Gone Girl

lawyer I didn’t want and absolutely needed.
    Tanner Bolt. A grim necessity. Flip around any of the legal networks, the true-crime shows, and Tanner Bolt’s spray-tanned face would pop up, indignant and concerned on behalf of whatever freak-show client he was representing. He became famous at thirty-four for representing Cody Olsen, a Chicago restaurateur accused of strangling his very pregnant wife and dumping her body in a landfill. Corpse dogs detected the scent of a dead body inside the trunk of Cody’s Mercedes; a search of his laptop revealed that someone had printed out a map to the nearest landfill the morning Cody’s wife went missing. A no-brainer. By the time Tanner Bolt was done, everyone – the police department, two West Side Chicago gang members, a disgruntled club bouncer – was implicated except Cody Olsen, who walked out of the courtroom and bought cocktails all around.
    In the decade since, Tanner Bolt had become known as the Hubby Hawk – his specialty was swooping down in high-profile cases to represent men accused of murdering their wives. He was successful over half the time, which wasn’t bad, considering the cases were usually damning, the accused extremely unlikable – cheaters, narcissists, sociopaths. Tanner Bolt’s other nickname was Dickhead Defender.
    I had a two p.m. appointment.
    ‘This is Marybeth Elliott. Please leave a message, and I will return promptly …’ she said in voice just like Amy’s. Amy, who would not return promptly.
    I was speeding to the airport to fly to New York and meet with Tanner Bolt. When I’d asked Boney’s permission to leave town, she seemed amused: Cops don’t really do that. That’s just on TV .
    ‘Hi, Marybeth, it’s Nick again. I’m anxious to talk to you. I wanted to tell you … uh, I truly didn’t know about the pregnancy, I’m just as shocked as you must be … uh, also I’m hiring an attorney, just so you know. I think even Rand had suggested it. So anyway … you know how bad I am on messages. I hope you call me back.’
    Tanner Bolt’s office was in midtown, not far from where I used to work. The elevator shot me up twenty-five stories, but it was so smooth that I wasn’t sure I was moving until my ears popped. At the twenty-sixth floor, a tight-lipped blonde in a sleek business suit stepped on. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the doors to shut, then snapped at me, ‘Why don’t you hit close?’ I flashed her the smile I give petulant women, the lighten-up smile, the one Amy called the ‘beloved Nicky grin,’ and then the woman recognised me. ‘Oh,’ she said. She looked as if she smelled something rancid. She seemed personally vindicated when I scuttled out on Tanner’s floor.
    This guy was the best, and I needed the best, but I also resented being associated with him in any way – this sleazebag, this showboat, this attorney to the guilty. I pre-hated Tanner Bolt so much that I expected his office to look like a Miami Vice set. But Bolt & Bolt was quite the opposite – it was dignified, lawyerly. Behind spotless glass doors, people in very good suits commuted busily between offices.
    A young, pretty man with a tie the color of tropical fruit greeted me and settled me down in the shiny glass-and-mirror reception area and grandly offered water (declined), then went back to a gleaming desk and picked up a gleaming phone. I sat on the sofa, watching the skyline, cranes pecking up and down like mechanical birds. Then I unfolded Amy’s final clue from my pocket. Five years is wood. Was that going to be the end prize of the treasure hunt? Something for the baby: a carved oak cradle, a wooden rattle? Something for our baby and for us, to start over, the Dunnes redone.
    Go phoned while I was still staring at the clue.
    ‘Are we okay?’ she asked immediately.
    My sister thought I was possibly a wife killer.
    ‘We’re as okay as I think we can ever be again, considering.’
    ‘Nick. I’m sorry. I called to say I’m sorry,’ Go said. ‘I woke up andfelt totally insane. And awful. I lost my head. It was a momentary freakout. I really, truly apologize.’
    I remained silent.
    ‘You got to give me this, Nick: exhaustion and stress and … I’m sorry … truly.’
    ‘Okay,’ I lied.
    ‘But I’m glad, actually. It cleared the air—’
    ‘She was definitely pregnant.’
    My stomach turned. Again I felt as if I had forgotten something crucial. I had overlooked something and would pay for