After a shower I put on a pair of pants and a T-shirt and call a much younger classmate who graduated law school with me from the University of Arkansas at Little Rock.

Barton Sanders is the only lawyer I know in Fayetteville.

Most graduates migrate to the center of the state, but Bar ton moved to Fayetteville to take advantage of a real estate operation that was already thriving under his father-in-law. Rich and well connected. Barton is a dye ding-the-wool Hog fan and may be able to help me jump start this case if he is willing. Though we are not close, we were friends in law school and I have been by to see him a couple of times since Sarah has been in school at

Fayetteville. His wife calls him to the phone, and I tell him I am representing Dade Cunningham.

“No shit?” Barton exclaims, his voice high and reedy as usual.

“That’s incredible!”

I ask him to fill me in on what he has heard. Although he is excited to be in the loop, it turns out he doesn’t know much more than Roy Cunningham.

“It’s like there’s a news blackout at the university-while they stew about this thing. The girl’s father is a big Baptist,” he says, supplying me with one fact I didn’t have.

“Lots of money. The girl is a looker, too. Have you seen any games this year?”

“Only the one in Little Rock,” I answer, delighted there have been no announcements that Dade has been suspended. The fact is things have been so slow lately that I haven’t really been able to afford the trips this year to Fayetteville, but I don’t let Barton know it.

“Do you have any idea how well Coach Carter would react to a phone call from me? I want to slow this down before they make any decisions that would be hard to reverse.”