The Clinic

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.”

“Change?”

Nod.

“How to change?”

“Like from a dollar.”

“How to make change.”

Nod.

“And other stuff?” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Like what?”

Shrug.

“Washing up.” She touched behind one ear and a tin earring shaped like a lightning bolt swung back and forth. “Food.”

“Food,” I repeated.

Emphatic nod.

“Making food?”

“Buying healthy food.”

“Was the class called DLS?”

“Yeah!” Big smile.

“Daily Living Skills,” I said to Milo. State grant for educating the borderline retarded that had run out six months ago.

Chenise said, “Dare to live special. It's also that.”

She batted heavily mascaraed lashes, touched her hard, white tummy, pressed her knees together, then spread them slightly.

“So Darrell finished DLS,” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

“And you guys met at the school.”

Nod. “He got a job.” Pride.

“For Ready Messenger.”

“He had a room.”

“His own room?”

“Yeah.” She winked at me. Licked her lips. “Macipated.”

That took a moment to figure out. “Darrell was emancipated?”

Nod.

“Darrell was an emancipated minor?”

The full phrase went right by her.

“Emancipated,” I repeated.

Her eyes narrowed. “He hit on him.”

“Who did?”

“Lee. Her boyfriend.”

“His mother's boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“His mother's boyfriend hit on him?” I said, unsure if that meant beating or sexual abuse.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“With a belt.”

“So Darrell ran away and got emancipated.”

Nod.

“When?”

“I dunno.”

“Must have been a while ago because he's nineteen, now.”

She shrugged and licked her lips.

Boatwright came back with a krackel bar.

“Here you go, hon.”

The girl took the candy tentatively, unwrapped a corner, and nibbled at it. “Slow,” she said.

Boatwright said, “Pardon?”

“Eat slow, don't choke.”

“Good advice,” I said. “Did they teach you that at DLS?”

“Show up on time, napkins in lap… your smile is your…”- wrinkled brow-“is your… manner?”

“Banner?” I said.

“Yeah!”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Another wink.

“Like what?”

“Safe sex means life.”

That line recited in a deeper, authoritative voice.

She giggled.

“What is it, Chenise?”

Harder laughter. Saucy smile. The eyelashes worked overtime.

She rubbed the chocolate against her front teeth, turned them brown, licked it away.

“Safe… sex,” she said, unable to stop giggling.

“What does safe sex mean?” I said.

Giggle. “Skins. Darrell don't like 'em.” Rolling her eyes.

“No?”

“Bad, bad boy.” She wagged a finger. Giggled some more. Touched her belly.

“When did you first know you were pregnant?” I said.

She grew serious. Shrugged and nibbled.

I repeated the question.

“No period. Then my stomach puked.” Giggling. “Mom said, “Oh no, shit!' ”

Giggling.

“So she took you to Dr. Cruvic.”

Nod.

“Did she tell you why?”

Silence. Suddenly, she hung her head, touched her tummy again.

I leaned in, spoke very softly. “What did your mother tell you about Dr. Cruvic, Chenise?”

Silence.

“Did she tell you anything?”

Long, slow nod.

“What's that?”

“You know,” she said.

I smiled at her.

“Can you tell me, Chenise?”

“You know.”

“I really don't.”

Shrug. “Bortion.”

“She told you Dr. Cruvic would be doing an abortion.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you talk to Dr. Cruvic before the abortion?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Did you talk to someone else before the abortion?”

Nod.

“Who?”

“Her.”

“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.”

“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.

“She's like a magnet for it, since she's eleven the boys been sniffing around her. She walks that walk, winks an eye. All these years I been talking myself blue, trying to get her to see where that leads. She just smiles, sticks out her tit- her chest. Like, look what I've got, I'm a woman. So finally she went and proved she was.”

No one said anything.

“I love her, okay? Before she got her period she was a sweet kid! Now all I do is worry. About AIDS and stuff. Now there's one less thing to worry about.” Another laugh. “Maybe she should be in trouble with you guys. Maybe the best thing would be to lock her up. 'Cause I sure can't stop her from humping around. And who's gonna help me when she humps herself straight to AIDS?”

More silence.

“You think she can raise a kid? So I protected her the best way I knew how and she understood damn good- you know what she told me once? About men? We were sitting in the car, at a Wendy's or something, and she gives this smile and I know it's trouble. I say what, Chenise. And she says, I like when men sweat, Mom. I say, oh? Yeah, she says, like when they sweat between their legs. I nearly choked, she was only thirteen. Then she says, know why I like it, Mom? I say why, Chenise. And she takes a big deep breath, gives a great big smile, and says, I like it 'cause it tastes good.”