Free One Shot by Lee Child

Neither man had the light in his eyes. It was an equitable furniture arrangement. Different from some prosecutors’ offices Reacher had known.
    “Coffee?” Rodin asked.
    “Please,” Reacher said.
    Rodin made a call and asked for coffee.
    “Naturally I’m interested in why you came to see me first,” he said. “The prosecution, I mean, rather than the defense.”
    “I wanted your personal opinion,” Reacher said.
    “On what?”
    “On how strong a case you’ve got against James Barr.”
    Rodin didn’t answer immediately. There was a short silence and then there was a knock at the door and the secretary came in with coffee. She had a silver tray with the works on it. A French press, two cups, two saucers, a sugar bowl, a tiny pitcher of cream, two silver spoons. The cups were fine china.
Not government issue,
Reacher thought.
Rodin likes his coffee done right.
The secretary put the tray on the edge of the desk, so that it was exactly halfway between the desk chair and the visitor chair.
    “Thanks,” Reacher said.
    “You’re most welcome,” she said, and left the room.
    “Help yourself,” Rodin said. “Please.”
    Reacher pushed the plunger down and poured himself a cup, no cream, no sugar. It smelled dark and strong. Coffee, done right.
    “The case against James Barr is exceptionally good,” Rodin said.
    “Eyewitnesses?” Reacher asked.
    “No,” Rodin said. “But eyewitness testimony can be of random value. I’m almost glad we don’t have eyewitnesses. Because what we’ve got instead is exceptional physical evidence. And science doesn’t lie. It doesn’t get confused.”
    “Exceptional?” Reacher said.
    “A complete rock-solid evidence trail that ties the man to the crime.”
    “How solid?”
    “As good as it gets. The best I’ve ever seen. I’m completely confident.”
    “I’ve heard prosecutors say that before.”
    “Not this one, Mr. Reacher. I’m a very cautious man. I don’t prosecute capital cases unless I’m certain of the outcome.”
    “Keeping score?”
    Rodin gestured above and behind him at his trophy wall.
    “Seven for seven,” he said. “One hundred percent.”
    “In how long?”
    “In three years. James Barr will make it eight for eight. If he ever wakes up.”
    “Suppose he wakes up damaged?”
    “If he wakes up with any brain function at all, he’s going to trial. What he did here can’t be forgiven.”
    “OK,” Reacher said.
    “OK what?”
    “You’ve told me what I wanted to know.”
    “You said you had information. From the army.”
    “I’ll keep it to myself for now.”
    “You were a military policeman, am I right?”
    “Thirteen years,” Reacher said.
    “And you knew James Barr?”
    “Briefly.”
    “Tell me about him.”
    “Not yet.”
    “Mr. Reacher, if you have exculpatory information, or anything to add at all, you really need to tell me now.”
    “Do I?”
    “I’ll get it anyway. My daughter will submit it. She’ll be looking for a plea bargain.”
    “What does the
A. A.
stand for?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Your initials.”
    “Aleksei Alekseivitch. My family came from Russia. But a long time ago. Before the October Revolution.”
    “But they keep up traditions.”
    “As you can see.”
    “What do people call you?”
    “Alex, of course.”
    Reacher stood up. “Well, thanks for your time, Alex. And the coffee.”
    “Are you going to see my daughter now?”
    “Is there any point? You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
    Rodin smiled an indulgent smile.
    “It’s a matter of procedure,” he said. “I’m an officer of the court, and you’re on a witness list. I’m obliged to point out that you’re obliged to go. Anything less would be unethical.”
    “Where is she?”
    “In the glass tower you can see from the window.”
    “OK,” Reacher said. “I guess I could drop by.”
    “I still need whatever information you have,” Rodin said.
    Reacher shook his head.
    “No,” he said. “You really don’t.”

    He