I wanted money in hand in case I needed to bribe some CO’s or inmates or both. In theory, there was no cash at Coolis: you got issued a photo–ID card with a computer chip when you were admitted. Any money in your account was programmed onto the chip and then deducted when you used the card, whether in vending machines, at the commissary, or doing laundry. The idea was you wouldn’t have gambling or bribing or drug sales if you kept out the cash, but in my four days here I’d already seen plenty of bills changing hands—and not always very secretively.

Freeman frowned and said in his most austere tones that he would speak to Lotty, but only to advise her of the felony nature of my request.

He finished making notes in his quick, tiny script and packed up his papers. “Vic, you know my steadiest advice as your counsel is for you to post bail and come home. If you decide to listen to me, a call to my office will get someone out here on the instant.”

“Freeman, before you go, do you know why I’m here? I mean, instead of at Cook County? Was this some shenanigan of Baladine’s?”

He shook his head. “I have to confess I wondered about that, but once you were arrested, even with Lemour involved, you moved out of Baladine’s orbit. The simple truth is, Cook County is always filled to capacity, and on the Fourth they started splitting at the seams. Women arrested at precincts on the far North or West Sides were automatically shunted out here. Anyway, Baladine is out of the country. He’s taken his family on some exotic vacation.”

“I know: to the South of France. Is Robbie with them? I don’t know what became of him after I left the house on Friday morning.”

Freeman told me that Baladine had wrested Robbie from Mr. Contreras in the middle of the night Saturday. The old man (“He’s been living with you too long,” Freeman said in an unnecessary aside) had tried to hold off a warrant from a Du Page County sheriff’s deputy. He only gave in when Robbie said he couldn’t stand it if they arrested Mr. Contreras; he would leave if the sheriff promised not to hurt the old man. Robbie’s father had taken him to South Carolina, to boot camp, before flying out to join the Poilevys and the Trants with the rest of his family in the Pyrenees.

“I tried to talk to Baladine, but his staff wouldn’t give me his number overseas. They say he left strict orders that even though he has the kid back he’s not doing a deal with you,” Freeman added.

“Freeman—if they don’t know I’m here don’t tell them. If anyone asks, let them think I posted bail and am lying low.”