Peter Robinson - Strange Affair

“I see.” Dr. Lukas stood up and walked to the cocktail cabinet. “I think I need a drink,” she said, and took out a tumbler and a bottle of Southern Comfort. “What about you?”

“Nothing, thanks,” said Annie.

“As you wish.” She poured herself a large measure and sat down again. This time she relaxed a little more into the armchair and the strain that etched the lines on her forehead and around her eyes and mouth eased. The concert ended and Annie heard the radio audience applaud before the announcer’s voice cut in. Dr. Lukas switched it off, took a sip of Southern Comfort and regarded Annie closely with her serious brown eyes. Annie got the sense that she was trying to come to some sort of decision and realized that she might well end up with a partial truth, if anything, as was so often the case.

The clock ticked and rain tapped against the window. Still Dr. Lukas thought and sipped. Finally, when Annie could almost bear it no longer, she said, “You’re right.”

“About what?”

“About people withholding the truth. Do you think it doesn’t happen in my profession, too? People lie to me all the time. How much they drink. Whether they smoke. What drugs they take. How often they exercise. As if by lying they’d make themselves healthy. But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Sometimes people use a different standard to measure themselves by,” said Annie. “You might not think you have done anything morally or ethically wrong, but you might have broken the law. Or vice versa.”

Dr. Lukas managed a flicker of a smile. “A fine distinction.”

“I’m not after getting you struck off.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“But I do want the truth. What are late girls?”

Dr. Lukas sipped some more Southern Comfort before answering, then she ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “It’s really very simple,” she said. “They are girls who come late to the center.”

“In what sense? Late in their pregnancies?”

“No. There you are quite wrong.”

“Well, I’ve hardly been steered in the right direction. This isn’t supposed to be a guessing game.”

“Now I am telling you. There have been no surgical procedures performed on girls beyond the twenty-four-week legal limit.”

“Okay,” said Annie, “so what is it all about?”

“Girl who come late to the center, after regular hours. In the evening.”

“When you’re working late?”

“I have a lot of paperwork. You wouldn’t believe it, even a doctor… but I do.”

“So why do these girls come after hours?”

“Why do you think?”

“They want to bypass the system for some reason, and you help them to do it?”

“These girls are prostitutes, for the most part, and many of them are illegal immigrants or asylum seekers. They can’t go through the National Health and they can’t afford our fees.”

“Pro-bono work, then?”

“You could say that.”

“What exactly do you do for them?”

“I handle the forms, the papers necessary to secure an abortion, if that’s what they want. If another doctor’s signature is needed, I get that too from someone at one of the clinics. They don’t ask me too many questions. It’s very easy and it harms no one.”

“Do you perform the abortions?”

“No. They are done elsewhere, at one of the clinics.”

“What do you do, then?”

“I examine them, make sure they are in good general health. There’s venereal disease to worry about. And AIDS, of course. Some girls have drug and alcohol problems. Many of the fetuses would be born with severe handicaps if they lived.”

“Do you supply drugs?”

Dr. Lukas looked directly at Annie. “No,” she said. “I understand why they might want to take drugs, the life they are living, but I won’t supply them. They seem to have no problem getting drugs elsewhere, though.”

“So if we were to check the drugs at the center against records, they would match?”

“If they don’t, it’s not me who’s been taking them. But, yes, I think they would. Besides, we have no need for the kind of drugs you’re talking about at the center.”

“How often does this happen?”

“Not very often. Maybe once, sometimes twice a month.”

“Why do these girls come to you? How do they know about you?”

“Many of them are from eastern Europe,” Dr. Lukas said with a shrug. “I’m known in the community.”

That sounded a bit vague, Annie thought – eastern Europe covered a large area – but she let it go. Now Dr. Lukas was on a roll it was better to get as much as possible out of her rather than belabor one point. “What about Jennifer Clewes? Did she know about this?”

“Yes.”

“When did she find out?”

“She’s known for a month or two. I didn’t realize she worked late sometimes, too. I thought I was alone there. You’ve seen how isolated my office is. The girls usually buzz the front door and I let them in myself. This time Jennifer got there first. She didn’t say anything, but later she asked me what was going on.”

“What did you tell her?”

“What I’m telling you.”

“And what was her reaction?”

“She became interested.” Dr. Lukas swirled the remains of her drink in her glass. “Jennifer was a truly decent human being,” she said. “When I explained to her about the girls and the situation they were in, nowhere to turn to for help, she understood.”

“It didn’t disturb her, upset her?”

“No. She was a bit uncomfortable about it at first, but…”

“But what?”

“Well, she was the administrator. She helped to protect me. Paperwork got lost, that sort of thing. I told her it would be best if she didn’t tell anyone, that not everyone would understand.”

“We think she must have told her boyfriend.”

Dr. Lukas shrugged. “That was for her judgment alone.”

“So Jennifer became involved in it with you?”

“Yes. We were both trying to help unfortunate girls. It’s not that this happened often, you understand. It wasn’t a regular thing. These girls would not have been able to come if they’d had to pay. And remember, they couldn’t just walk into the nearest NHS clinic. What do you think would happen to them? Do you think there are no longer back-street abortionists using rusty coat hangers?”

“So what went wrong?”

“Nothing went wrong.”

“Jennifer Clewes is dead.”

“I know nothing about that. I’ve told you what I was keeping from you, who the late girls are and how and why I helped them. I’ve told you Jennifer’s part in all this. There is nothing more. Once in a while a girl who needed help would come to me and I provided it. That’s all there is to it.”

“Did anyone else know? Georgina, for example?”

“No. At first it was only me, then Jennifer. She was the only other person who ever stayed late.”

Somehow it didn’t all add up, Annie thought. There were too many pieces missing and the ones she had didn’t fit together properly. “What about Carmen Petri? Was she one of the late girls? What was so special about her?”

Dr. Lukas seemed to tense up again, the lines on her forehead deepening, her posture stiffening. “I don’t know the name.”

“She was one of the late girls, wasn’t she? What happened to her?”

“I told you I’ve never heard of her.”

“Did something go wrong? Is that it?”

“I’ve told you, I don’t know anyone called Carmen.”

Annie took out the sketch that Brooke’s police artist had coaxed from Alf Seaton. “Do you recognize this man?” she asked.

“No,” said Dr. Lukas. Annie couldn’t be certain that she was telling the truth.