She dialed the cell phone number of her old college friend Allison. “Hello?” Jane could hear the familiar melodious voice, almost see the blond hair and the long, graceful neck. Allison didn’t look or sound like a trial lawyer. “Hi, Allison. It’s me.” “I didn’t expect to hear your voice. I see you have another new number.” “Nearly every week.” “I suppose that makes sense. If this is your phone call to your attorney, tell me where they’re holding you. They don’t have to let these calls go on and—” “It’s not,” Jane interrupted. “I’m not the one in trouble.” “That’s a relief,” said Allison. “Who is?” “A guy I grew up with. He’s an Indian like me.” “If he got caught, he’s not much like you. What’s his name?” “James Sanders.
