“Because, unlike the known link between PCBs and cancer, there’s not a shred of scientific evidence to back up the autism-vaccination connection.” Laura looked over to the sofa, where Debba had subsided into sharp, deep breaths. “Autism can be so cruel to a family. I can’t blame parents for searching for something, anything, to explain how their perfectly normal one-year-old grows into a child trapped inside his own mind. It’s like the changelings in a fairy tale. You know, where the baby starts out healthy and is replaced by a sickly imposter? Except nowadays, instead of saying ‘Fairies stole my son,’ parents are crying that mercury-contaminated vaccines did the deed.” She shook her head, thumping her braid along her back. “If I thought that were true, I’d be breaking into warehouses to destroy any stockpiles myself.”

“But you don’t blame Debba for what she’s been doing.”

“I don’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s wrong. And she’s wasting her time fighting a war that doesn’t need to be won.” She squeezed Clare’s hand. “I’d better get back there. I know he sounded in fine fettle, but Al was really shaken up when she came at him like that.”

Clare lifted a hand in parting and turned back to the sofa. She shucked off her heavy parka and draped it over the back of one of a pair of orange plastic chairs appropriated from the waiting room. She dragged the chair over to Debba and plopped down, flashing a smile at Kevin Flynn, who was looking even younger than his twenty-one years this morning. Then she touched Debba’s hands, twisting together beneath the steel shine of the handcuffs.

“Debba, tell me about your kids.” The woman looked up. “How old are they? What are their names?”

“Um, I have two. Skylar, he’s my son, he’s six. And Whitley’s my little girl. She’s three and a half.”

“Where are they right now?”

“At my mother’s house. We all live there. I moved in a few years ago when Jeremy left us.” Debba drew a deep breath. “We’ve never had any problems before. He made his support payments, he got his visits with Whitley, and other than that he left us alone.”

“No visits with Skylar?”

Debba shook her head. “No. Jeremy couldn’t handle being a father to an autistic kid. He divorced me when Whitley was a baby. He was dead sure that she’d turn out to be like her brother.”

“That’s terrible!” Kevin Flynn’s outburst made both women look over at him. He reddened. “I mean, a guy turning his back on his handicapped kid and his baby.”

Debba nodded. “Your preaching to the choir here.”

“So why is he suddenly set on taking full custody of both the children?” Clare asked.

Debba clenched her fists. The handcuffs clicked. “He always wanted to institutionalize Skylar. After it was obvious that Whitley was… normal, he used to bring it up every now and again. Said it would give me more time for her. The implication being, of course, that time spent on Skylar was wasted. But he never said anything about taking her himself.” She pulled her arms apart, watching as the handcuffs dug into her flesh.

Clare laid her hands over Debba’s. “Stop it. Hurting yourself isn’t going to help your kids, any more than hurting Dr. Rouse will.”

“I just don’t know how I’m going to fight him. It’s not like I’ve got the money to hire a decent attorney. Or any attorney. God. My mom said I ought to give up my art and get a real job.”

Clare’s mouth quirked up in a one-sided smile. “My mom said I ought to give up flying helicopters and get a real job. Then I became a priest. Now she wishes I had the army job back.”

Debba smiled a ghostly version of the smile Clare had seen on her last Thursday.

Clare interlaced her fingers and pressed her hands against her chin. “I know a good lawyer who could help you. She works part time from her home.”

“You don’t understand. When I say I don’t have the money, I mean I don’t have any money. At least if I’m charged with assault, the state will get me a lawyer for free.”

Kevin Flynn nodded. “That’s right.”

“I think she’ll waive her usual fee. She owes me a favor.”

“What did you do? Forgive her all her sins?”

Clare thought of Karen Burns’s face as she held Cody after the month-old baby had been rescued from drowning. “I helped her when she and her husband were trying to adopt their baby boy. If you’ll let me, I’ll set up a meeting.”

There was a knock on the door, and Russ entered. He reached behind his back and unsnapped the handcuff key from his belt. “Deborah Clow,” he said, kneeling down to unlock her, “you’re free to go.”

“What?” Kevin and Debba spoke at the same time.

“You talked to Dr. Rouse,” Clare said. She tried not to sound like a teacher whose protégé has done something terribly clever.

“I talked to Dr. Rouse,” he agreed.

“And he’s not pressing any charges? I threatened to kill him, for God’s sake. I nearly smashed up his examination room.”

Russ put a hand on his knee and levered himself up. “I’m glad to hear you can appreciate the seriousness of what you did today.” He hitched his thumbs in his gun belt. “Dr. Rouse has been extremely generous in not pressing charges. Seeing as how he’s willing to let the assault and criminal threatening go, I’m willing to take a pass on resisting arrest. But.” He stabbed toward Debba with one finger. “I’ve told Dr. Rouse that if he wants to swear out a restraining order against you I’ll support his motion before the judge.”

Debba was very still. Clare suspected she had never considered herself as the sort of woman another person needed a restraining order against.

“And restraining order or no, I don’t want to see you within two blocks of the clinic or anywhere near Dr. Rouse. In fact, if you so much as jaywalk in the next few months, I’ll haul you in and see if some jail time will help you to think before you act.” He hooked his thumbs in his pants pockets. “Are you going to be okay to drive yourself home? If you’re feeling too shaky, Officer Flynn here will be glad to give you a ride.”

“I… I…” Looking back and forth from Russ to Kevin to Clare, Debba started to cry again.

“Yeah, I thought so. Kevin, take this lady home, make sure she gets in safe, and come back to fetch me.”

“Yes sir.”

Clare grabbed her parka and made to follow Kevin and Debba out the ladies’ lounge door. Russ snagged her by the arm. “Reverend? A word?”

“Busted,” she said under her breath.

He crossed his arms. “Not that I don’t have the greatest respect for your people skills, but next time you see me talking a potentially dangerous person down, stay the hell out of it. Okay?”

“Debba Clow was not potentially dangerous.”

“Yes. She was. And you’re just going to have to yield to my more extensive experience on this.” He pulled his glasses off and rubbed them against his uniform shirt. “There’s a certain look. Don’t ask me to describe it. I just know it when I see it. Someone goes over the line and is willing-is going to do something scary.” He replaced his glasses. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Oh! Mrs. Marshall!” She whirled and banged through the door. Russ followed. “I completely forgot about her.” She rattled down the stairs. “Mrs. Marshall? Are you-”

“Here I am, dear.” The elderly woman came out of the office, still in her Republican cloth coat and velvet beret. “I didn’t know what was going on, but I thought I had best stay out of the way.”

Clare ignored Russ’s pointed look.

“Is everyone okay? There was a young woman crying as she left.”

“Everyone’s fine,” Russ answered. “There was a little excitement, but no one was hurt.”

“Mrs. Marshall, this is Chief Van Alstyne. Russ, this is Mrs. Henry Marshall, one of my vestry.”

Russ nodded. “I believe you’re on our drive-by list, Mrs. Marshall.”

“Yes, I am.” She looked at Clare. “The police department comes around to check up on us old ladies during the winter months.”