A Case of Need: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

must know.”
    “I don’t,” he said, resuming his pacing. “I can’t even begin to guess.”
    I watched him for a moment, wondering when to ask the question, knowing that I would have to, sooner or later. He noticed I was staring.
    “No,” he said.
    “No what?”
    “No, I didn’t do it. And stop looking at me that way.” He sat down again and drummed his fingers on the bunk. “Christ, I wish I had a drink.”
    “You’d better forget that,” I said.
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake—”
    “You only drink socially,” I said, “and in moderation.”
    “Am I on trial for my character and personal habits, or for—”
    “You’re not on trial at all,” I said, “and you don’t want to be.”
    He snorted.
    “Tell me about Karen’s visit,” I said.
    “There’s nothing much to tell. She came asking for an abortion, but I wouldn’t do it because she was four months’ pregnant. I explained to her why I couldn’t do it, that she was too far along, and that an abortion would now require abdominal section.”
    “And she accepted that?”
    “She seemed to.”
    “What did you put in your records?”
    “Nothing. I didn’t open a file on her.”
    I sighed. “That,” I said, “could be bad. Why didn’t you?”
    “Because she wasn’t coming to me for treatment, she wasn’t becoming my patient. I knew I’d never see her again, so I didn’t open a file.”
    “How are you going to explain that to the police?”
    “Look,” he said, “if I’d known that she was going to get me arrested, I might have done lots of things differently.”
    I lit a cigarette and leaned back, feeling the cold stone against my neck. I could already see that it was a messy situation. And the small details, innocent in another context, could now assume great weight and importance.
    “Who referred her to you?”
    “Karen? I assumed Peter.”
    “Peter Randall?”
    “Yes. He was her personal physician.”
    “You didn’t ask her who referred her?” Art was usually careful about that.
    “No. She arrived late in the day, and I was tired. Besides, she came right to the point; she was a very direct young lady, no foolishness about her. When I heard the story, I assumed Peter had sent her to me to explain the situation, since it was obviously too late to arrange an abortion.”
    “Why did you assume that?”
    He shrugged. “I just did.”
    It wasn’t making sense. I was sure he wasn’t telling me everything. “Have other members of the Randall family been referred to you?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Just what I said.”
    “I don’t think it’s relevant,” he said.
    “It might be.”
    “I assure you,” he said, “it’s not.”
    I sighed and smoked the cigarette. I knew Art could be stubborn when he wanted to. “O.K.,” I said. “Then tell me more about the girl.”
    “What do you want to know?”
    “Had you ever seen her before?”
    “No.”
    “Ever met her socially?”
    “No.”
    “Ever helped any of her friends?”
    “No.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “Oh, hell,” he said, “I can’t be sure, but I doubt it very much. She was only eighteen.”
    “O.K.,” I said. Art was probably right. I knew he usually aborted only married women, in their late twenties and thirties. He had often said he didn’t want to get involved with the younger ones, though he did on occasion. Older women and married women were much safer, more closemouthed and realistic. But I also knew that he had recently been doing more young girls, calling them “teeny-bopper scrapes,” because he said to do only married women was discrimination. He meant that partly as a joke, and partly not.
    “How was she,” I said, “when she came to your office? How would you describe her?”
    “She seemed like a nice girl,” Art said. “She’s pretty and intelligent and well poised. Very direct, as I said before. She came into my office, sat down, folded her hands in her lap, and reeled it all off. She used medical terms too, like