The Green Line by E. C. Diskin Page B

away. She heard Sarah behind her adding, “Well, Nathan, we’ll talk later!”
    BACK at home, Abby climbed into bed and opened a book. The words on the page dealt with a dysfunctional family, but she could only focus on her own. Mom, sitting perfectly still, legs crossed, posture sure, staring at the coffin—no emotion, no sound. Dad, wiping back tears that Abby had never thought possible. And Nate, sobbing for his best friend. Though she remembered that there were hundreds who came out for the service, she couldn’t make out more faces. The image of Denny’s face was as vivid as it had been fourteen years ago. His confident smile. That look he always gave her when she was making fun of him. She never knew how he could be such a dork and so confident at the same time. The ball was rising into her throat and the stinging behind her eyes began for the millionth time. Abby slammed the book shut, grabbed the remote, and searched for an episode of Friends or Seinfeld .

SEVEN
    ON Friday morning, Abby floundered from one task to the other, unable to concentrate. She looked at the clock every thirty minutes, wondering when Officer Reilly would arrive. She hoped no one would be in the lobby at the time. She could just imagine the gossip.
    By eleven thirty, she gave up on getting her own work done and focused on Ali’s problems. She ran a quick search on the Westlaw database for the Illinois and federal civil forfeiture laws. Back in 1997, when she was researching these laws for school, Congressman Henry Hyde had been trying to get a bill passed to change the laws and give property owners more rights. She wondered what had come of all of that.
    She found a federal statute—the Civil Forfeiture Reform Act of 2000—and the Illinois version, and hit print. Maybe the laws had all changed. Her phone rang and the receptionist, Barbara, advised Abby that she had a delivery. Flowers. Abby walked to the lobby with a smile of anticipation, wondering who might have sent them, and picked up her printout en route. When she got there, Barbara was speaking to a uniformed officer. They both turned to Abby.
    “Abby, this officer says you’re expecting him?”
    Barbara’s raised eyebrow signaled her hope for some scoop. Abby ignored the unspoken request and reached out to shake hands with the officer.
    Officer Reilly was tall, at least six foot four, but he didn’t have an intimidating look, other than the crew cut. He looked like a true Irishman—strawberry blond hair, fair skin, freckles, and blue eyes.
    “Hello, Ms. Donovan. Nice to meet cha’. You ready?”
    His accent was pure south side Chicago. Just like the mayor’s. A true Chicago boy, for sure.
    “Actually, I need to grab my purse. I didn’t realize you were here. Barbara called me about some flowers,” Abby said, turning her attention back to the desk and the small assortment of daisies and lilies.
    “Oh yeah,” the officer added. “Is it your birthday?”
    Abby smiled. “No.” She silently read the card attached to the vase. I feel so blessed to have met you. Thank you, Abigail, for everything. Sincerely, Ali Rashid.
    Barbara wanted the scoop. “New boyfriend, Abby?”
    Abby shook her head and felt a sudden awkwardness, with the man who was going after Ali’s building standing right behind her. She picked up the vase and turned back to Reilly.
    “Let me just run these back to my office and I’ll grab my purse.” She headed off before he could respond, but within a few steps fumbled with the print-out and several pages went sailing to the floor.
    “Here. Let me help,” Reilly offered, as he joined her in gathering the papers.
    “Thank you. I haven’t even read this yet.”
    “Research?”
    “Yeah.”
    Reilly read the title of the bill out loud as he passed the papers back.
    Abby didn’t look at him, unsure what to say. “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”
    THEY made small talk on the way to the station. Reilly was obviously saving the real questions for