-down in a scabbard between the seats. There was a radio slung under the dash on the passenger side, and a microphone in a clip near the steering wheel.

 

She said, ‘You’re the guy Pellegrino brought in.’ Her voice was quiet but clear, warm but not soft, and her accent sounded local.

 

I said, ‘Yes, ma’am, I am.’

 

She said, ‘You’re Reacher, right?’

 

I said, ‘Yes, ma’am, I am.’

 

She said, ‘I’m Elizabeth Deveraux. I’m the sheriff here.’

 

I said, ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

 

She paused a beat and said, ‘Did you eat dinner yet?’

 

I nodded. ‘But not dessert,’ I said. ‘As a matter of fact I’m heading back to the diner for pie right now.’

 

‘Do you usually take a walk between courses?’

 

‘I was waiting out the hotel people. They didn’t seem in a hurry.’

 

‘Is that where you’re staying tonight? The hotel?’

 

‘I’m hoping to.’

 

She nodded in turn. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said. ‘Find me in the diner. Five minutes, OK?’

 

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Five minutes.’

 

She wound up her window and reversed and drove away. She turned into Main Street. I followed on foot.

 

When I got to the diner I found Elizabeth Deveraux’s cruiser parked outside. She was at the same table I had used. The old couple from the hotel had decamped. The place was empty apart from Deveraux and the waitress.

 

Deveraux used one foot under the table to shove the facing chair out a little. An invitation. Clearly, she had already ordered. I asked the waitress for a slice of her best pie and another cup of coffee. She went to the kitchen and silence claimed the room.

 

Up close Elizabeth Deveraux was a seriously good-looking woman. Truly beautiful. She was tall, and her hair was amazing. There must have been five pounds of it in her ponytail alone. She had all the right parts in all the right proportions. She looked great in her uniform.

 

But best of all was her mouth. And her eyes. Together they put a wry, amused animation into her face, as if whatever ­happened to her she would stay calm and collected, and then she would find a quality in it to make her smile. There was still light in her eyes. Not just a reflection from the Caprice’s speedometer.

She said, ‘Pellegrino told me you’ve been in the army.’

I paused a beat. Undercover work is all about lying, and I hadn’t minded lying to Pellegrino. But for some unknown reason I found myself not wanting to lie to Deveraux. So I said, ‘Six weeks ago I was in the army,’ which was technically true.

‘What branch?’

‘I was with an outfit called the 110th, mostly,’ I said. Also true.

‘Infantry?’

‘It was a special unit. Combined operations.’ Which was true.

‘Who’s your local friend?’

‘A guy called Hayder,’ I said. An outright invention.

‘He must have been infantry. Kelham is all infantry.’

I nodded. ‘75th Ranger Regiment,’ I said.

‘Was he an instructor?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I said.

She nodded. ‘They’re the only ones who are here long enough to want to stick around afterwards. I’ve never heard of him.’

‘Then maybe he moved on. How long have you been sheriff?’

‘Two years. Long enough to get to know the locals, anyway.’

‘Pellegrino said you’d been here all your life.’

‘Not true,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been here all my life. I was here as a kid, and I’m here now. But there were years in between.’

I asked her, ‘How did you spend those years?’

‘I had a rich uncle,’ she said. ‘I toured the world at his expense.’

And at that point I suspected I was in trouble and my mission was about to fail. Because I had heard that answer before.

THE WAITRESS brought out Elizabeth Deveraux’s main course and my dessert together. Deveraux had ordered the cheeseburger and the nest of fries. My pie was peach and the slice I got was bigger than the dish it was in. My coffee was in a tall mug. Deveraux had plain water in a glass.

It’s easier to let a pie go cold than a cheeseburger, so I figured I had a chance to talk while Deveraux had no choice but to eat and listen and comment briefly. So I said, ‘Pellegrino told me you guys are real busy. A wrecked car and a dead woman.’

She nodded and chased an errant pearl of mayonnaise back into her mouth with the tip of her little finger. She had short nails, nicely trimmed and polished. She had slender hands. Good skin. No rings. None at all. Especially not on her left ring finger.
I asked, ‘Any progress on any of that?’

She swallowed and smiled and held her hand up like a traffic cop. Stop. Wait. She said, ‘Give me a minute, OK? No more talking.’

So I ate my pie. The crust was sweet and the peaches were soft. She ate the burger and fries, her eyes on mine most of the time. She was a slim woman. She must have had a metabolism like a nuclear reactor. She took occasional long sips of water. I drained my mug.

She asked, ‘Doesn’t coffee keep you awake?’

 

I nodded. ‘Until I want to go to sleep. That’s what it’s for.’

She took a last sip of water and left a rind of bun and six fries on her plate. She laid her napkin next to her plate. Dinner was over.
I asked, ‘So are you making progress?’

She smiled and looked me over again, slowly. She said, ‘You’re pretty good. Nothing to be ashamed about, really. It’s not your fault.’
I asked, ‘What isn’t?’

She leaned back in her chair. ‘My daddy was sheriff here before me. He won twenty consecutive elections. He was firm, but fair. And honest. But I didn’t like it here much. Not as a kid. I mean, can you imagine? It’s the back of beyond. I knew there was a big world out there. So I had to get away.’

I said, ‘I don’t blame you.’

She said, ‘But some ideas get ingrained. Like public service. Like law enforcement. It starts to feel like a family business.’

I nodded. She was right. Kids follow their parents into law enforcement far more than most other professions.

She said, ‘So look at it from my point of view. What do you think I did when I turned eighteen?’

I said, ‘I don’t know,’ although I was pretty sure I did know.

She said, ‘I went to South Carolina and joined the Marine Corps.’

I nodded. Worse than I had expected. For some reason I had been betting on the air force. I asked her, ‘How long were you in?’
‘Sixteen years.’

Which made her thirty-six. Eighteen years at home, plus sixteen as a jarhead, plus two as Carter County Sheriff. Same age as me.
I asked her, ‘What branch of the Corps?’

‘Provost Marshal’s office.’

I looked away. ‘You were a military cop,’ I said. ‘Terminal rank?’

‘CWO5,’ she said.

Chief Warrant Officer 5. An expert in a specific specialised field. The sweet spot, where the real work was done.

I asked her, ‘Why did you leave?’

‘Rumblings. The Soviets are gone, reductions in force are coming. I figured it would feel better to step up than be thrown out. Plus my daddy died, and I couldn’t let an idiot like Pellegrino take over.’

I asked her, ‘Where did you serve?’

‘All over. Uncle Sam was my rich uncle. He showed me the world.’

The waitress came back and took away our empty plates.

‘Anyway,’ Deveraux said. ‘I was expecting you. It’s what we would have done under the same circumstances. A homicide behind a bar near a base? Some big secrecy on the base? We would have put an investigator on the post and sent another into town, undercover. The undercover guy would keep his ear to the ground and stop the locals embarrassing the Corps. It was a policy I supported back then, naturally. But now I am the locals, so I can’t support it any more.’

I said nothing.

‘Don’t feel bad,’ she said. ‘You were doing it better than some of our guys did. I love the shoes, for instance. And the hair. You’re fairly convincing. You ran into bad luck, that’s all, with me being who I am. You shouldn’t have said the 110th. I know about the 110th. You were nearly as good as we were. But really, Hayder? Far too uncommon a name.’

‘I didn’t want to lie,’ I said. ‘Didn’t seem right. My father was a Marine. Maybe I sensed it in you.’

‘He was a Marine but you joined the army? Was that mutiny?’

‘I don’t know what it was,’ I said. ‘But it felt right at the time.’

‘How does it feel now?’

‘Right this minute? Not so great.’

‘Don’t feel bad. You gave it a good try. What rank are you?’

I said, ‘Major.’

‘Still with the 110th?’
‘Temporarily. Home base right now is the 396th MP. The Criminal Investigation Division.’

‘How many years in?’

‘Thirteen. Plus West Point.’

‘I’m honoured. Maybe I should salute. Who did they send to ­Kelham?’

‘A guy called Munro. Same rank as me. Are you making progress?’

She said, ‘You don’t give up, do you?’

‘Giving up was not in the mission statement. You know how it is.’

‘OK, I’ll trade. One answer for one answer. And then you ship back out. You hit the road at first light. Do we have a deal?’

 

What choice did I have? I said, ‘We have a deal.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘We’re not making progress.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Thanks. Your turn.’

‘Obviously it would give me an insight to know if you’re the ace, or if the guy they sent to Kelham is the ace. As in, do the army think the problem is inside the gates or outside? Are you the big dog? Or is the other guy?’

‘The honest answer is I don’t know,’ I said.