04.1 Bloodline

Driving through the wooded roads in Asheville, North Carolina, she caught the Blue Ridge Mountains in glimpses. Somehow the scenes were beautiful and green. She arrived at an address on Oakland Road. There stood a family house deep in the lawn covered of green turf and trees around. It was a quiet neighbourhood and probably houses of some wealthy people. This particular home was occupied and windows open. Perhaps, Cyril Family lived there. She knew Thomas Cyril was not in town. Diego at Teep Lab in San Diego kept her updated.

She took pictures of this house and the beautiful setting around. She decided to spurn her search at this place. Was it worth driving this far? She was glad she did. This was perhaps some place she could never see again. She wanted to enjoy every bit of this adventure while she crossed ‘The Appalachian Trail’. Whether she could get to the bottom of what crap it was, she began to feel that she was enjoying it.

Natalia booked in at Hotel Renaissance for the night. Took a walk around neatly kept pavements under the trees with dark green leaves to a photography shop. Developed the films and made a call to Jonathan Simms asking him to trace the owner of Valor.

“Did you get the Hull Identification Number?”

“What is that? I have photographs,” said Natalia.

“I can’t trace a boat without it,” Simms told her, “Send me the pictures. I will try my luck.”

“I will post them.”

Few days later, she arrived in Madison. She took route through Kentucky, Indiana and Illinois – driving 16 hours, taking breaks and two stops in Indiana.

First hurdle, she booked in at Hotel Ruby where she faced questions about an identification problem over her eccentric looks or Asian origin and that she belonged to San Diego. She learnt that this place was run by some conservative walled in a blue state so inclined to mistrust the liberals. She was hardly a liberal in her conscience but they all treated her like one.

Natalia moved out on Sunday and checked in at Doubletree Hilton paying the double.

She stopped outside Hulsen & Quinn Attorneys at Law standing in front of Saint Patrick’s Church on East Main Street. A three-storey house with tint-glass windows in the façade. A grey-colour building with black frames. She collected information about this office from Madison City Clerk’s Office near Wisconsin State Capitol. H&Q was a personal injury law office.

She parked in the shade of a big tree standing by the opposite corner and sat for hours snapping pictures. Only two people passed the entrance. It was boring and she had moved the car twice to get into shade.

Natalia entered H&Q, holding her notebook, and enquired at the reception. The girl asked, “Do you have an appointment?”

Natalia replied, “I’m from Teep Lab, Intel Service, San Diego, looking for information.”

“Who do you want to talk to?”

“Aleric Hulsen or Jadon Quinn,” she passed her business card.

“Forensic Pathologist?”

“That’s right,” she uttered, “It is quite important. A property related matter of a client by the name Thomas Avon Cyril.”

“Please wait!” The counter girl disappeared for a while behind a wall. Then the door opened and a mature woman dressed in a white suit came out.

“Mr Quinn will see you. Three minutes. He has a very tight schedule, I’m afraid,” expressed the lady.

Natalia followed the lady into a spacious room with a mahogany table and vintage furniture. This room took the breadth of the building and hung in a stench of tobacco. A tall man with large brown eyes ogled at her.

Finally, he articulated, “What is that you want?” He dropped his tongue out. His tone wasn’t welcoming.

“Mr Thomas Avon Cyril. Was he anytime a client of yours?” asked Natalia.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I want to find about his property in Charleston. Any information with this regard.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I will. It seems you represented him.”

“No. He was not a client of mine.”

“Here is a picture,” she produced from between the leaves of her notebook.

“Young lady! I don’t know who sent you here. I am not going to talk about any of our clients unless you show me a valid reason.” He grabbed his coat getting up from the upholstered executive’s chair that swung back.

“If I may ask,” continued Natalia, “do you know Mr Thomas Cyril?”

“Miss Jenel!”

“Please, take a look, sir!”

He picked the photograph and glanced at it for a moment. Then replied calmly, “I don’t remember. What is all this about?” He stood a good two feet over her.

“My client is interested in the property.”

“Well, you’re at the wrong place. Now, if you will please excuse me!” He returned the photograph. Natalia recently printed this card. Got no fingerprint except hers and now his.

Jenel opened the door and Natalia stepped out. There was something in his tone that told her Quinn was not telling the truth. She was literally in the blind and got no knowledge to proceed with a dialect. At least, she half succeeded the reason she came; for exposure.

Quinn released an audible sigh dropping out his tongue, “Call Doherty and obtain an image of this bi from the security camera, Miss Jenel.”