19
The next morning at six o’clock, my phone rang. No caller ID. I hesitated to answer it. It was too f*****g early to deal with telemarketers or scammers. But after three rings, Conor started groaning next to me. “Make it stop.”
I picked it up. “Hello?”
“Ballou? It’s Picardo. You called?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m looking for Blair Marshall, white female, age twenty-seven, about five-four. Wanted for attempted murder. She contact you for new papers?”
“White female? Not so far. All of my recent clients have been men.”
“Okay, well, if she reaches out, let me know.”
“Will do. Ciao.”
I dragged myself out of bed and sat at the kitchen table with my laptop, researching as much as I could about Marshall and Womyn Born Womyn. Apparently, WBW was a global organization based origina
