The Racketeer

of freedom crumble under the challenges of living normally. Someone is always back there.
    He was handcuffed and taken to the FBI office in Norfolk. In an interrogation room, the two black agents served him coffee and began a friendly chat. The crime was nothing more than an escape, and he had no defense. He was dead guilty and headed back to prison.
    They asked Quinn if he was willing to answer a few basic questions about his escape some three months earlier. He said sure,why not? He volunteered that he had met an unnamed accomplice not far from the camp at Frostburg and had been driven back to D.C. He hung around there for a few days, but his presence was not well received. Escapees draw attention, and his boys did not appreciate the possibility of the FBI poking around and looking for him. He began muling cocaine from Miami to Atlanta, but the work was slow. He was damaged goods and his “syndicate,” as he called it, was wary of him. He saw his wife and kids occasionally, but knew the danger of getting too close to home. He spent time with an old girlfriend in Baltimore, but she, too, was less than excited about his presence. He drifted around, picking up an occasional drug run, then got lucky when his cousin gave him a job tending bar at the Velvet Club.
    Next door, in a larger interrogation room, two of the FBI’s veteran interrogators were listening to the conversation. Another team was upstairs, waiting and listening. If things went well, it would be a long night for Quinn. Things had to go well for the FBI. With no physical evidence so far, it was imperative that the interrogation produce some proof. The FBI was worried, though, because they were dealing with a man who’d been around the block a few times. It was unlikely their suspect could be intimidated into saying much.

    As soon as Quinn was taken out the back door of the Velvet Club, FBI agents cornered his cousin and demanded information. The cousin knew the ropes and had little to say until he was threatened with charges for harboring a fugitive. He had an impressive criminal record, state charges, and another indictment would likely send him back to the pen. He preferred life on the outside and began singing. Quinn was living and working under the assumed name of Jackie Todd, though his wages were being paid in cash and off the books. The cousin led the FBI agentsto a run-down trailer park a half mile away and showed them the furnished mobile home Quinn was leasing month to month. Parked next to the trailer was a Hummer H3, 2008 model, with North Carolina license plates. The cousin explained that Quinn preferred to walk to work and hide the Hummer, weather permitting.
    Within an hour, the FBI had a search warrant for the trailer and the Hummer, which was towed to a police lot in Norfolk, opened and examined. The main door of the mobile home was locked but flimsy. One good jolt with a bat hammer and the agents were inside. The place was remarkably neat and clean. Working with a purpose, six agents combed the place from side to side, twelve feet, and from end to end, fifty feet. In the only bedroom, between the mattress and the box spring, they found Quinn’s wallet, keys, and cell phone. The wallet contained about $500 in cash, a fake North Carolina driver’s license, and two prepaid Visa credit cards valued at $1,200 each. The cell phone was of the disposable, prepaid variety, perfect for a man on the run. Under the bed, the agents found a Smith & Wesson short-barrel, .38-caliber handgun, loaded with hollow-point bullets.
    Handling it carefully, the agents immediately assumed it was the same handgun used to kill Judge Fawcett and Naomi Clary.
    The key chain included a key to a mini–storage unit two miles away. In a drawer in the kitchen, an agent found Quinn’s home office—a couple of manila files with scant paperwork. One form, though, was a six-month lease agreement for a unit at Macon’s Mini-Storage, signed by Jackie Todd. The lead investigator called Roanoke, where a federal magistrate was on duty, and a search warrant was e-mailed back to Norfolk.
    The file also included a North Carolina car title issued to Jackie Todd for the 2008 Hummer H3. No liens were noted; thus it was safe to assume Mr. Todd had paid in full, on the spot, either in cash or by check. No checkbook or bank statements were found in the drawer; none were expected. A bill of sale forthe vehicle revealed that it was purchased on February 9, 2011, from a used-car