"Shut up," Lawrence snapped.
"See you in court," Johnson said with a grin.
After a pause, Lawrence spoke in a quiet, steady tone. "All right. Dr. Fletcher, you may remain on staff under strict su-pervision and with the stipulation that you desist from any fur-ther medical experimentation. Agreed?"
Fletcher nodded eagerly. "I agree. As long as neither I nor Nurse Dyer are required to perform or assist in any abortions."
"Oh, you can rest assured on that point."
"Then," Johnson said, "in the interest of avoiding any unto-ward publicity until the grand jury convenes, how about show-ing us the back door?"
X
Valerie switched on the bedroom TV with the remote. The lunchtime news appeared with an image of anchorwoman Sally Lin, who spoke while a piece of artwork hovered over her left shoulder, depicting a fetus and the words Abortion Scandal? at an angle in red.
"-still unclear," the anchor said. "The doctor, Evelyn Fletcher, is head of the medical center's fertility program. She also apparently ran the center's family-planning clinic and performed abortions, thus giving her access to live fetuses. Hospital officials have no comment as yet, but sources reveal that the purportedly clandestine experiment came to light when the baby, delivered by alleged surrogate mother Karen Chandler of Torrance, fell ill and required blood from the al-leged real mother, Valerie Dalton of Palos Verdes Estates."
Valerie felt as if a charging bull had gored her. Her stomach tightened, her breath caught in her chest, her heart pounded as if she were being truncheoned every half second. The anchorwoman continued, unaware of the effect she was hav-ing on a member of her audience.
"There is no word on how many operations of this nature may allegedly have been performed, but we'll keep you in-formed on this bizarre story as it unfolds."
The scene switched to the other anchor, Jerry Thompson, a middle-aged man with grey at the temples. "Now you said `sur-rogate,' Sally, but this was actually a mother who wanted to have a child, correct?"
"That's right, Jerry. This seems to be different from surro-gate mothering in that the woman who wants to keep the child gives birth to it. I think the term they used was `recipient' mother. But in both cases the real mother gives up the child. The term we heard used was transoption, though our medical expert, Dr. Joseph Schulman, says he's never heard the word before."
Thompson gave Lin a concerned and probing look. "And no word as to why this recipient mother quietly went along with what she must have known was an illegal procedure?"
"No word yet. She presumably wanted a child in the worst way." Thompson nodded. "And that's how she seems to have got-ten it. Shocking story coming out of Harbor City. Something we'll follow up on tonight at six. Thanks, Sally." He turned to face the camera.
"And a shocking loss for the Raiders in Den-ver, as Mauricio Sanchez tells us when we return with sports after these-"
The phone rang. Valerie switched off the TV and picked up the cordless hand unit an instant before the answering ma-chine could intercept the call.
"Val!" Ron's voice was distant but alarmed. "Are you all right?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm calling from the car. I'm at PCH and Beryl. I'll be home soon. I heard your name on the radio. Is everything all right?"
"I'm okay. Just hurry home."
"Fifteen minutes," he said. "I'll cut it to ten."
"Drive safely. I don't-"
Someone pounded on their front door. She walked over to look out the beveled-glass rectangle set in the center.
A man with a microphone gestured at her. Another man hefted a video camera on his shoulder. Behind them, a van pulled to a stop, its tires screeching and thumping to a halt.
"Ms. Dalton, could you step out here to comment-"
"Oh, God, Ron. They're showing up here!"
"Don't let them in!" shouted the tinny voice. Somewhere in the static she heard the whine of the BMW's turbine. "I'm com-ing!"
She watched as more gangs of reporters, cameramen, and sound engineers trooped onto her front lawn. Curious neigh-bors gathered at the fringes. So much for Palos Verdes people not prying. Her stomach tightened and began to heave. She controlled the urge but ran to the bathroom anyway, slamming the door.
It was quiet in the bathroom. The knocking on the front door was almost imperceptible. She turned on the faucet in the sink to drown out the last of it. She sat, numbed, waiting for Ron to return. " Ron hit the left turn from Palos Verdes Drive to Via Zumaya at nearly full speed, ignoring the oncoming northbound cars a few yards ahead. He punched the BMW to full power across the two lanes of traffic and slammed onto Via Zumaya at fifty miles per hour. He took his foot off the gas and downshifted for the turn onto Via Carrillo.
And nearly collided with the knot of vehicles jamming the tree-lined street. Brakes squealed in protest, but the antilock system prevented a skid. Even so, he bumped into a station wagon bearing the call letters of the radio station to which he had been listening.
He didn't give a damn.
He slammed the door and ran to the cluster of a dozen and more Pecksniffs loitering on his doorstep.
"Move it!" he shouted in his deepest, most authoritarian courtroom bass. "Get your asses to the property line or be ar-rested for trespassing. Now!"
The reporters surrounded him, hollering their questions and shoving for position. Awash in a Sargasso of journalists, Czernek pushed toward the door while fumbling for his keys.
"I said no comment. When we're ready to talk, you'll know it. Get off the lawn and find some carrion to circle around."
He unlocked the door, entered, and slammed it forcefully shut. "Val!" He heard the water in the bathroom and ran toward it. "Honey!" he shouted. She sat on the small French seat in front of her vanity, gaz-ing in the mirror. He knelt down to wrap her in his powerful arms. His hand stroked her soft hair, his voice even softer.
"I'm here now, babe. Everything's all right. I know just what to do. Give me a couple of hours at the word processor. I have to get something stamped at court before it closes." He released her almost as quickly as he had embraced her. Seconds later, he sat in their office. Valerie heard the whine and chunk of the computer and knew that she would sit alone once more until he was finished. She gazed at her image in the vanity mirror. Her eyes, she noted, looked older, wearier, less alive than they ever had before. In a robotic daze, she brushed at her hair only to see that the polish on her long nails had grown dull and chipped over the course of the day. She laid down the brush. To the sounds of running water and Ron's feverish typing, she sat staring at the woman in the look-ing glass. " Evelyn, alone, took a long, meditative lunch at CoCo's after the interrogation, mulling over the conversation she and Johnson had engaged in during the rush to her car.
"I saw you on TV," he said, riding down the service elevator with her. "I didn't know whether you already had an attorney, but I knew I had to give it a try. And I'd like to represent the Chandler's, too, if you and they won't see any conflict of inter-est there."
"Are you a specialist in reproductive law?" She was fighting for her professional life, she thought, and here was a kid offer-ing his services.
"I will be by the time we go to trial." The elevator doors parted. "There's really nothing to being a lawyer except the ability to apply clear logic to muddled legislation. Add a good head for research and rhetorical skills and you've got a win-ning lawyer."
"You need one more thing."
"What's that?" he asked.