"A woman was being held outside Wikieup," Grim said. "Her children reached a diner. We got her out and she's on her way to medical care and a safe place." He glanced toward Jesse. "There's more. A former employee has records concerning a transport network, a paid deputy, and seven women whose names need to be checked against missing-person reports."
The voice changed in tone. It became more precise. "What kind of records?" Grim gave the outline Jesse had provided: bank transfers, invoice files, recordings, dates, names, and locations.
The man asked whether the evidence was original, whether any copies existed, and whether the witness would be willing to identify where it came from. Grim answered only what he knew. "I can get you the drive and the person who made the copies," he said. "Tonight."
The contact told him to keep the evidence intact and promised to send an investigator who could receive it properly. "Don't start opening the files on the diner's computer," he said. "Don't let anybody rewrite anything to make it clearer. The records are worth less if nobody can tell who handled them and when." Grim accepted the instruction with unusual gratitude. It was a job that belonged to somebody else, a detail that made his shoulders feel a little less burdened.
"Who else knows?" the contact asked. "Mercer will suspect," Grim said. "His deputy already has people stopping cars, and I expect he'll know about the witness soon."
A pause followed. "Then get everyone out of the obvious places," the contact said. "I'll coordinate with Arizona and Nevada. This is beyond a local domestic violence complaint if the names and transfers mean what you think they mean."
When Grim returned to the counter, Millie was waiting with fresh coffee. "Well?" she asked. "A real investigator is coming," he said. "And if Jesse's files hold up, Clay won't be able to contain this in one county."
Millie studied him over the rim of the coffeepot. "You look different," she said. Grim glanced at her. "Different how?"
"Like somebody took one of your sacks of rocks away," she said. Grim looked down at his cup and moved it slowly in a circle, a habit she had observed for years. "For a change," he answered, "I handed a problem to somebody who has the right tools."
Millie smiled a little. "You mean a badge that hasn't already been bought?" Grim met her eyes. "That's what I'm trying to find."
She hesitated, then asked what had been bothering her since he first left. "Why did you go this far, Victor? You could have fed the children, called a hotline, and gone home." Grim rested both hands around the cup. He looked toward the booth where Rosie had slept and where his own second dinner had been shared for the first time in years. "I knew a boy who left my house once," he said.
Millie waited. Grim stared at the dark coffee.
"I told myself it was better not to follow him. Told myself he needed to make his own mistakes and that if I chased him I'd only make things worse. I had good reasons, Millie. So good I repeated them for twenty-three years." He paused. "Turns out a good reason can also be a place to hide."