Deaths of Jocasta (29 page)

“D.A.’s office, Danielle Clayton speaking,” she answered.

“They’ve arrested Cordelia,” I stated without preamble.

“What?” she exclaimed. Then added the obligatory “Shit.”

I filled her in on the details, the discovery of the latest body. Danny told me she’d make some phone calls and let me know what she found out. We hung up without bothering to say good-bye. It didn’t seem important.

Elly knocked and entered, followed by Bernie and a woman introduced as Jane Bowen, one of the two part-time doctors at the clinic.

“What’s going on?” Elly asked.

I told them. “Someone needs to say ‘shit,’” I finished.

“This is shit,” Bowen supplied. “I’ll take any you can’t cancel,” she said to Bernie. “Who’s on for tomorrow morning? Aaron or Cordelia? I’d prefer not to take it, but I will, if he can’t,” she added.

“God, my mind’s gone blank,” Bernie fumbled.

“I think it’s Dr. Goldstein,” Elly said. “Someone should call him in any event.”

“I’ll call,” Bernie recovered.

“Transfer him to me when you’re done. We’ll work out something,” Bowen instructed. “Boy, do I want a cigarette. Too bad I gave up smoking,” she said as she exited.

“To the telephone,” Bernie followed her down the hallway.

“I’ve called Danny,” I told Elly.

“Good,” she nodded.

“And Cordelia’s lawyer.”

“Better.”

“And I’m about to call Joanne.”

She nodded, then said, “This is troubling. Someone killed all these women.”

“Not Cordelia,” I interjected.

“I know. But whoever did it has gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like she did. Tell me if Danny or Joanne find out anything,” she added as she slipped out the door.

I called Joanne. She didn’t say “shit.”

“Oh, fuck” was her expletive of choice. Then, “I’ll get back to you.”

“Joanne…” I stopped her. “I ran into Alex.”

“I know. She called earlier.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll talk to you later. Okay?”

I heard voices and a general hubbub in the background. Joanne sounded busy.

“Okay. Bye.” We hung up.

Then I sat. And waited. And hated it.

Nurse Peterson shyly stuck her head into the doorway.

“Miss Knight?” she said.

“Yes?” I motioned her in.

“Has Dr. James really been arrested?”

“Yes, she has.”

“So, she did kill those poor young women,” she said in a soft undertone.

“No, she didn’t,” I countered. “Being arrested and being guilty aren’t the same thing.”

“Oh.” Nurse Peterson blushed at my outburst. Then she said, “Do you think God is punishing those women for having abortions?”

I looked at her, trying to guess if her question was on the level. And what level that might be. “I think those women were murdered. By another person. Not God.”

“But do you think,” she said, troubled, “that abortion is wrong?”

“I think abortion is very complicated. Too complex for me to make the decision for anyone other than myself.”

“Have you ever…aborted a child?”

“Me?” I said, taken aback at the question. “No, of course not,” I replied.

“So you personally disagree?” she asked, seeking, it seemed, validation.

“It’s never come up. That’s one of the advantages of being a lesbian.”

“You’re…oh,” she said, blushing again.

Evidently my sexuality was news to her. I suddenly wondered what had made her so nervous when I first questioned her, if it wasn’t my lesbianism.

“But,” I continued, “if I were raped and impregnated, I would probably have an abortion.” I would most emphatically have an abortion, but I didn’t see the need to rub her face in it.

“I’m trying to sort out some things for myself,” she said. “I…Do you think it was God’s intention that those women were to die? A punishment they deserved?”

“Why would He bother?”

“What do you mean?”

“Those who sin spend an eternity in hell, right?” She nodded. “How long is eternity?” I asked.

“How… One can’t know that,” she replied. “Forever.”

“And the average human life span? Seventy or so years?”

“About that, yes.”

“With an eternity in which to punish us, why does God need to bother with the few years we have here? Since death is inevitable, how much of a punishment can it be? If confession and repentance are really possible, why take that away to give a punishment that is inevitable? To send the guilty to hell fifty years early? What’s fifty years to eternity?”

Nurse Peterson didn’t immediately reply. She sat slowly down.

“That is something to think about,” she finally replied. “It is sad that they died, then, is it not?”

“Yes, it’s sad. And nothing, no matter what their supposed sin, that they could have deserved.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve always been taught that abortion is wrong. Murder. How do you justify it? For yourself?”

Again I got the feeling that she really wanted to know, that she was searching for an answer. “There are many kinds of murder. Dreams and hopes can be killed, too. To lose the chance to live the life you want is, to me, a walking murder. Which can you live with? I can’t choose for another person.”

“I’m sorry, I’m taking up a lot of your time,” she said. “You must have better things to do than answer my questions.”

“No, I’m just sitting here waiting for the phone to ring. Besides, I don’t think I’m answering your questions. I’m only giving you my answers.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Then she paused. I thought she was going to get up and leave, but she didn’t. She looked at me, took a deep breath, and said, “My sister, my younger sister…had an abortion. She asked me to go with her…I refused.” She stopped and fumbled with a Kleenex.

I was hearing a confession, I realized.

“I told her if she did that I never wanted to speak to her again. I was very angry at her. I got what I wanted. I never spoke to her again.”

“She died?”

“Yes, two weeks later. A car accident… I wonder which of us is the worse sinner.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You would have spoken to her if you’d had time.”

“I hope you’re right. She was…so young, only eighteen. I can’t bear to think of her going to hell for…” She trailed off, unable to finish.

“She didn’t go to hell,” I stated. I pulled a few tissues out of a box on the desk and handed them to her.

“Thank you…thank you for saying that,” she said.

“A truly omnipotent God could not be so cruel,” I added.

“Do you believe in God?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I don’t mean that lightly. I don’t know. I can’t know, really know, until I die. I leave it at that.”

“You have…thank you for talking to me. Most people, like you, who believe as you do, don’t talk to me about this.”

“The reverse is also true. I’m very surprised you wanted to hear what I had to say. And that you trusted me enough to tell me about your sister.”

“Sometimes a stranger is best,” she replied, standing up to go. “I wanted to hear someone who would not automatically condemn her for what she did.”

She slipped out of the door and walked softly down the hallway.

I sat, trying to read Dante, and waited for the phone to ring.

After a while Elly poked her head in the door. “Patients are all gone,” she said.

“Danny hasn’t called.”

“I know. I’m going home. You should, too. Cordelia has a very good lawyer.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I answered tiredly, putting Dante away.

“I’ll see you sometime soon,” she said.

“Bye, Elly,” I answered.

She waved and disappeared down the hallway.

Joanne or Danny could call me at home as well as here. I turned out the light, wondering if there was anything else I needed to do to close Cordelia’s office.

Only Bernie was still out front. She was shuffling paper around in a desultory manner. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

“Micky?” she asked, but no question followed.

“Time to go home, Bern,” I told her.

“But…what’ll happen to Cordelia?”

“She’s innocent,” I replied.

“But innocent people have gone to jail before. And the chair.”

“Not rich, white, well-connected people like Cordelia,” I reassured her, hoping I was telling the truth.

“Yeah…I guess,” she answered.

“Come on, time to get out of here. Cordelia will be okay.”

“All right. You’re right,” she said.

I waited while Bernie turned off the lights and locked up. It was after six.

Bernie and I walked out to the parking lot, leaving the clinic silent and deserted. The rest of the building was busy—a senior citizen group, a youth group, some indeterminate group.

“Good night, Micky,” Bernie said. Then she very shyly and awkwardly hugged me. She quickly turned and got into her car, but I still caught the hint of a blush.

“Night, Bern,” I called as she fumbled with her keys, then I headed for my car.

All I need is for Bernie to get a crush on me, I thought. But I caught myself smiling in the rearview mirror. She was cute. And I was flattered.

God, what a day, I thought as I pulled out onto the street. And it’s not over yet.

I had hoped to arrive home and find my answering machine lit and blinking like the Fourth of July. But, no, it stared silently at me. I was even glad of Hepplewhite’s meows; anything to break the expectant silence of my apartment. I turned on the air conditioner, hoping it would cool my room by bedtime.

I thought about reading, but knew I didn’t have the concentration for it. Then I remembered a phone call I’d promised Cordelia I’d make. I dialed Alex’s number.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hi, Alex, this is Micky. Cordelia asked me to ask you to feed her cat.”

“Why can’t C.J. feed her own cat?”

“Oops,” ran through my head. I had assumed that Joanne had already talked to Alex. “You don’t know?” I asked, rather stupidly.

“Know what?” Alex replied, a worried note creeping into her voice.

“Shit, I was sure you would have talked to Joanne by now,” I said.

“Micky, what happened? Who’s hurt?”

“No one. Cordelia’s been arrested,” I said flatly.

“Oh,” was all Alex said. Then a silence.

“Alex? Are you there?”

“Oh…yeah. Yeah. This is…not what I expected,” Alex finished hesitantly. “I’ll feed her cat. That’s no problem… God, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say ‘shit,’ Alex, everyone else has. Except Joanne. She said ‘fuck.’ Take your pick.”

“Shit, piss, and corruption. Fuck me. There, now I feel better. Oh, shit…poor Cordelia.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, look at the bright side. Maybe she’ll meet some nice girl in jail.”

“Alex,” I threatened.

“Not very bright, admittedly,” Alex replied, then in a more serious vein, “Is there anything I can do? Other than cat duty?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve been trying for hours to think of something.”

“Okay,” she said. “Oh…Micky? You haven’t heard from Joanne, have you? I mean, I know, we’re supposed to be insanely jealous of each other, but I’ve never let insanity stop me before. We were going to meet for dinner, but she called it off.”

I told Alex about my phone call to Joanne.

“Yeah, she just left an odd message on my machine,” Alex said when I finished. “Here, listen to it and tell me what you think.”

I heard Alex rewind her answering machine, then a click and Joanne’s voice saying, “I can’t make dinner. I just can’t. I’ll talk to you…sometime.” That was it.

“I don’t know,” I told her when the message finished playing. Joanne had sounded angry, distant perhaps, but it was hard to tell from a tape over the phone.

“I don’t either, but if you should hear from her…”

“I’ll let you know.”

“And Micky? If she comes over? It’s okay. Just let me know she’s all right.”

“I will.”

“Thanks.”

I wondered what the hell Joanne and Danny were doing. And why they weren’t calling me.

Around ten thirty the phone finally rang. Danny.

“Involuntary manslaughter. She made bail and is now asleep in our extra bedroom. And I’m exhausted. If you have any questions, read tomorrow’s papers.”

“I will. Good night, Danno.”

“Okay. One question. But that’s all.”

“Is she okay?”

“Okay?” Danny said, her voice rising. “Okay? Ignatious ‘Law and Order’ Holloway’s granddaughter is arrested for manslaughter. The news media is having a field day with it. She’s exhausted. Even if she’s found innocent—”