I said it even though I thought I was spitting into the wind. But Kurlen surprised me and pulled his phone off his belt. He hit a speed-dial button. It was either an elaborate hoax or he was actually doing what I asked. Kurlen and I had a history. We had squared off against each other on prior cases. I had attempted on more than one occasion to destroy his credibility on the witness stand. I was never very successful at it but the experience still made it hard to be cordial afterward. But now he was doing me a good turn and I wasn’t sure why.

“It’s me,” Kurlen said into the phone. “Bring her back here.”

He listened for a moment.

“Because I told you to. Now bring her back.”

He closed the phone without another word to his partner and looked at me.

“You owe me one, Haller. I could’ve hung you up for a couple hours. In the old days, I would’ve.”

“I know. I appreciate it.”

He headed back toward the squad room and signaled me to follow. He spoke casually as he walked.

“So, when she told us to call you she said you were handling her foreclosure.”

“That’s right.”

“My sister got divorced and now she’s in a mess like that.”

There it was. The quid pro quo.

“You want me to talk to her?”

“No, I just want to know if it’s best to fight these things or just get it over with.”

The squad room looked like it was in a time warp. It was vintage 1970s, with a linoleum floor, two-tone yellow walls and gray government-issue desks with rubber stripping around the edges. Kurlen remained standing while waiting for his partner to come back with my client.

I pulled a card out of my pocket and handed it to him.

“You’re talking to a fighter, so that’s my answer. I couldn’t handle her case because of conflict of interest between you and me. But have her call the office and we’ll get her hooked up with somebody good. Make sure she mentions your name.”