When I’d exhausted the Net, I dragged out the boxes I’d brought with me from my three years with the public defender. Of course, most of the material had stayed in their offices at Twenty-sixth and California, but my own notes and records still made a tidy pile when I’d emptied them onto my big worktable. I couldn’t possibly check all those old cases, but I did pull out my files on Johnny Merton. Curtis’s name never came up. Neither did Steve Sawyer’s.

I called a friend of mine who had connections to the State’s Attorney’s Office and asked if they could locate the trial transcript for Sawyer’s trial. And, yes, I knew what it would cost me to get a copy and, yes, I would pay for it.

I slid all the papers back into their boxes and tried to turn my attention to other jobs. I was wrapping things up for the day when my friend at the SA’s office called back.

“No record of a Steve Sawyer in 1966 or ’67, but things were a little sloppy back then. Any hints on the exact trial date?”

I looked through the notes I’d made at the university library. “The vic’s name was Harmony Newsome, but I don’t know the trial date.”

He promised to have another look in the morning. Right after he hung up, my cousin Petra phoned.

“Vic, you were a lifesaver to let me use your computer! Did you get your cookie? Do you remember you and Uncle Sal are coming to Brian’s big fundraiser next week? I need to get names on a list since the president might come.”

“Yes, indeed, your uncle Sal is counting the minutes. You spell Warshawski W … A …”

“Yeah, I know. It’s like a warrior in a rickshaw going skiing. How do you think I passed first grade? I was the only kid in my school who knew what a rickshaw was.”

We both laughed, and I felt better when I’d hung up. Maybe Mr. Contreras was right. Maybe I did need to be more like my cousin, learn to charm the socks off rocks.

The next day, I resolutely put the whole Gadsden case out of my head. Lotty and I were having our weekly dinner that night. I arrived a bit late, since a job had taken me to the DuPage County Court-house, and the traffic back to the city was typically sludgelike. When Lotty let me into her apartment, I was surprised to hear voices in the background. She hadn’t told me anyone else was coming.

Max Loewenthal was on the balcony that looked across Lake Shore Drive to Lake Michigan. He and Karen Lennon were both holding wineglasses. She was laughing at something he was saying.