OUTSIDE, RATH WEDGED a pinch of dip in his lip. “Think he’s telling the truth?”
“At first, when he denied the girl was at his office, no. After. I got no read that he was lying.”
“Me either. Let’s see what’s doing at Family Matters.”
At the corner, they stood waiting for the light to change, so they could cross.
“I hate these abortion factories,” Grout grumbled with a bitterness that took Rath aback.
“I didn’t know you were political,” Rath said.
“Screw politics.”
“Religious?”
“God, no.”
Rath pressed the button on the light post beside him that was meant to speed the changing of the signal but never did. The light finally changed.
They crossed and walked in silence toward the next intersection, across from which was the Family Matters. At the corner, a small gang of picketers paced up ahead, directly across from the Family Matters building. There were eight picketers in all. Five were middle-aged, overweight women with tragic faces, each wearing a crucifix necklace. They paced in a drudging circle, picket signs hefted overhead as they babbled some incoherent prayer. Two more picketers were men in their forties. The last picketer was a girl of perhaps eight years old. She hefted a sign that read: THANK GOD MY MOTHER DIDN’T MURDER ME.
As Rath and Grout approached, the picketers parted peaceably.
Inside the Family Matter’s reception area, several girls sat awaiting appointments. They each looked up at Rath and Grout with uneasy eyes.
A woman with the cropped pewter hair, wire eyeglasses, and smock of a high-school art teacher bustled anxiously over to them.
Two men in such a setting, Rath thought. Was it cause for alarm? Maybe.
The woman was about to speak when Grout showed his badge. “We phoned.”
“Yes,” the woman said, glancing about the room of women apologetically. “This way, please.” She hurried them down a narrow hallway with the waddle of a penguin.
The room was a hothouse nursery. The spider plants dangling over the sides of suspended pots, rows of African violets on the windowsill behind a metal desk, and two stupendous rubber trees in the back corners overwhelmed the small, overly warm office. The room smelled of dank potting soil and lush plant life. Bookshelves constructed of cinder blocks and two-by-ten planks took up one wall. Even the shelves were given primarily to more plants. On the desk sat framed photos of the woman and what were apparently her children and grandchildren.
“I’m June,” the woman said, and sat, the leaf of a spider plant dangling unnoticed in her face. She offered a smile Rath sensed she’d given a million times. A reassuring smile: I know this is hard, but it will be all right. With time. She did not ask Rath or Grout to sit, but they sat anyway.
Grout took the subpoena out from his jacket pocket and set it on the desk.
“What’s that?” June said, a lilt of surprise in her voice.
“A subpoena,” Grout said.
“I wouldn’t really know if it was real or not. But, one has to trust in others.”
Rath thought June sounded more spiritual than the religious picketers outside.
“This is about Mandy Wilks,” Grout said. “She visited you Tuesday, October fourth.”
“I have her file.” June placed a finger with an unpolished nail rimed with a faint edge of dirt, potting soil likely, on a manila folder. “And on the computer, of course.”
“Why did she visit here?” Grout asked.
June took a drink from a Nalgene bottle. “I’m sorry. I should have offered you something to drink.”
Grout waved her off. “Why did she come here?”
“For Ortho Tri-Cyclen.”
Rath and Grout exchanged looks of confusion.
“The pill,” June clarified.
“How long was she on it?” Rath said.
“Is that relevant?” June said.
“We only ask relevant questions,” Grout said.
“Since August eleventh. Not long.”
“But she could still get pregnant?” Grout said.
“Only abstinence, a vasectomy, or tubal ligation works one hundred percent.”
“Was she pregnant?” Rath asked. June’s blink rate increased. Just for an instant.
“I—”
Rath sat up straight. If Mandy were pregnant, it would be a link to Julia, a commonality at least.
“Was she?” Grout said.
“It’s hard to say exactly. I think—”
Why was she hesitating? Rath wondered.
“Not to be callous,” Grout said, impatiently. “But either she was or she wasn’t.”
“The fact is,” June said, “I don’t know. I know she wanted to see me badly that day, and I had a strong suspicion it was because she was pregnant or thought she was and wanted to find out for certain.”
“There are home tests for that,” Grout said brusquely. “My wife used them. Why would Mandy need you?”
“Those tests sometimes give false positives. And some girls, especially if they have no strong figures in their lives and are afraid of the baby’s father for some reason, they don’t like to find out at home, alone. They want someone they can trust to be there.”
“Right,” Grout said. “So, you suspect she came here that day because she was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“And if she was, she’d want to get rid of the baby?” Grout cracked.
“Help,” June corrected. “She’d want help. Options.”
“Mmm,” Grout said, chewing the inside of his cheek.
Rath noted that June’s temple pulsed rapidly. The faint down on her upper lip glistened with perspiration. “Contrary to what some people think, we’re not some on-demand, drive-thru abortion mill. The notion that girls just stroll in and get abortions like they’re getting their hair done, then stroll out to go party is a manifest lie and a gross under-estimation of the toll it takes and the other services we provide.”
“Right,” Grout said.
Rath wanted to backhand Grout. Instead, he stretched a leg out to calm the spasm in his back. He was starving, spent. Had not slept well, if at all, in days. His head swam with murderous thoughts of Preacher.
“Can you tell us about her general demeanor, the time before last, when she came in for the pill?” Grout asked.
“She seemed very nervous.”
“Is that common?”
“Nervousness is. But this was something more. She seemed more nervous than most. Almost panicked. Or as if she was being pressured to go on the pill.”
“Who would pressure her?” Grout said.
“I don’t even know if that is what it was—”
“Who? Just going on that assumption. A boyfriend?”
June nodded.
“Speak for the tape recorder,” Grout said.
“A boyfriend is the most obvious. Perhaps an older boyfriend.”
“A man?” Grout said.
“Could be a man. Often older men pressure a girl to get protection, and—”
“And you take exception to that?” Grout said.
June’s throat flushed pink. “It’s not my place either way, as a professional.”
“What about as a person?” Grout said. “You’d prefer a girl not be pressured to use the pill, to be responsible. Then when she ends up in a fix, the same guy that might have pressured her to get contraception has no say if—”
“I prefer protection,” June snapped.
“So,” Rath said. “If you could explain for me. The last time she came. If she came in because she was pregnant or to find out if she was pregnant, how come you don’t know if she was or not?”
“I never ended up seeing her.”
Grout folded his arms across his chest, his entire posture closed off to the interview now. It was an alarming transformation that unsettled and embarrassed Rath.
“And why is that?” Rath said, taking over the interview.
June glanced out the window that overlooked a bench on the sidewalk. “The last time I saw her, she was sitting on that bench. She preferred to wait outside. I don’t know if she just liked the fresh air or if being around the other girls inside made her uncomfortable. I can’t imagine how they could make her any more uncomfortable than those wretched protestors.”
“Did you ever see any of the protestors invade her personal space?” Rath said.
“No more than they do anyone else.”
“Did you ever see her with anyone, a man or boyfriend, anyone at all who she looked uncomfortable around, or fearful of?”
“No one.”
“So, she was just sitting out there alone on that bench?” Rath said.
“Yes. Well. No. There was an older woman sitting on the bench, too.”
“How old?”
“Hard to say. But rather frail. I’d see her out there once in a while. Feeding the birds.”
“Did she speak to Mandy?”
“Not that I saw. She was at one end of the bench, and Mandy was at the other. But Mandy, she had this look on her face. She was just staring into space, and she looked so stricken. Aggrieved. I wanted to go out there and tell her I would just be a little while longer. But I got tied up in a meeting. I actually set aside protocol and left the meeting and went out there to speak to her.” June cleared her throat. “I got stopped on my way out, a nurse with a pressing question. By the time I got out there, Mandy was gone.”
OUTSIDE, RATH GRABBED Grout by the shoulder and spun him around. “What was that?” he demanded.
Grout looked fiercely at Rath’s hand on his shoulder, shrugged it off. “Nothing.”
“You lost professionalism in there.”
“Who are you to tell me about professionalism?” Grout started away.
Rath grasped his elbow.
Grout wheeled around, backing Rath against a storefront. His eyes wide, daring. He was ten years younger than Rath and forty pounds heavier. His pupils were pinpricks. “You’re not a cop. So don’t lecture me about professionalism.”
He turned and started away again, and Rath let him.
The protestors were gone now, the sidewalk barren. Rath wondered what had set Grout off. Something had happened. That much was clear. Something ugly.