He chuffed a laugh. It sounded like a gasp for breath. “I think you got it.”

“I want to redirect it.”

He gave me a long look. “I wish I knew what you’re not telling me.”

“It’s nothing you need to know.” I moved on to the last item on my list: interview David. I’d written to him several times by then, but I’d heard nothing back. In lieu of an actual marital conversation, I needed my PD proxy to talk to him.

“We already tried that,” Watkins said. “A couple times. Nobody’s ever home.”

“Try again,” I said, and stood to adjourn the meeting.

Watkins sighed, or maybe he just breathed hard as he heaved himself out of his chair.

WHEN HE WAS gone, I shifted over to the next table in the attorney visiting room, where Jingjing was awaiting her own visitor. Hers wasn’t a defense lawyer, though. Hers was an assistant from the DA’s office who came regularly to talk to her and the other rescued sex workers about their anticipated testimony at the traffickers’ trials. During her second meeting, she introduced me as her lawyer and insisted I be present at every interview. This is highly irregular, the ADA complained, but she let me stay.

Jingjing was walking a tightrope with the DA’s office. She needed to feed them enough information that they would continue to see her as a potential witness and keep the protective custody arrangement intact—but not so much information that her pimps would be able to figure out where it was coming from. Today the ADA had a photo array for Jingjing to peruse. It included mug shots of dozens of men, both pimps and johns. She wanted Jingjing to pick out the ones she recognized.

“This is hard job,” Jingjing said as she turned the plastic-sleeved pages.

“You told us you saw the boss men every day. You must know what they look like.”

“You no get it. White people all look same to me.”

The ADA rolled her eyes while I hid my smile.

“Wait.” Jingjing suddenly pounced on one of the photos. “I know this man. I know him real good!”

The ADA spun the photo array back around to see where Jingjing was pointing and looked up with an excited gleam in her eyes. “Really? You can definitely identify this one?”

“Sure can.” Jingjing leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “I see all his movies.”

The photo was of Luke Rafferty, the full-time actor, sometime john.

AFTER THE ADA packed up and left, Jingjing and I walked to the commissary. The ADA topped up her account at every visit, and Jingjing always made a beeline to spend it. She laughed about it as we shared a bag of chips on our way back to our cell. “They think they do awful thing to keep me here,” she said. “But it way more awful out there.” For the last eight years she’d slept on the floor in a back room of whatever massage parlor she was working that month. She’d boiled water in a microwave and stirred in rice and dry soup mix for her meals. “Here I got mattress and good food. And no gross men.” She beamed a smile. “And a new bestie!”