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them all she had done nothing.
    It was around ten thirty when the phone rang. It was an outside caller.
    “Yes, Ms. Donovan. This is Ted Gottlieb. You referred Ali Rashid to me for help with a forfeiture matter?”
    Abby looked at her flowers, now wilting on the desk. “Oh yes, hello. What can I do for you?” She sat back and turned to the window, away from her work.
    “Well, I met with Mr. Rashid on Friday morning. We’ve taken on his case and I’m having trouble getting hold of him. I’m wondering if you have heard from him?”
    “No, actually. Not since lunch last week when I gave him your name.”
    “Well, the prosecutors have moved forward with the in rem proceeding.”
    Shit.
    Mr. Gottlieb continued. “I’m sorry, are you familiar? I mean they’re going after the property.”
    “Oh, I know in rem —‘against the thing.’ In fact, I was just reviewing the reform bill on forfeiture this weekend and it looks like there have been some improvements in the law.”
    “Well, that’s true in federal cases, but this is an Illinois state case and, unfortunately, the law is still pretty pro-police. The burden on the state is quite low—they only need probable cause and they can use hearsay evidence in support.”
    “So any dealer on the street or person facing their own charges can give the police a statement about drug trafficking and that’ll do it?”
    “Pretty much.”
    “And then Ali is forced to prove what? That he couldn’t have known about the drugs or couldn’t have done more to prevent the trafficking?”
    “You got it. It’s pretty difficult for an owner. In fact, as I told Mr. Rashid, relatively few owners of seized property even contest the forfeiture in court.”
    “Why, because they never win?”
    “Because they can’t afford the cost of litigation, or they fear criminal prosecution or having their sworn statements used against them in other matters.”
    “Ali told me he wasn’t sure he could afford you.”
    “True, but we worked it out. In fact, I’d like to file something tomorrow that I hope will convince the prosecutor that this is not a good case to pursue.”
    “I’m so glad you got involved. Thank you again for taking on his case.”
    “Not a problem. I’m pretty confident. We just need to get this moving so he can get out from under this as soon as possible. Otherwise, these cases can drag on for quite some time.”
    Abby relaxed back into the chair. “That’s great.”
    “Yes, except that I need to find Mr. Rashid. I was unable to reach him all weekend. You don’t have a cell number for him? No one is answering the home phone number he gave me.”
    She instinctively turned back toward her desk, the location of all answers. She shuffled papers around like some magic phone number would appear. “I am so sorry but I don’t know what I can do to help.” She stopped the search and looked at the lilies again. Her favorite flower. “I really hardly know him. The store phone number is all I have.”
    “Okay, well, if you do hear from him again, please tell him to call me right away.”
    “I will. And thanks again for taking on his case.”
    She hung up and rested her hand on the receiver. This would all work out. Ted Gottlieb obviously knew what he was doing. But what a racket. It was still baffling how this whole process was legal. She just hoped Gottlieb could reach Ali soon.
    ABBY crawled into bed at ten o’clock and began leafing through her Rolling Stone magazine. She flipped the pages, scanning for good stories on her favorite bands and half-heartedly listened to the local news on TV. The reports were typical: Fifteen seconds of information, depressing and shocking, but for the fact that every day’s news was intended to shock. A rape in River West, a robbery in the Loop, a semi turned over on the expressway, an apparent murder-suicide in the West Garfield neighborhood. Abby had heard enough. She grabbed for the remote to hit mute. Looking at the TV, she saw a