A gray van was parked on gravel near the barn. Yep, it had mirrored windows, and on its side, Talking Hands Ranch was painted in fading white script. The public phone at the convenience store had yielded only fingerprints that weren't in AFIS, but it could very well be that some of the prints belonged to Dr. Grace McKenna. It had taken two days of playing phone tag with the University of Washington to locate Dr. McKenna and the van. It was odd how most people there had never heard of her. She was setting up a research center on a piece of donated land near Evansburg, the psychology department secretary said. This place looked more like a militia compound than a research center. Grace McKenna had no record other than an arrest for trespass during a political protest when she was twenty years old. But you never knew what you might be walking into. Finn wondered if perhaps he should have brought some uniforms with him. However, it was broad daylight, and a squad of cops might have been too intimidating for a little retarded girl.
