Ballitser rocked and fixed his eyes on the ceiling.
“They're taking you to the county jail, Darrell. I'll come by to see you tomorrow morning. Don't talk to anyone til then.”
Nothing.
Then, “Fuck.”
Kasanjian shook his head and stood. He and Milo headed for the door.
Ballitser said, “Spade!”
Both men turned.
“What's that, son?” said Kasanjian.
Silence.
“Spade?” said Kasanjian. “A black guy?”
“Fuck!” said the boy, spraying saliva and kicking wildly.
“Easy, Darrell,” said Kasanjian.
Ballitser slammed his fist on the table.
His eyes shifted to the door, his torso quivered and tightened, every muscle defined beneath the damaged skin, like a frayed anatomical diagram.
“Fu-u-uck Spa-a-ade!”
Kasanjian said, “Spa-”
“Spa-a-a-a-de! Sp-a-a-a-a-de! That's fucking why! That's fucking why!”
Kasanjian looked shaken. “Try to calm down, Darrell.”
He turned to Milo. “He's obviously in need of psychiatric attention, Detective. I'm making a formal request that you provide immedia-”
“Spa-a-a-a-a-de! Spa-a-a-a-a-de!”
Ballitser twisted his body, punched his own chest, kicking at the chair, pounding the bolted table, over and over.
“Spade is “why'?” said Milo.
“Fucking why!”
“Why you don't like Dr. Cruvic?”
“Fucking-A!”
“Spade.”
“Fucking-A! He fucking did it!” The boy began crying, then curled his free hand and ripped at his cheeks. Milo pulled him off, held him still. Darrell's blemished face was contorted in agony.
“Cruvic did it,” said Milo, gently.
“Ye-e-e-s!”
“He fucking did it, Darrell.”
“Y-e-e-e-s!”
“To Chenise.”
“Y-e-e-s! Spa-a-a-a-de! Like a fucking dog. Woof-fucking-woof!”
Ballitser clawed the table, panted.
“Chenise,” said Milo.
Ballitser flopped his neck hard enough to sprain it. He raised his free hand prayerfully. Nothing aggressive in the gesture.
Milo came closer. “Tell me, son.”
Tears spurted from the boy's eyes.
“It's okay, tell me, son.”
Darrell's stick-body shook.
“What'd he do, son?”
Darrell shot a hand into the air. Waved it. His eyes danced wildly.
“He fucking spayed my lady!”
23
Twenty minutes later, after conferring with his client, Kasanjian came out smiling. “Well, there's my extenuating circumstance.”
Angela Boatwright was coming back from the squad room with a cup of coffee.
“Hey, Angie,” he told her, “thanks for the referral. I especially liked walking out on my date.”
“Always glad to help.”
They shot smile-arrows at each other.
Milo said, “Where's Chenise?”
“Down the hall.”
“Any sign of her mother?”
“Not yet,” said Boatwright, “and still no answer at home.”
I said, “If her mother had something to do with the operation she could be scared for her own safety.”
“What operation?” said Boatwright. “What's going on?”
“Your doctor hero's into involuntary sterilization,” said Kasanjian.
“What?”
“Seven months ago, Dr. Cruvic aborted a child Ms. Chenise Farney was carrying. My client's child. But my client had no prior knowledge of the procedure, nor was he consulted, despite the fact that Ms. Farney is a minor, leaving my client as the sole adult parent.”
“Adult? You've got to be kidding,” said Boatwright.
“To make matters worse,” said Kasanjian, “Dr. Cruvic wasn't satisfied with a termination: He sterilized the girl without telling her. Tied her tubes. A minor, no valid consent. And guess what, folks: Mr. Ballitser has informed me that Dr. Devane counseled Chenise but never told her she was going to be sterilized. So there was obviously a conspiracy. Meaning your hero is no Boy Scout and his unprofessional conduct is obviously a significant factor in what occurred tonight. Now, in terms of your even assuming Mr. Ballitser had anything to do with Dr. Devane's murder, I must insist that you present evidence immediately or relea-”
Milo cut him off with a wave and turned to Boatwright. “Let's talk to the girl.”
“Yes, let's,” said Kasanjian.
“Sorry,” said Milo. “Just us cop folk.”
Kasanjian's mouth worked. He buttoned his suit jacket. “Detective, if she's a potential-”
“Not tonight, Len,” said Boatwright, pushing hair out of her face. It sounded like something she'd said before.
She cocked a hip and clicked her tongue. The attorney gripped his briefcase. “Have it your way, police-people. But if you choose to indict Ballitser, even for a rinky-dink misdemeanor like attempted battery, we'll get to her soon enough.”
As he left, Boatwright said, “You're actually staying with the case?”
“Why not?”
Boatwright shrugged. “Nice to see you finally commit.”
After ten minutes with Chenise, Milo was saying, “I'm still not sure, hon. Did you know what Dr. Cruvic was going to do or not?”
The girl shook her head miserably. She wore tight black jeans, a lacy red midriff blouse, heavy bubble-toed black boots with red soles, a red bandanna for a belt. Her makeup was thick and chalky, just like the time I'd seen her in the waiting room, but the pink highlights in her hair had been replaced by a broad black streak down the middle that turned her coif into a photo-negative skunk. A dazed look, none of the coquettishness I'd seen in the clinic waiting room. She'd spent most of the time weeping, limiting her speech to mumbles and two-word sentences.
“Did Darrell know?” said Milo.
That raised her head. “Where's Darrell?”
“On his way to jail, Chenise. He's in big trouble.”
Her lip trembled and she scratched her arm.
Milo was sitting next to her, hovering, one hand on the back of her chair, the other flat on the table. He shifted slightly closer, she angled away from him.
“Chenise,” he said softly. “I'm not saying you're in trouble. Just Darrell. So far.”
No reaction.
“Maybe you can help us. Maybe you can help Darrell.”
More weeping.
Angela Boatwright walked over and touched the girl's knobby shoulder. “Can I get you something, honey?”
Chenise's mouth dropped open as she considered the offer. Her peg teeth were caramel-colored, her lips chapped and cracked at the edges.
One short thumb scratched her cheek, then the black stripe, then the arm again.
“A snack, Chenise?” said Boatwright. “Or a drink?”
“Candy?” said the girl in a very small voice.
“Sure. What kind do you like?”
“Um… Mounds?”
“Okay, and if we don't have that, what's your second choice?”
“Um… krackel?”
“So some kind of chocolate, huh?” Boatwright smiled at her and the girl nodded. Another touch of Chenise's shoulder caused her to sink in her chair.
“Be right back, hon.”
When the door closed, Chenise leaned farther away from Milo. Her small size made him look huge. He glanced at me.
“So,” I said, “you and Darrell met in a class.”
Nod.
“Were you both in the class?”
“Uh-uh.”
“You weren't.”
Headshake.
“But you met there.”
“Yeah.”
“Where was Darrell?”
“Leaving.”
“Leaving the class?”
Nod.
“He finished the class?”
Nod. “Gradated.”
“He graduated but you were still in the class.”
Nod.
“Do you remember where the class was, Chenise?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where?”
“North Bower.”
“Is that a street?”
Headshake.
“School. In the back.”
“In the back of North Bower School,” I said. “What kind of class was it?”
That seemed to confuse her.
“What kinds of things did you learn in the class?”
“Change.”