Jonathan Kellerman - The Clinic

“Who's her?”

“Dr. Vane.”

“Dr. Devane?”

“Yeah.”

“What did Dr. Devane tell you?”

“Good for me.”

“Did you agree with that?”

No answer.

“Did you think the abortion was good for-”

“ Had to,” she said in a clear voice. Her eyes were clear, too. Purified by anger.

“You had to think it was good for you?”

Hard nod.

“Why, Chenise?”

“Mom said.”

“Mom said you had to-”

“ “You can't raise it, stupid, and I'm sure as hell not raising your basta!' ”

She stared at me with defiance, then her head dropped and she began playing with the candy wrapper. The hand dropped to her tummy again. It reminded me of something… The black girl in the clinic waiting room had comforted herself exactly the same way.

“So you knew you were going to have an abortion.”

No answer.

“Cheni-”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know Dr. Cruvic was going to do any other operation?”

Silence. Then a small headshake.

“Did he do another operation?”

No answer. She shoved the candy bar away and it fell off the table. Milo retrieved it, turned it between his thick fingers. Angela Boatwright was in a corner, eyes alert.

“Chenise?” I said.

The girl fingered the lower lace hem of her top. Tugged down, pulled up. Slipping her hand under the lace, she began massaging her belly.

“Did Dr. Cruvic do something else to you, Chenise?”

Silence.

“Did Dr. Devane tell you Dr. Cruvic was going to do something else?”

Silence.

“Did Dr. Devane ask you to sign your name to something?”

Nod. She licked her lips and wiped them with the back of her hand. Slid sideways in the chair, putting her body in an awkward tilt.

“Chenise-”

“Spay.” She gave a soft grunt, bobbed her head as if to music.

“Spay,” I said.

She coughed and sniffed.

“What does “spay' mean, Chenise?”

“Like a dog.”

“Who told you that, Chenise?”

She started to answer, then her lips compressed. The hand continued to rub her abdomen, moving over the navel in rapid cycles. Stopping, pinching the skin, then resuming.

She shifted position, straightening. Slumping. Still rubbing.

Rubbing the navel… the entry point for tubal ligation.

“When you woke up from the abortion,” I said, “was there a Band-Aid on any part of your body?”

The hand stopped. Small fingers dug into white belly-flesh. Her top rode up, revealing a shelf of rib cage above a white hollow.

Suddenly, the other hand slammed to her pubis, cupping it.

“Here,” she said, arching her pelvis.

“And here. ” Standing, she arched her back, baring the umbilicus.

“Uh. Uh,” she grunted, pressing both sites and showing them again in an awkward bump-and-grind. “Hurt like shit. Farting all day !”

“Cramps,” said Boatwright.

“When did you find out Dr. Cruvic had done more than an abortion?”

“Later.”

“How much later?”

Shrug.

“Who told you?”

“Mom.”

“What'd she say?”

“ “Go ahead, screw all you want, it don't matter, we fix you, tire the tubes no bastas!' ”

Mascara running, the eyes alive with anger. “I was a spade !”

She stared at me, then Milo, then Angela Boatwright. Sat down, reached for the candy, began gobbling.

When the chocolate was all gone, she looked at the wrapper ruefully.

“Another one, hon?” said Boatwright.

“Sponsability,” said the girl.

“Responsibility?” I said.

“For babies.”

“Babies are a big responsibility?”

Nod.

“Who told you that?”

“Mom. Her .”

“Who's “her'?”

“Dr. Vane.”

“What does “responsibility' mean, Chenise?”

She twisted her mouth. “Show up on time.”

“Anything else?”

She thought. “Wash up, say please.” Big smile. “Safe sex.” To Boatwright: “Got a Three Musketeers?”

“I'll check,” said Boatwright and left again.

I said, “So Mom and Dr. Devane talked to you about responsibility.”

“Uh-uh.”

“They didn't?”

“Not before.”

“Not before the operation?”

“Uh-uh.”

“So what did they talk to you about?”

“Bortion. Here's a pen.”

“A pen to sign- to write something?”

Nod.

“What?”

“Like this.” She made aerial loops. “I can do it.” Eyeing my ballpoint.

I gave it to her along with a sheet of paper. Biting her tongue, she hunched and labored, finally producing a chain of ragged peaks and troughs. I peered at it. Indecipherable.

She started to pocket the pen, stopped, giggled, and returned it.

“Keep it,” I said.

She looked at it, shook her head. I took it back.

“So you wrote your name for Dr. Devane.”

“Yeah.”

“Before the operation.”

“Yeah.”

“But she didn't talk to you about responsibility til after the operation?”

“Yeah.”

Her hands dropped to the surgical sites again.

“Yeah,” she repeated, almost snarling it. “ A spade- like a dog! Pain and gas, puking. Farted all day !”

At eleven, I phoned Robin to tell her I was all right and would be home late.

She said, “It's on the news. They're already tying it in with Hope.”

I told Milo and Boatwright. He cursed and she said, “Probably Kasanjian, the idiot. Talks about Court TV all the time, wants a big case.”

Mary Farney showed up just after midnight, wearing a short yellow rayon dress with wilted lapels, off black stockings, and gold backless high-heeled shoes. Caked, pale makeup and brown eye shadow, liquor and mint on her breath. Her voice so tight I imagined hands around her neck.

She said, “Is she okay?”

“She's fine,” said Milo, frowning. “We've been trying to reach you for a while, ma'am.”

“I was scared, so I went somewhere. A friend's.”

I took in her outfit. Ready for celebrity?

“Where is she? I want to see her.”

“In a minute, Mrs. Farney.”

“Is she in trouble?”

“We haven't charged her with anything.”

“You mean you might?” She grabbed Milo's sleeve. “No, no, I didn't call to have that- no, no, she's- she don't understand anything!”

“I need to ask you a few questions, ma'am.”

“I already told-” Her hand covered her mouth.

“Told who?”

“No one.”

“Who, Mrs. Farney?”

“Just some people- outside there.”

“Outside the station? Reporters?”

“Just a few.”

Milo forced a smile. “What did you tell them, Mrs. Farney?”

“That Darrell was a murderer. That he killed Dr. Devane.”

Boatwright rolled her eyes.

“Well, he is ! He had a knife!”

“Okay,” said Milo, “let's go into a room and talk.”

“About what?”

“Chenise, ma'am.”

“What about her?”

“Let's go in that room.”

She sat on the edge of the chair, looked around the spare room with disdain.

“Coffee?” said Milo.

“No, I don't see why I have to stay here. I didn't do nothing!”

“Just a few questions, ma'am. Chenise says she was taken to Dr. Cruvic for an abortion but he tied her tubes without telling her.”

“Oh, no, don't you accuse me! She's slinging bull, she can lie with the best of them, believe me!”

“Was she sterilized?”

“You bet! But she knew, all right! I explained everything to her and so did everyone else.”

“Everyone, ma'am?”

“The doctors, the nurses. Everyone. ”