“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.”

“Doctors,” said Milo. “Meaning Dr. Cruvic and Dr. Devane?”

“Right.”

“Dr. Cruvic did the surgery. What was Dr. Devane's role?”

“To talk to her. Counseling. So she would understand! She's just saying that to get him off, that little bast-”

“Did Dr. Devane do anything more than talk to Chenise?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did she conduct a physical checkup?”

Hesitation. “No, why should she?”

“You're sure about that?”

“I- I wasn't in the room every second.”

“Who saw Chenise after the surgery?”

“I- probably Dr. Cruvic and his nurse. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It was at night. I work days. I picked her up later. She was throwing up, still groggy. Got my car all filthy.”

“Okay,” said Milo, sitting back. “So this was at the Women's Health Center in Santa Monica.”

“You bet.”

“Who referred you there?”

She shifted in her chair, pulled at an eyelash. “No one. Everyone knows what they do there.”

“Abortions and sterilizations?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Did Chenise know what they did?”

“You bet.”

“She says she didn't.”

“That's a crock. She has attention problems, half the time she's in another world.” A glance at me: “Attention disorder. On top of everything else. What's the big deal? Band-Aid sterilization. The next day she was walking around.”

“She said she had cramps,” said Boatwright.

“So? Is that some big deal? You don't get cramps every month? She had cramps and gas, she was… gassy all day. Thought it was funny. Let it out nice and loud. She had no problem with any of it til he got involved. Stupid punk. Like he's gonna be a father! Right! Telling her she'd been spayed. Idiot. She never even knew what the word meant! I tell you it was no big deal. Boom, boom. The gas is 'cause they fill you up with it, here,”- touching her own pubic region-“so they can see what's in there, then they go in through the belly button and boom, it's over. Like I said, she was walking around the next day.”

Angela Boatwright said, “Sounds like you know other women who've had it.”

Mary Farney stared at her, defensiveness giving way to pure anger. “So?”

Boatwright shrugged.

“Yeah,” said Farney. “I had it, too, okay? Dr. Cruvic said it was dangerous for me to have another kid, the way I'm built. Is that okay with you, miss? Do I have your permission?”

“Sure,” said Boatwright.

Mary Farney shook a hand at her. “What do you know? After Chenise was born and they finally figured out she wouldn't be normal, her father walked the hell out on me. You have any kids, miss?”

“No, ma'am.”

Farney's smile was smug. “Don't let her tell you she didn't know, 'cause she did. She signed consent. It's that little asshole, getting her high, convincing her they could be Mommy and Daddy. Like it was even his in the first place.”

“It wasn't?” said Milo.

“Who knows? That's the point. And even if it was his, so what? He can read at second-grade level. Maybe. He's gonna take care of her and a baby?”

“Can Chenise read?” I said.

“Some.”

“What's her level?”

Pause. “I haven't had her tested in a long while.”

“But she signed her name to the consent form,” said Milo.

“I told her what it was and she signed it.”

“Ah.”

Farney put her hands on her hips. “Do you have kids?”

He shook his head.

“No one has kids,” she said. “Must be I'm the only one crazy enough. What about you?”

“No,” I said.

She laughed. “Can I smoke?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a package of Virginia Slims from her purse and lit up.

“When's the last time Chenise's IQ was tested?” I said.

“Who knows? Probably in school.”

“Probably?”

“You think they tell me what they do? All they do is file paper, make files this thick.” Spreading her arms two feet wide.

“What was the last IQ score you got for her?” I said.

“What, you don't think she's smart enough to understand? Let me tell you something, I'm her mother and I say she can understand. When I give her five bucks for the mall and she asks for ten, she understands just fine. When she comes home late and makes excuses, she understands. When Darrell or some other punk says be ready at a certain time and she's there at the door, early, she understands. Okay? Only some things she don't understand. Okay?”

“Like what?” said Boatwright.

“Like how to clean her room. Like how to keep her pants on.”

Her laugh was brutal.