Reacher

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- -

- -

- - I'm sorry.

- I'm not good at math. - That was like a 40% tip!

I messed up, okay?

How am I supposed to get ahead

when you're wasting my goddamn money?

Just get your ass in the van.

The hell you want, asshole?

I'm talking to you, stupid.

Listen, man, I'm just having a bad day.

Won't happen again.

Coffee-- black-- and peach pie.

Best you're gonna find in Georgia.

- -

- -

...is canceling their enhanced drug enforcement efforts

off the Eastern Seaboard.

Sources say the program, which began a year ago...

- Police! -

Police! Don't move!

Don't move, don't move, don't move!

Now, you're gonna slide out from behind that booth,

nice and slow.

Do it now!

Slow!

Hands.

Hands behind your head. Hands behind your head!

Interlock your fingers! Interlock your fingers!

Turn around.

Face the window!

Dessert's gonna have to wait.

You're under arrest for murder.

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Come on.

You can move faster than that.

Sir?

If you step over here, I can process you.

I'm not asking, sir. I'm telling.

But don't worry, I won't kick your ass unless you make me.

Thank you.

All right, I'll be doing your intake.

So, first things first, what is your name?

Sasquatch don't talk.

Had a passport on him, though.

Jack Reacher.

- No middle name. - Zip ties?

Cuffs didn't fit him.

No stamps.

Newer than January 1st.

You planning on leaving the country?

Everything else he was carrying.

- What's that about, 200? - Two-twelve.

This looks like some kind of foreign deal.

World War II medal. French.

No one moves around holding just this.

Where you keeping the rest of your shit?

You got a friend in town? Girl?

What the hell are you doing in my town?

Don't want to talk?

Maybe we put you in the holding cell,

get you to change your mind.

And how exactly would you do that?

Explain to him his constitutional rights

under the Fifth and 14th Amendments,

then hope he waives them of his own free will?

Yep.

No need. I've got it from here.

Take him to the conference room. I'll be in in a moment.

- Beantown bitch. -

Mr. Reacher, I'm Chief Detective Oscar Finlay.

I'll be asking you some questions.

I was informed you were read your rights,

so you know you don't have to answer.

Hmm.

Body was found by the highway embankment, near an overpass,

partially covered by flattened-out cardboard boxes.

Two nine-millimeter, 95-grain, close-range shots

to the back of the head.

No casings found.

Victim was male, 30s, big guy.

He was beaten badly postmortem.

No I.D. yet.

Problem getting prints off the body's swollen fingertips.

You know who this man was?

How he wound up dead?

Anything you want to share besides your riveting company?

Okay, then.

Well, I'm not about to waste the rest of my afternoon.

Maybe your court-appointed attorney

will get you to open up.

I don't need a lawyer.

He speaks.

When he wants to.

And why don't you need a lawyer?

Because I didn't kill anybody.

At least not recently.

And not in this town.

This is kind of impossible.

- What's that? - This Reacher fella.

So far, run on his prints has been clean,

but something can still turn up.

But there's no Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram.

No driver's license, mortgage, insurance claims.

No online profile at all.

The only proof Jack Reacher exists

is the fact that he's sitting in that room.

Jack Reacher. Parents deceased.

One brother, Joe, older by two years.

Retired Army.

Commanded the 110th Special Investigations Unit

of the Military Police.

Took out a few men in the course of your duties.

All ruled good kills.

What if I'm thinking I'm sitting across from

a man who doesn't mind killing

and who has the knowledge and training to murder someone

and cover it up?

You'd be right.

But not this murder.

Three men dropped this body.

Enlighten me.

Shooter was someone who knows firearms well.

Bullets were small caliber-- nine-millimeter, 95-grain.

That's subsonic. A silencer was used.

He also knew enough to pick up his brass.

This wasn't a first-timer.

This was someone who knew how to conduct a quiet, effective kill.

- Okay, go on. - You're also looking for

a psycho who'd beat up a body postmortem,

someone completely unhinged.

Totally different profile from your professional shooter.

Something wrong?

No.

You said there were three.

Your psycho isn't suddenly gonna be rational enough to know

he has to hide the body.

And your meticulous shooter isn't gonna do

a sloppy job with roadside cardboard.

No, the third guy is so worried about

getting out of there, he grabs some nearby debris

and just lays it across the corpse.

You said the victim was big,

so most likely his feet were sticking out

and that's how he got spotted.

Tall people never have enough room for their feet.

Interesting theory.

But you still match the description of someone

seen walking the highway, earlier today,

near where the body was found.

Well, that's 'cause it was me.

I got off the bus from Tampa and walked to town.

Greyhound doesn't have a stop in Margrave.

I never said it did.

You just said you got off in Margrave.

I asked the driver to do me a favor.

- Why? - On account of Blind Blake.

- Okay. Who's that? - Blues singer.

Legend has it he died in Margrave a long time ago.

I figured I'd learn a bit about him.

I like music.

So you have no home, no phone.

You get on a bus in Tampa with $212,

a toothbrush and a French war medal

and travel over 500 miles

to read up on a dead blues musician?

That sum up your past 24 hours?

No.

I also went to a diner,

ordered peach pie and never got to eat it

'cause I was arrested for murder.

Okay.

Medical examiner puts the victim's time of death

at around midnight last night.

This morning.

It's last night until 11:59 and 59 seconds,

and then it becomes this morning.

In an investigation, details matter.

12:00 a.m. this morning is the time of death.

If I can confirm you were on a Greyhound bus at that time,

you're cleared.

Until then, you're in the holding cell.

We're running down a phone number

found in the dead guy's shoe.

It was on a scrap of paper