Moll said, “My dad. ‘Hurry up and wait.’ You bust your ass, you get somewhere, then you just hang. Funny, I do not mind hanging tight in a blind, waiting for duck or elk.”
“Or hog.”
“Or hog.” Moll sipped. “But this is getting obnoxious. Too long, too long.”
“Hurry up and wait.” Desmond smiled at the sentence, as if he’d found a shiny quarter on the sidewalk.
More coffee. Moll whispered, “Dawndue...”
Desmond asked, “So. You really think Merritt’s crazy?”
“Oh, I would say yes. Certifiable.”
“I never knew what that meant. Who certifies you crazy?”
Moll considered this. “Probably the government. They must have a mental department.”
Desmond scoffed. “Somebody on state payroll, our taxes, with nothing better to do than say, ‘Sane, insane.’ Stamp their file. Put ’em in a padded cell or let ’em go. Next.”Thonk, thonk.“So, the wife? What exactly’s the scoop him wanting her dead so bad?”
“She pressed charges. Went from a cop with a cushy deal to detention. Ruined his life. She did not stand by her man,” Moll said.
“That’s a song, right?”
“I think. And there is something else. The story is she has something on him he doesn’t want out.”
“Women.”Thonk, thonk.
VapoRub would not do it, Moll decided. He’d need a mask and oxygen for Edgar’s surgery up in Ralston. He had a tank somewhere. Maybe—
“Holy shit.” Desmond sat up straight. He was staring at the computer screen.
“What?”
“Look.” The man swung the laptop toward him.
A picture on Instagram.
Moll said, “Cannot be.”
But it was.
Desmond added, “We can be there in twenty. Let’s get psycho boy there.”
Moll was about to ask who he meant, then realized: certifiable Jon Merritt.
41
Colter.”
It was Marty Harmon’s voice and Shaw could hear dismay.
“Yes?”
“Merritt got Alli’s lawyer.”
Shaw, at the dining table in the Winnebago, set down the cup of coffee he’d just brewed. He had yet to sip.
The CEO explained that the man had not arrived home last night. His car was found abandoned in a park beside the river, a mile from his office.