“I’ve got a place downtown,” I said.

“My office set it up.”

“Good,” Frank said, shutting the red folder with a soft thump.

“Don’t go into that house by yourself again once the process server shows up.”

I pulled my wool coat around my shoulders, picked my briefcase up off the chair, and walked out into the carpeted hall with the red folder of legal notices under my arm.

I slid the red folder into the bottom compartment of my briefcase before pulling out of the law office garage on Lake Street.