He dug back into his case files on Harrison II, looking for alternate plaintiffs. He had begun a list of possibles months earlier, mostly compiled from the message boards where the families shared information. So he sat down and made a new list of missing persons on those lists who had Texas residences associated with their names, until he had a dozen names. Then he looked for the names and contact information of family members. The message boards operated by the detention survivors networks were good for that, because the bereaved usually left complete details on where they could be reached with information about their missing kid, sibling, partner, or parent. When he was done with that, Donny had two phone numbers, three messaging handles, and one mailing address.

He drafted a letter on firm letterhead, explaining the case and why he was contacting them, and then sent tailored versions out to each of the four, three electronically and one in an envelope he would drop at the courier in the morning. He looked at the clock on the wall. Then he dialed the first of the numbers anyway. He didn’t have time to worry about the time.

The first number went to voicemail. He left a message. A long message.

The second number, he got an answer.

“Hello,” said a man’s voice.

“Is this Mario Walsh?”

“Who’s calling?”

“My name is Donald Kimoe. I’m a lawyer, investigating the case of Clarissa Walsh.”

“Clarissa is gone. Please leave us alone.”

“I understand, Mr. Walsh. Clarissa and a lot of other people. That’s why I sued AMR, and all their execs, to prove what they did, what really happened on the farms. And I think I have them by the balls. Now I just need the people who were most affected to help me make the case.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Kimoe. Donald Kimoe.”

“You’re calling me at eleven at night so you can make a buck off the death of my daughter, you fucking shyster? I remember you now. I just looked you up. You’re the one who used to be on TV all the time, helping out the idiots who got us into this mess. Led my daughter and a lot of other kids down the Yellow Brick Road to nowhere.”

“I’m trying to get justice, Mr. Walsh.”

“Go fuck yourself, you parasite. Justice is what will happen if I ever meet one of those bastards on a dark street or an empty road. And maybe what will happen after I report your sleazy ass to the state bar.”

“Mr. Walsh, please, let me just—”

Click.