The Visitor (Jack Reacher #4)

by Lee Child

The air caught them and riffed them apart.

Riffed? Paper dont play music.

He reversed it and riffed through it.

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume he meant riffled since he loves that word so much in previous books.

‘They live solitary lives,’

Actually, plenty of serial killers had families. Including Bundy, who also had many friends and acquaintances such as Ann Rule. Harold Shipman (respected Dr and pillar of the community), Gary Ridgway, Dennis Rader, Peter Sutcliffe, Albert Fish… Rodney Alcala won his “The Dating Game” episode in the midst of his spree.

‘It’s an exact science.

Uh, no its not.

‘It never fails,’

Sure it fails. It's based on probabilities. Including the immediate supposition that the killer is a white male.

‘I have to call them by eight. With a decision.’ ‘So what are you going to do?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he said again.

Uh, he has at least 3 bureau friends, Webster, McGrath and Holly from book 2. Call them.

He took his folding toothbrush from the bathroom and clipped it into his inside pocket.

I hope he changes that toothbrush at least every three months.

I’m the type of guy could kill two women.’

who

It lined up behind a 747 bound for Tokyo the way a mouse lines up behind an elephant.

An elephant doesn't create wake turbulence. Okay, maybe if it has gas.

He looked straight at her. ‘Truth is I don’t especially want to be alone in a room with you and a bed.’ She smiled, happily, mischievously. ‘Tempted?’ ‘I’m only human.’ ‘So am I,’ she said. ‘If I can control myself, I’m sure you can.’ He said nothing. ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ she said. ‘Christ,’ he muttered.

That's pretty pathetic.

She turned to face him. The first two buttons on her shirt were undone. Thing like that, the effect depends on how far apart the buttons are. If they’re close together, it doesn’t mean much. But these were well spaced out, maybe three or four inches between each of them. ‘It’s Jodie, isn’t it?’ she said. He nodded. ‘Of course it is.’ ‘Wasn’t for her, you’d want to, right?’ ‘I do want to,’ he said. Then he paused. ‘But I won’t,’ he said. ‘Because of her.’ She looked at him, and then she smiled. ‘I like that in a guy, I guess,’ she said.

What a tramp.

‘I still feel like celebrating,’ she said. She put her hand palm-down in the space between them and leaned over. ‘Celebration kiss,’ she whispered. ‘Nothing more, I promise.’ He looked at her and reached around with his left arm and pulled her close. Kissed her on the lips. She put her hand behind his head and pushed her fingers into his hair. Tilted her head and opened her mouth. He felt her tongue on his teeth. In his mouth. He closed his eyes. Her tongue was urgent. Deep in his mouth. It felt good. He opened his eyes and saw hers, too close to focus on. They were shut tight. He let her go and pulled away, full of guilt.

Double tramp and a bitch. He's a cheater, regardless of how he tries to justify it.

‘The key is in Poulton’s report from Spokane.’ ‘It is?’ He nodded. ‘Big and obvious. But it took me some time to spot it.’ ‘The UPS thing? We went through all of that.’ He shook his head. ‘No, before that. The Hertz thing. The rental car.’

Well, duh!

‘I want you to swallow your tongue. I want you to just gulp it down, real sudden, like it was an oyster.’

Anatomically impossible.

Right down to filling their own tubs, swallowing their own tongues. The only thing she did herself was what I did, pull their tongues back up afterward, so the pathologists wouldn’t catch on.’

It's anatomically impossible to swallow your tongue, the frenulum linguae won't allow it. Even with my instruments I couldn’t accomplish this on a single patient. Ludicrous.

But I figured there was no way to make somebody swallow their own tongue,

Only if you cut it out and force feed it.

She leaned over and threaded her damp arms around his neck. Pulled him close and kissed him, hard on the mouth. He felt her tongue on his lips. Then it stopped moving. She pulled away. ‘Feels weird,’ she said. ‘I won’t be able to do this ever again without thinking bad things about tongues.’

Where's the cop?

‘She won’t talk to me,’ she said. ‘How do you know? You didn’t ask her anything.’ ‘Because she’s dead.’ Silence. ‘You killed her.’ Silence. ‘When you hit her.’ Silence. ‘You broke her neck.’

Bullshit.

Then there were loud footsteps in the hallway below them. Then they were on the stairs. Then they were in the corridor outside the bedroom. The cop stepped into the room. He was holding his mug. He had retrieved it from the porch railing. He stared. ‘Hell’s going on?’ he said.

About bloody time.