They were halfway through the back hallway when the diner's phone rang. Millie answered automatically, a habit built over thirty-one years of opening at dawn and closing long after the last coffee pot should have been washed. "Millie's," she said. The voice on the other end was smooth and confident, with the practiced friendliness of someone who considered it useful to sound harmless.
"I'm looking for Sarah Cole," the caller said. "This is Clay Mercer. I believe my girlfriend may have stopped by your establishment." Millie's fingers tightened around the receiver, but she kept her expression neutral. "We get travelers through all evening, honey," she said. "Can't say the name rings a bell."
"Dark hair," Clay continued. "Early thirties. She had a nasty fall, and I'm worried she might hurt herself trying to get somewhere without medical care." Millie looked at Sarah's swollen eye and the way she held her side as Marco helped her toward the door. She had heard the polished concern of men who wanted information far more often than they wanted a person to be safe. "If I see anybody needing a doctor, I'll make sure they get one," she said.
There was a silence long enough to tell her that Clay understood he was not getting what he wanted. "I appreciate your concern," he said at last. "You keep a lookout for me." Millie kept her tone light.
"Will do," she said, and hung up. Then she went straight to Grim. "He's calling diners now," she told him. "He knows she's gone, and he suspects she came through here."
Grim glanced at the back door. "How long ago did they leave?" "Three minutes." Danny checked the time on his watch.
"They've got a head start. Not much, but enough to reach a more populated road before anybody sees the sedan." Grim nodded, then looked at Jesse. "If you were Clay," he asked, "what would you do next?"
Jesse answered without delay. "He'll expand the roadblock. He'll make the stolen vehicle report cover more than motorcycles. He'll have Holt stop anything that looks like it came from the diner, and he'll ask the motel managers which rooms are being taken by women with children." He took a breath. "And if he thinks I have the copies, he'll come here himself."
Grim turned the USB drive in his hand. He had been hoping to give one frightened family a night's head start. He was beginning to understand that the size of the thing before him could not be measured in miles or hours. It included officials, records, vanished people, and a young man who might be a witness and a participant at the same time. It included all the people who had learned to lower their voices when Clay Mercer was mentioned.
"We call Phoenix now," Danny said. Grim agreed. He went to the pay phone and dialed the number whose owner had returned his earlier message.
This time a man answered after the second ring and addressed him by a name few people still used. "Victor," the man said. "You left a message. Tell me why you've called on a Friday night."