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label in it. He checked the pockets. Nothing in them.
    "What was she wearing when she went out?" he asked.
    "I'm not sure," Lane said.
    "Who would know?"
    "We all left before her," Lane said. "I don't think anyone was still here. Except Taylor."
    Reacher closed the closet door and stepped away to the armoire. It had double doors at the top and drawers below. One of the drawers held jewellery. One was full of miscellaneous junk like paper packets of spare buttons from new garments and discarded pocket change. One was full of lacy underwear. Bras, panties, all of them either white or black.
    "May I see Jade's room?" Reacher asked.
    Lane led him through a short interior hallway. Jade's room was all pale pastels and kid stuff. Furry bears, china dolls, toys, games. A low bed. Pyjamas folded on the pillow. A nightlight still burning. A low desk covered in drawings done with wax crayons on butcher paper. A small chair, neatly tucked in.
    Nothing that meant anything to a military cop.
    "I'm done," Reacher said. "I'm very sorry to intrude."
    He followed Lane back to the living room. The leather bag was still there on the floor, near the foyer. Gregory and the five other soldiers were still in their places, still quiet and pensive.
    "Decision time," Lane said. "Do we assume Reacher was observed entering the building tonight? Or not?"
    "I didn't see anyone," Gregory said. "And I think it's very unlikely. Round-the-clock surveillance would eat manpower. So I would say not."
    "I agree," Lane said. "I think Reacher is still Joe Public to them. So he should be on the street at seven o'clock. We should try a little surveillance of our own."
    There was no objection. Reacher nodded.
    "I'll watch the front of the Spring Street building," he said. "That way I'll see one of them at least. Maybe two of them."
    "Don't show yourself," Lane said. "You understand my concern, right?"
    "Completely," Reacher said. "They won't make me."
    "Surveillance only. Absolutely no intervention."
    "Don't worry."
    "They'll be there early," Lane said. "So you be in position earlier."
    "Don't worry," Reacher said again. "I'll leave right now."
    "Don't you want to know which building you're supposed to be watching?"
    "I don't need to know," Reacher said. "I'll see Gregory leave the keys."
    Then he let himself out of the apartment and rode down in the elevator. Nodded to the doorman and walked out to the street. Headed for the subway at 72nd and Broadway.
    The woman who was watching the building saw him go. She had seen him arrive with Gregory, and now he was leaving alone. She checked her watch and made a note of the time. She craned her neck and tracked his progress west. Then she lost sight of him and moved back deep in the shadows.

CHAPTER 7
    FIRST IN WAS a 9 train. Reacher used the Metrocard he had bought the day before and rode eleven stops south to Houston Street. Then he came up from under the ground and walked south on Varick. It was past three o'clock in the morning, and very quiet. In Reacher's experience the city that doesn't sleep sometimes did, at least for an hour or two, on some nights of the week.
    There was sometimes a short intermission after the late folk had rolled home and before the early people had gotten up. Then the city went silent and took a breath and shiny darkness owned the streets. That was Reacher's time. He liked to picture the sleeping people stacked twelve, thirty, fifty stories high, often head to head with perfect strangers on opposite sides of thin apartment walls, deep in slumber, unaware of the tall quiet man striding beneath them in the shadows.
    He made a left on Charlton Street, and crossed Sixth Avenue, and Charlton became Prince. Three blocks later he was on West Broadway, in the heart of SoHo, a block north of Spring Street, three hours and forty minutes ahead of schedule. He walked south, with the leisurely gait of a man with a place to go but in no hurry to get there. West Broadway was wider than the cross streets, so as