“Yeah?” came a voice. “Is Eric Gilliam at home?” she asked. “Who wants to know?” “Diane Boston.” “Who?” “Dana Barnett’s sister.” Silence. Diane looked up and noticed the security camera pointed at her. She gave a little wave. “Drive on in,” the voice intoned. There was a click and the gate opened. Diane got back in her car, which had been idling in front of the gate, and drove forward. Once she was within the walls, Diane decided that the property was not much different from upper middle class houses in the Chicago suburbs. She pulled up and parked in the driveway beside a Porsche, got out, and went to the open front door, where Eric Gilliam was standing. “Hi,” she said. “I understand you knew my sister.” She offered her hand. Gilliam stared at her in disbelief. “I’ll be goddamned,”
