‘But?’

‘The army gave me a decent coat.’

‘And?’

‘At least Korea was interesting.’ Which needled Peterson a little. The restaurant was empty and looked ready to close up. But they went in anyway. They took a table for two, a thirty-inch square of laminate that looked undersized between them.

Peterson said, ‘The town of Bolton is plenty interesting.’

‘The dead guy?’

‘Yes,’ Peterson said. Then he paused. ‘What dead guy?’

Reacher smiled. ‘Too late to take it back.’

‘Don’t tell me Chief Holland told you.’

‘No. But I was in his office a long time.’

‘Alone?’

‘Not for a minute.’

‘But he let you see the photographs?’

‘He tried hard not to. But your cleaning staff did a good job on his window.’

‘You saw them all?’

‘I couldn’t tell if the guy was dead or unconscious.’

‘So you suckered me with that jab about Korea.’

‘I like to know things. I’m hungry for knowledge.’

A waitress came by, a tired woman in her forties wearing sneakers under a uniform that featured a knotted necktie over a khaki shirt. Peterson ordered pot roast. Reacher followed his lead, and asked for coffee to drink.

Peterson asked, ‘How long were you in the army?’

‘Thirteen years.’

‘And you were an MP?’

Reacher nodded.

‘With medical training?’

‘You’ve been talking to the bus passengers.’

‘And the driver.’

‘You’ve been checking me out.’

‘Of course I have. Like crazy. What else do you think I was doing?’

‘And you want me in your house tonight.’

‘You got a better place to go?’

‘Where you can keep an eye on me.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Why?’

‘There are reasons.’

‘Want to tell me what they are?’

‘Just because you’re hungry for knowledge?’

‘I guess.’

‘All I’ll say is right now we need to know who’s coming and going.’