Read Running Blind (The Visitor) for Free Online Page A

anyhow, you know that? People tend to forget that fact. They retried him and convicted him just the same. He was in jail five years. Then you know what happened to him?”
    Reacher shrugged. Said nothing.
    “I was working in Phoenix at the time,” Deerfield said. “Down in Arizona. Homicide detective, for the city. Just before I made it to the Bureau. January of 1976, we get a call to a bar. Some piece of shit lying on the floor, big knife handle sticking up out of him. The famous Ernesto A. Miranda himself, bleeding all over the place. Nobody fell over themselves rushing to call any medics. Guy died a couple minutes after we got there.”
    “So?”
    “So stop wasting my time. I already wasted an hour stopping these guys fighting over you. So now you owe me. So you’ll answer their questions, and I’ll tell you when and if you need a damn lawyer.”
    “What are the questions about?”
    Deerfield smiled. “What are any questions about? Stuff we need to know, is what.”
    “What stuff do you need to know?”
    “We need to know if we’re interested in you.”
    “Why would you be interested in me?”
    “Answer the questions and we’ll find out.”
    Reacher thought about it. Laid his hands palms up on the table.
    “OK,” he said. “What are the questions?”
    “You know Brewer versus Williams, too?” the guy called Blake said. He was old and overweight and unfit, but his mouth worked fast enough.
    “Or Duckworth versus Eagan?” Poulton asked.
    Reacher glanced across at him. He was maybe thirty-five, but he looked younger, like one of those guys who stay looking young forever. Like some kind of a graduate student, preserved. His suit was an awful color in the orange light, and his mustache looked false, like it was stuck on with glue.
    “You know Illinois and Perkins?” Lamarr asked.
    Reacher stared at them both. “What the hell is this? Law school?”
    “What about Minnick versus Mississippi?” Blake asked.
    Poulton smiled. “McNeil and Wisconsin?”
    “Arizona and Fulminante?” Lamarr said.
    “You know what those cases are?” Blake asked.
    Reacher looked for the trick, but he couldn’t see it.
    “More Supreme Court decisions,” he said. “Following on from Miranda. Brewer was 1977, Duckworth 1989, Perkins 1990, Minnick 1990, McNeil 1991, Fulminante 1991, all of them modifying and restating the original Miranda decision.”
    Blake nodded. “Very good.”
    Lamarr leaned forward. The light scatter off the shiny tabletop lit her face from below, like a skull.
    “You knew Amy Callan pretty well, didn’t you?” she asked.
    “Who?” Reacher said.
    “You heard, you son of a bitch.”
    Reacher stared at her. Then a woman called Amy Callan came back at him from the past and slowed him just enough to allow a contented smile to settle on Lamarr’s bony face.
    “But you didn’t like her much, did you?” she said.
    There was silence. It built around him.
    “OK, my turn,” Cozo said. “Who are you working for?”
    Reacher swung his gaze slowly to his right and rested it on Cozo.
    “I’m not working for anybody,” he said.
    “Don’t start a turf war with us,” Cozo quoted. “ Us is a plural word. More than one person. Who is us , Reacher?”
    “There is no us.”
    “Bullshit, Reacher. Petrosian put the arm on that restaurant, but you were already there. So who sent you?”
    Reacher said nothing.
    “What about Caroline Cooke?” Lamarr called. “You knew her too, right?”
    Reacher turned slowly back to face her. She was still smiling.
    “But you didn’t like her either, did you?” she said.
    “Callan and Cooke,” Blake repeated. “Give it up Reacher, from the beginning, OK?”
    Reacher looked at him. “Give what up?”
    More silence.
    “Who sent you to the restaurant?” Cozo asked again. “Tell me right now, and maybe I can cut you a deal.”
    Reacher turned back the other way. “Nobody sent me anywhere.”
    Cozo shook his head. “Bullshit, Reacher. You live in a