The beverages arrived. Shaw added milk to his, Nilsson lemon.
Shaw said, “He probably used a contact from his cop days. Somebody with a crew.”
“He really wants her dead. I know reason goes out the window with domestics, and that’s part of it. But it smells like there’s more. Maybe—”
Shaw completed her thought: “What Marty was talking about earlier. She’s got something on him he doesn’t want to get out.”
She lifted the tea, inhaled the steam. “You know, Colter, I was thinking. Those two, at the motel? There was a hit downtown. A month ago. Whistleblower for a state agency. Another corruption thing—dipping into cleanup funds. A witness said the perps were two white males and one was in a black suit. They got away in a white van. There was a third perp, a driver. Not identified. You know what the two at the motel were driving?”
“White van—a Ford Transit.”
She said, “I wonder how many Transits there are.”
“Eight million since it was introduced. Most of them are white.”
“You know that from your reward business?”
“Just looked it up online. That deputy back at the motel—”
Nilsson asked, “Oh, the pretty one?”
Shaw came back with “Was she?”
Drawing a wry smile.
“She’s got it out on the wire. We’re in Marshall County, but it’ll go to all surrounding. And Allison’s in a gold Kia sedan now. Sheriff’s office’s looking for that too.”
The food came and they ate. Shaw understood the popularity of the diner. The sandwich was excellent.Crispwould have figured prominently in a review, applying it to the entire dish: bacon, lettuce, tomato and toast.
Nilsson gazed around. She was then aware he was watching her face and turned her attention back. “Classic. Feels like we’re in a Quentin Tarantino movie. He gets a lot of mileage out of diners.”
Shaw had started to watch one of the director’s films with Margot, years ago. He couldn’t remember the title but seemed to recall that, yes, there’d been a big scene in a diner. The two of them never finished the film, though not because of cinematic flaws. Something had intruded. Afterward, they’d been too tired to fire up the DVD player again.
“Any word about the lawyer?” Shaw asked.
“Still missing, presumed dead. The Kenoah’s a popular burial ground. FPD has divers but nobody wants to go in. They draw straws. They’re running a grid search near his car. Any idea which direction Allison went from the motel?”
“A camera got her on Fifty-five, north. The Transit kept going west on Ninety-two. Assuming she’s not bound for Canada, what’s around here, where she could go to ground?”
“Not much. No motels until you get north of Millton. Mostly forest and field. Marshland. A few residences: vacation places. Cabins and trailer parks. Has some bad pockets.”
“Meth?”
“That. A couple militias, survivalists... Not your kind.”
“One thing for certain. The girl’s not going to be posting any more helpful selfies.”
“Nope, that phone of hers is history. Mom ate it.”
Shaw said, “At the company? Your canvass didn’t turn up any leads.”
This wasn’t a question. Otherwise he would have heard.
“I’ve talked to a couple dozen employees. Marianne Keller—his assistant, remember?”
Shaw nodded.
“She’s helping out. But no luck. Nobody we’ve talked to knew Allison very well. She kept to herself. Worked long hours. May have been embarrassed—those times her ex showed up at the office drunk.”