I went back up to the porch, grabbed the other two black bags and hauled them down to the car one at a time.

I spent ten minutes wrestling the heavy black trash bags into the dark trunk of my old Buick before closing the lid and locking it.

I slammed the Buick’s trunk shut and got in behind the wheel.

The morning traffic on Interstate 94 was a blur of exhaust.

I drove straight to the address Sarah had found in the local directory.

Vance had his law practice in a one-story brick strip mall at the edge of town.