“The name on the material witness wire. Allison Parker.”
Well, overworked Detective Kemp was true to his word.
The radio clattered. “No warrants. CCP’s good.”
“Roger,” she said into the Motorola mic speaker attached to the left shoulder of her blouse. She handed back his license and concealed carry permit. On her chest was a name tag,dep. kristi donahue.
They were in the parking lot of the Sunny Acres motel. Her cruiser sat beside the Winnebago, and two more official cars were in the parking lot. One was printed withcrime scene. An ambulancewas near the front door. The medics were inside, tending to the clerk. Who, Shaw had assessed, needed little tending.
An audience of a dozen stood outside, this scenario probably being more interesting than most of what Thompson Hills had to offer.
Shaw’s documents had been validated but the deputy wasn’t completely at ease yet. The situation was, of course, a complicated one. “And her husband broke out of detention and is after her?”
“No, he was released. Just after that, they found out he wants her dead. He’s probably killed her lawyer and’s still hunting for her.” He nodded to the motel. “Those two’re working with him. Triggermen, I guess.”
“Hired muscle? To tag an ex?” Her voice lifted high.
“It’s not your typical domestic.”
“I would say. I heard about Merritt. He was a good cop years ago, closed some big cases. Vice, OC, corruption. Then it all went south. Drugs, drinking. I’ve seen what that shit can do.”
From the radio: words through the static. “Hey, Kristi.”
“Go ahead, Marv.”
“Scrubbed the traffic cam like you said. A gold Kia—it’s a rental, name of Harmon Energy—went west on Ninety-two. Turned north on Fifty-five.”
“Any sightings of Merritt’s truck?” Shaw asked. He’d told himself to keep the frustration from his voice. At this, he was only partially successful.
Silence.
Donahue said, “He’s okay, Marv.”
“No F-150s.”
The deputy said to Shaw, “No cameras north on Fifty-five or Eighty-four till Millton. That’s with two ‘L’s.’ Because it used to be.
“And the Transit?” she asked into the Motorola. “Any sightings?”
“Caught a white van. Couldn’t tell the make. Continued west on Ninety-two, past Fifty-five. This was, oh, I’d guess about three minutes after the Kia.”
“Thanks Marv. Out.”
“ ’K.”
She examined the tires. “You were going to go after them.”
He nodded.
“Only for the purpose of getting the tag numbers,” she asked pointedly.
“That’s right, Deputy.”
She kept her eyes on his face for a moment. Then, “You have spares?”
“Not enough for the bike. But one for the camper. Jack won’t work on this.” He nodded to the soggy ground beneath the Winnebago. Worried that Merritt was closing in, he’d braked to a stop half on the lawn. He’d called several service stations for a tow truck to lift the rear so he could change the tire. Only one had been interested, even after he offered two hundred dollars in cash as a need-to-move-fast bonus. It wouldn’t arrive for more than an hour.
Deputy Donahue walked to the Yamaha and ran a hand over it. Her look was both admiring and curious.