But we had the thing that army families have. Your family was your unit. The men on the bases were taught total loyalty to their units. It was the most fundamental thing in their lives. The boys copied them. They translated that same intense loyalty onto their families. So time to time you might hate your brother, but you didn't let anybody mess with him. That was what we had, Joe and I. We had that unconditional loyalty. We stood back to back in every new schoolyard and punched our way out of trouble together. I watched out for him, and he watched out for me, like brothers did. For sixteen years. Not much of a normal childhood, but it was the only childhood I was ever going to get. And Joe was just about the beginning and end of it. And now somebody had killed him. I sat there in the back of the police Chevrolet listening to a tiny voice in my head asking me what the hell I was going to do about that.
FINLAY DROVE STRAIGHT THROUGH MARGRAVE AND PARKED up outside the station house. Right at the curb opposite the big plate-glass entrance doors. He and Roscoe got out of the car and stood there waiting for me, just like Baker and Stevenson had forty-eight hours before. I got out and joined them in the noontime heat. We stood there for a moment and then Finlay pulled open the heavy door and we went inside. Walked back through the empty squad room to the big rosewood office.
Finlay sat at the desk. I sat in the same chair I'd used on Friday. Roscoe pulled a chair up and put it next to mine. Finlay rattled open the desk drawer. Took out the tape recorder. Went through his routine of testing the microphone with his fingernail. Then he sat still and looked at me.
"I'm very sorry about your brother," he said.
I nodded. Didn't say anything.
"I'm going to have to ask you a lot of questions, I'm afraid," he said.
I just nodded again. I understood his position. I'd been in his position plenty of times myself.
"Who would be his next of kin?" he asked.
"I am," I said. "Unless he got married without telling me."
"Do you think he might have done that?" Finlay asked me.
"We weren't close," I said. "But I doubt it."
"Your parents dead?"
I nodded. Finlay nodded. Wrote me down as next of kin.
"What was his full name?"
"Joe Reacher," I said. "No middle name."
"Is that short for Joseph?"
"No," I said. "It was just Joe. Like my name is just Jack. We had a father who liked simple names."
"OK," Finlay said. "Older or younger?"
"Older," I said. I gave him Joe's date of birth. "Two years older than me."
"So he was thirty-eight?"
I nodded. Baker had said the victim had been maybe forty. Maybe Joe hadn't worn well.
"Do you have a current address for him?"
I shook my head.
"No," I said. "Washington, D.C., somewhere. Like I said, we weren't close."
"OK," he said again. "When did you last see him?"
"About twenty minutes ago," I said. "In the morgue."
Finlay nodded gently. "Before that?"
"Seven years ago," I said. "Our mother's funeral."
"Have you got a photograph of him?"
"You saw the stuff in the property bag," I said. "I haven't got a photograph of anything."
He nodded again. Went quiet. He was finding this difficult.
"Can you give me a description of him?"
"Before he got his face shot off?"
"It might help, you know," Finlay said. "We need to find out who saw him around, when and where."
I nodded.
"He looked like me, I guess," I said. "Maybe an inch taller, maybe ten pounds lighter."
"That would make him what, about six-six?" he asked.
"Right," I said. "About two hundred pounds, maybe."
Finlay wrote it all down.
"And he shaved his head?" he said.
"Not the last time I saw him," I said. "He had hair like anybody else."
"Seven years ago, right?" Finlay said.
I shrugged.
"Maybe he started going bald," I said. "Maybe he was vain about it."
Finlay nodded.
"What was his job?" he asked.
"Last I heard, he worked for the Treasury Department," I said. "Doing what, I'm not sure."
"What was his background?" he asked. "Was he in the service too?"
I nodded.
"Military Intelligence," I said. "Quit after a while, then he worked for the government."
"He wrote you that he had been here, right?" he asked.
"He mentioned the Blind Blake thing," I said. "Didn't say what brought him down here. But it shouldn't be difficult to find out."
Finlay nodded.
"We'll make some calls first thing in the morning," he said. "Until then, you're sure you got no idea why he should be down here?"
I shook my head. I had no idea at all why he had come down here. But I knew Hubble did. Joe had been the tall investigator with the shaved head and the code name. Hubble had brought him down here and Hubble knew exactly why. First thing to do was to find Hubble and ask him about it.
"Did you say you couldn't find Hubble?" I asked Finlay.
"Can't find him anywhere," he said. "He's not up at his place on Beckman Drive and nobody's seen him around town. Hubble knows all about this, right?"
I just shrugged. I felt like I wanted to keep some of the cards pretty close to my chest. If I was going to have to squeeze Hubble for something he wasn't very happy to talk about, then I wanted to do it in private. I didn't particularly want Finlay watching over my shoulder while I was doing it. He might think I was squeezing too hard. And I definitely didn't want to have to watch anything over Finlay's shoulder. I didn't want to leave the squeezing to him. I might think he wasn't squeezing hard enough. And anyway, Hubble would talk to me faster than he would talk to a policeman. He was already halfway there with me. So exactly how much Hubble knew was going to stay my secret. Just for now.