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 aspade !”
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?”
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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.
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“Yeah,” she repeated, almost snarling it. “A spade—like a dog! Pain and gas, puking. Farted allday !”
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?”
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“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, heis ! 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 slingingbull, 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 shewould understand! She’s just saying that to gethim off, that little bast—”
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“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 tilhe got involved. Stupidpunk. Like he’s gonna be afather !Right! Telling her she’d beenspayed. 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
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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 doyou 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.
“Whoknows ? That’s thepoint. 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. “Doyou 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
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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 hermother 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? Onlysome things she don’t understand. Okay?”
“Like what?” said Boatwright.
“Like how to clean her room. Like how to keep herpants 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 whatI’ve got, I’m a woman. So finally she went and proved she was.”
No one said anything.
“Ilove 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 sheshould be in trouble with you guys. Maybe the best thing wouldbe 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 theirlegs. I nearly choked, she was only thirteen. Then she says, knowwhy 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 ittastes good.”
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Shortly after 1:00A.M., Chenise was released to her mother’s morose custody. A sheriff’s van had come by to transport Darrell Ballitser to the county jail.
Milo and Boatwright and I watched a late replay of the eleven o’clock news in the Beverly Hills station. The antsy blond, reading copy with a smug smile.
Long-shot of Cruvic entering his Bentley. The spin: Beverly Hills doctor fends off attack by crazed skinhead, Darrell’s rage fueled by the “unauthorized sterilization of his girlfriend. Police are investigating a link between the attack and the unsolved murder of feminist psychologist Dr.
Hope Devane, reputed to have worked with Dr. Cruvic. Now for an update on that drive-by in East L.A.—”
Milo turned off the set. “Better get to work on that warrant before media leeches are camped out at Ballitser’s flop. Thanks, Angela.”
“Any time,” she said. “You see Ballitser for Devane?”
“He admits going after Cruvic but denies Devane.”
“Maybe ’cause Cruvic’s an attempted assault and Devane’s homicide. He does ride a bike.”
“Yeah. Let me check out the bike, his whole place, maybe I’ll be able to tell more. Thanks again.”
“No problem,” she said. “Apart from rich little assholes shotgunning their parents, we don’t get much excitement around here.”
Civic Center Drive was empty again, the steel garage door sealed tight. Milo looked tired but walked fast.
I said, “At the risk of being repetitive, what link could there be between Darrell and Mandy Wright?”
“Exactly. And on the IQ scale, Darrell makes Kenny Storm look like Einstein, so I’m not counting on this panning out. And something else, what I was telling you about Club None: A cocktail waitress who worked there also got killed. Four days before Mandy was killed in Vegas.”
“Stabbed the same way?”
“No, strangled. In the alley, four in the morning, after closing. Girl named Kathy DiNapoli.
Left behind the dumpster, legs spread, blouse ripped, panties down. But no sexual entry. Maybe it was a sex thing and the guy got interrupted or couldn’t get it up. Or maybe someone was trying to make itlook like a sex thing. I know the M.O.’s different and that part of Sunset has its share of crime. But four days? Bartender couldn’t say if Kathy served Mandy, but she was on
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shift when he thinks he saw Mandy.”
“So Kathy could have been eliminated because she saw Mandy with someone. But then, the fact that she was murdered first means the killer knew what he was going to do well before.”
“Exactly,” he said. “A planner.”
“Not Darrell.”
He laughed. “The club’s definitely not Darrell’s venue. We’re talking studs and studettes, lots of hair and teeth. On the other hand, with what I’ve got so far I’d be laughed out of the D.A.’s office trying to make a case for DiNapoli as part of the package. And we do have motive on the little schmuck, plus he threatened Cruvic with a knife.”
“Same kind of knife used on Hope and Mandy?”
“It looked about the right size—buck with a nice sharp edge—but there are lots of those, we’ll see what the wound-worms have to say. Hopefully the boys from Central Division got to Darrell’s fleabag and secured it. Maybe something’ll come up there.”
“Still want me to go to Higginsville?” I said.
“Sure, why not? ’Cause this sterilization thing’s another one of those little boxes, and I’d like to know why Hope was Ms. Control Your Own Body in public but willing to serve as Cruvic’s sterilization buddy. What do you think,did Chenise know what they were doing to her?”