Whatever hotshots they had working in their cybercrimes division would be able to trace the IP address the e-mail was sent from and figure out exactly where I was and when. Using my own laptop was completely out of the question, along with all the other computers in our office or the police station—even if no one saw me using them, the fact that I was in the same building at the same time the e-mails were sent would simply be too suspicious. A public computer would be ideal, which was why I’d originally planned on a library or an Internet cafe, but now that Potash was following me more closely, there was no way to get to one without raising suspicion. So I dropped my phone out the window the next time we drove on the freeway. “Crap.” “Was that your phone?” asked Diana. “Crap,” I repeated. I was never a very emotional person to begin with, so I didn’t bother acting too bothered about the loss. I craned my neck around to look at the road behind us, but we were already hundreds of yards away.
