Chapter 930 Mailbox
After leaving Franz's house, Jack looked at the time. He learned about the case from Stella Bonasilla the night before, and then spent a day arranging various matters.
Including but not limited to handing over with NYPD, contacting Joey Reacher and using his FBI authority to search for Jack Reacher's whereabouts. He then contacted the BAU team that was dealing with a pervert in Pennsylvania, and borrowed their Gulfstream early this morning to go straight to Arkansas.
After returning to New York, the two of them visited Franz's widow without stopping. It was already 5 pm.
Flatbush is located in the central area of Brooklyn, and its main road is called Flatbush Avenue. Jack counted the house number to find this small office.
Although there was some traffic jam on the road, it took no more than 20 minutes to get here from Franz's house. It can even be said that driving is a waste, and walking may be faster.
Jack looked up at the shops on both sides of the office. On the left was a comic book store, and on the right was a kitchenware store. If it weren't for the sign "Three Rivers Consulting Company" hanging on the glass door, he might have thought it was the entrance to the apartment upstairs.
"For a private detective dealing with Wall Street, this place is not very low-key?" Jack turned his head and looked around. The location here is actually not bad. There are no tents on the sidewalk and no needles on the ground.
"Low-key and simple, close to home, you can spend more time with your family. It is indeed a place that Franz would choose." Reacher took out the key and walked to the door. When he saw the pry marks near the door lock, he paused slightly.
Although Franz's wife gave him a bunch of keys, there were actually only three keys on the keychain. One was the key to Franz's house, one was the key to the office, and the other one she couldn't tell clearly looked like the key to some kind of safe.
At this time, Reacher had already opened the door of the office. Although he was mentally prepared, Jack still sighed when he saw the mess inside. It looked like a tornado had blown through it. It seemed that there was no hope of gaining anything.
Franz's office was not big, a room of no more than 60 square meters, with a simple partition made of glass doors, dividing it into two areas inside and outside.
At this time, whether it was the inner room or the outer room, people felt that they had nowhere to stay. All the sofas or chairs with linings were cut into pieces with knives, and the drawers of the cabinets were pulled out and the contents were poured all over the floor.
Reacher looked down for a moment and said confidently, "It looks like the other party found nothing."
Jack was a little surprised at how he saw that. The big guy pointed to the broken glass at the partition between the inside and outside and said,
"If it was something with a clear goal, they wouldn't have gone through so much trouble. They spent a lot of time but got nothing. When they left, they picked up the phone and smashed the glass there. This was a simple act of venting."
"It sounds like you are more proficient in psychology than I am."
Jack picked up a broken chair and shook it, "But what they are looking for should not be big, at least it should be able to fit into a very small secret compartment, otherwise there is no need to break the four chair legs to see if it is hollow inside."
After saying that, he noticed that Reacher didn't seem to react. He turned around and saw that the big guy was picking up a broken photo frame and staring at it in a trance.
"Is this the group you led back then?" Jack came forward curiously and took a look. In the photo frame was a group photo of a group of people in front of a bonfire.
There are 7 men and 2 women in the photo, all wearing camouflage uniforms or military T-shirts, and everyone is smiling, including Reacher.
"Just like yesterday." The big guy muttered to himself.
Jack looked at the photo and then at Reacher. Some people look older, which is not completely without advantages. Franz in the photo looks like a young man in his early 20s, which is very different from the 30-year-old in the information.
And Reacher himself is basically the same as in the photo, with the same vicissitudes.
The two did not spend too much time in Franz's office because they had no idea what they were looking for. When leaving, Reacher took out the key again to lock the door, but Jack looked across the street thoughtfully.
"Can you show me the key?"
Reacher was slightly stunned and handed the key in his hand to Jack.
Jack picked out the key from the suspected safe and tilted his head towards the other side of the street. "Do you think this could be a mailbox key? It's unexpected but very safe. You don't even need to register your real name. Just cross the street when you need it."
The U.S. Post Office provides a private mailbox service, which is a row of cabinets in the post office that can only be opened with your own key.
Reacher's eyes lit up, and he quickly crossed the street, then frowned at the combination lock at the door of the post office.
"It's five forty now." Jack, who followed, shook his phone to indicate the time.
The United States Post Office (USPS), also known as the Federal Postal Service, is one of the few state-owned enterprises in this country. Thanks to the fact that this country still uses paper letters to send bills, in this information age, the number of letters handled by USPS each year accounts for a quarter of the world's total.
However, like all state-owned enterprises, the post office's closing time is also terrifyingly punctual. It closes at 5 o'clock, and you won't wait a second longer.
"Can't you use your FBI privileges to open the door? I hate guessing passwords." Reacher was a little depressed.
"I'm just a private detective now, and the post office has its own law enforcement unit. I don't recommend you break in." Jack was talking about the famous postal police.
The first people in federal history to use the title of Special Agent were the postal police, and the Postal Inspection Service to which they belong is also the oldest federal law enforcement agency in the United States, and there is no one else.
As early as the 18th century, after Benjamin Franklin was appointed as the first postmaster general of the United States, the United States Postal Inspection Service was also born.
Later, the title of Special Agent was changed to Postal Inspector and has continued to this day, but its law enforcement attributes have not changed.
Jack didn't know the postal police, but this didn't prevent him from asking friends who knew these people for help. An hour later, when Reacher's stomach began to growl, Danny Reagan appeared in front of the two with a white beard.
The old man opened the combination lock for them very simply, and Reacher stood in front of a row of cabinets with the key and tried them one by one.
"Normally, I should ask you to show a search warrant." The old man muttered with some dissatisfaction.
"A bottle of Jack Daniels No. 7 Black Label, Uncle Ed, the best bourbon whiskey my father collected." Danny smiled and put his arm around the old man's shoulders.
"Try the big cabinet below. As a private detective, Franz should have a lot of mail." Jack suggested.
With a "click", Reacher opened the mailbox on the far left and took out a pile of letters from it.