FORTY NINE
Quinn settled in at his usual table at U of L’s Brandeis Law School library. He began catching up on reviewing his case summaries when his phone vibrated: Caller ID read: Jessica Bishop. He hurried out to the entrance hall where phone calls were allowed.
“Hey, Jessica, what’s up?”
“Problem.”
“What?”
“Ellie was right!”
He waited.
“Two men broke into our lab last night. Somehow they got our lab’s entrance code, came in and hacked into our Intranet system. They destroyed a ton of DNA records and specimens.”
Quinn slumped against the wall. “Including Ellie’s and Radford’s?”
“Yeah.”
He felt like punching a hole in the wall.
“Our security video shows the men wore sunglasses, hats and fake beards. Impossible to see their faces.”
Quinn slumped in a nearby chair. “Jessica, I’m so sorry. What a disaster!”
“Not completely.”
“What?”
“I did a backup test.”
“But why didn’t they destroy it?”
“It wasn’t done here. I did it at our Frankfort lab.”
Quinn pumped his fist in the air. “Jessica, you’re a genius.”
“Tell my boss. Meanwhile, Ellie’s Frankfort results should be ready this afternoon.”
“Terrific. Who knows about the Frankfort test?”
“Just you, me, and the Frankfort lab technician.”
“Do you know the technician well?”
Jessica paused. “No … they said he’s a substitute.
Ellie sat in the den as eighty-four-year old Celeste watched her favorite TV show, Animal Planet. Celeste giggled. Ellie wondered why? She looked and saw a chimp throw something dark that stuck to the zookeeper’s pants, then kinda slid down. Chimp poop, Ellie realized. The chimp and Celeste laughed again, and so did Ellie. Anything that made Celeste laugh – even turd-tossing – was good.
Ellie’s phone rang: it was Quinn.
A few hours ago, he’d told her that two men destroyed hers and Leland Radford’s DNA samples in the lab, but that Jessica had a back-up test done.
“What’s up?”
“Your backup test results will be ready in Jessica’s Frankfort lab in an hour. Can you leave now?”
“Sure. Sarah’s here.”
Minutes later, Ellie hurried outside and got into Quinn’s TrailBlazer.
He looked at her and smiled. “So, are you ready to be a Radford?”
“Maybe not …”
“Why?”
“It’s proving hazardous to my health.”
He nodded. “Mine too now that I think about it.”
Quinn drove east on I 64. They passed a shiny old red Chevy El Camino and Ellie wondered if it might be Harold and Joyce Stuart’s cherished red El Camino … the one they had to sell to pay for Harold’s miner’s lung medications when the mining company and insurance firm refused to pay.
“Ellie, my professor gave me the name of a top probate attorney to represent you. Henri Delacroix.”
“I thought Mr. Falcone, the Executor, handled the estate?”
“He does. But he represents the estate’s interests. Henri Delacroix will represent your potential interest.”
“If I have any. And by the way Quinn, I can’t afford a high-priced lawyer.”
“Mr. Delacroix is doing this on the cheap as a favor to my professor.”
“But I insist on paying him something!”
“He said you could ‘pay him whatever and whenever.’ I suggest a modest amount if we lose, more if you win.”
“Please thank him.”
“I will.”
Once again, Quinn had come through with the legal advice she could not afford to be without … and could not afford to pay for.
Minutes later, as they drove near Frankfort, she noticed Quinn kept checking the rearview mirror.
“Don’t tell me,” she said.
“What?”
“That the black Navigator or red pickup is following us again?”
“They’re not.”
“Good!”
“A blue Jeep is.”
She spun around and glimpsed the dark blue Jeep behind a vegetable delivery truck, three cars back. Two large men sat in front.
“It’s been back there since Louisville. Usually three or four cars back. I slow down, it slows down.”
“Right now it’s speeding toward us!”
“Hang on!” Quinn hit the gas and raced around a furniture truck.
She checked the mirror. “Forget it. The Jeep just exited.”
Ellie exhaled and shook her head, “What’s another word for paranoid?”
“Us …”
She nodded. “But you know what they say about us paranoids?”
“What?”
“We only have to be right once to be right!”
Quinn smiled as he exited I-64 and headed toward the center of Frankfort.
Overhead, Ellie heard the roar of an aircraft. She looked up and saw a twin-engine Cessna descending toward Frankfort’s Capitol City Airport. To her right, the huge dome of the Kentucky State Capitol gleamed white against the robin-egg-blue sky. The green Kentucky River, meandering alongside them, headed toward the center of town, like they were.
Quinn turned on Brown’s Ferry Road and headed toward the Gen-Ident Lab. They passed a lush emerald golf course, then crossed the river and turned onto East Main Street.
“Quinn …!”
“Yeah?”
“Silver Toyota SUV. Three cars back! Made the same four turns you just made.”
Quinn made a quick turn onto a narrow street.
Ellie checked. “Make that five.”
Quinn turned onto Mero Street.
She looked back. “Still there!”
Quinn careened onto a wide street and accelerated toward the Capital Plaza area.
The Toyota sped after them.
Quinn shot through a yellow light.
The Toyota ran the red light.
“He’s gaining!” Ellie said.
Quinn passed some big trucks. “Do you see him now?”
“No. He’s blocked behind a car hauler.”
Ellie saw the Frankfort Convention Center ahead and pointed at a parking garage.
“Quinn – maybe lose him in the garage!”
He ducked into the garage, grabbed the ticket, shot down to the lower level and said, “Let’s take the rear exit.”
“NO!” she said, pointing. “Look – the exit’s backed up! He’ll see us in line.”
“Shit!” Quinn raced to the far end of the garage. “Did he see us enter the garage?”
“I don’t think so. But maybe.” She pointed to an empty spot beside a yellow Penske truck. Quinn backed in to hide the car’s license plate against the wall.
They jumped out and hurried through a side exit door onto Clinton Street where they merged into a mob of noisy conventioneers strolling toward the Frankfort Center.
Ellie looked around and saw no silver Toyotas. They hurried over to a yellow taxi and got in.
“Where y’all goin’?”
“Straight ahead,” Quinn said.
The taxi drove off.
Ellie looked back and saw the Toyota pull up near the garage entrance. The driver looked left and right, paused, then drove off in the opposite direction.
“Just drive us around town a while,” Quinn said to the ear-studded young driver in a blue University of Kentucky sweatshirt. “And tell us if you see a silver Toyota SUV following you.”
The driver’s eyes shot open.
“Whoa … y’all, like, bein’ … followed?”
“Yeah.”
“Awe-some …!”
The cabbie gave them the Frankfort mini tour, with non-stop commentary on Daniel Boone’s grave, the State Capitol Building, the old governor mansion, the new governor mansion and handed them two 50%-off coupons for Ramsey’s Fried Chicken. Minutes later, he stopped back at the Convention Center garage. Ellie saw no sign of the silver Toyota. They returned to Quinn’s TrailBlazer and drove out of the garage.
“Next stop, Jessica’s lab!” she said.
“Not yet!” Quinn floored the accelerator. Ellie’s head snapped back against the seat. In the mirror she saw why.
The silver Toyota bolted from behind a gas station billboard and raced after them.
“Look for Second Street,” Quinn said.
“The lab’s on Patterson!’”
“The cops are on Second. The taxi passed it.”
Quinn careened onto Main Street, raced ahead two blocks, then turned left and seconds later screeched to a stop in front of the modern, gray-stone Frankfort Police Headquarters.
Behind them, the silver Toyota pulled over to the curb, paused, then shot down a side street.
They hurried inside the station and told a white-haired officer on desk duty about the silver Toyota SUV.
The officer frowned. “Reckon we got us a problem.”
“Why?” Ellie asked.
“Ten miles from here is the Georgetown Toyota plant. They build 550,000 vehicles a year. There’s thousands of silver Toyota SUVs in the state, hundreds in this area. We’ll put out a BOLO, but finding the right one will be like looking for a specific blade of grass at a sod farm.”
Ellie felt her frustration surge. “We have another problem, officer.”
“What’s that?”
“Being followed when we leave here.”
“No problem, ma’am. We’ll be the only one following you! We’ll trail y’all for a few miles. Make sure no silver Toyotas or any other vehicle follows you.”
“Thanks, Officer,” Quinn said.
Ellie and Quinn got in his TrailBlazer and drove off with two police cars tucked right behind them.
Ellie said, “I’m calling Jessica to set up another place to meet.”
“Makes sense.”
After several seconds, Jessica answered.
“Hey, Ellie, where are you -?”
“ – someone was following us, but I don’t want them following us to your lab.”
“Nor do I.”
“Let’s meet out of town.”
Jessica paused a few seconds. “Okay. McCarthy’s Bar on Upper Street in Lexington. Thirty minutes. I’ll bring the DNA results. See you there.”
If we’re lucky … Ellie thought.