I knew she was right. Law and justice aren’t the same thing. “Is she okay? How badly hurt is she?”

Lindsey paused again, then said, “I don’t know if I should be telling you this. Well, I shouldn’t actually.” Nonetheless she continued, “It appears that there’s not much physical harm. I did a fairly superficial exam. There was some abrasion on the outer lips, cracked skin that was causing the bleeding. The inner lips and vaginal opening showed signs of irritation, appearing red and swollen. I only did an external examination. There were no bruises or evidence of tearing or distention of the vaginal opening.”

“No penetration?”

“Was she raped by an adult male? No, probably not. But…‘penetration’ can consist of many things.” Lindsey sighed again and added, “The reality is that a defense attorney could argue that all this was caused by ‘avid masturbation.’ And with no suspect…” Lindsey trailed off.

“But you think she’s being sexually abused?”

“Did you ever masturbate to the point that you abraded yourself?” Lindsey asked sarcastically. “I doubt Cissy did this to herself. And she is terrified of something.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“You probably won’t like this, but now that Barbara Selby’s aware, the molester may find Cissy a not very safe target and disappear into the woodwork. That’s the best of what’s likely to happen.”

“To go molest some other child.”

“Probably.”

Lindsey was right. I didn’t like it. “I have a hard time letting it go at that.”

“Believe it or not, so do I. Find out who it is and find the evidence that can stop him without destroying his victims.”

“Is that possible?” I asked sarcastically.

“Or drop it and get on with your life.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Well, call me if you need to talk,” Lindsey said.

“Yeah, thanks. Or if I find out anything,” I added, not wanting this to be a one-way street.

“That, too.”

Our food arrived, sushi for Lindsey, chicken teriyaki for me. For several minutes, we ate in silence.

Then Lindsey asked, “Will I see you Friday night?”

“Friday night?”

“The roast, toast, and crawfish boil for Karol Escapade in honor of the magic he’s done with benefits for PWAs, and for Nurse Claire for her work in early intervention. I know Cordelia’s going to be there since she sold me the tickets.”

“Uh…no. I’m not going to be there.”

“Oh,” Lindsey retreated, realizing she had stumbled into something. “Is Cordelia going by herself?”

“I don’t know,” I said shortly. I didn’t want to be reminded of Cordelia.

“Not something you want to talk about?” Lindsey probed.

“You got it.”

“An argument or a breakup?”

“You going to give me a bill for this?” I retorted.

“No, you’re not a client,” Lindsey mildly replied. “People’s deep, dark secrets always interest me. The words ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ always perk up my interest.”

“This isn’t a deep, dark secret. Cordelia and I are no longer seeing each other. There, is your interest sated?”

“Not quite, a few more gory details. You were only going together for a few months, weren’t you?”

“If that.”

“Quick breakup.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Things happen. Time to move on.”

“If that’s how you feel.”

“It is. ‘Monogamy is a synonym for monotony.’”

“I’m a psychiatrist. Don’t protest too much. I’ll heap all sorts of Freudian symbolism into it.”

“Then I won’t protest at all. I’ll take the expedient exit and silently eat. That way you won’t have anything to analyze.”

And with that, we finished our dinner in silence. But it was a dense quiet, with a tension between Lindsey and myself.

As we paid our check, she broke it, “If I promise not to analyze, will you promise to call and let me know what’s going on?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

“Okay. And, Micky? If it’s a brick wall, don’t bang your head against it.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Will you help me to my car?” she asked as she slowly stood up.

“Of course.”

Lindsey took my arm, causing a few people to glance at us, at two women touching, which gave having her arm linked through mine more intimacy than it really had.

I held her umbrella over us as we left the safety of the awning and stepped into the rain. Lindsey found her keys and unlocked her car. Then she turned to me and put her arms around me. For a moment, she held me, then let go.

“Good night, Micky. I want to hear from you.” She got into her car.

“Good night, Lindsey.” I handed her the umbrella, then hurriedly dashed for my own car. By the time I got into it and had enough water out of my eyes to see, she was gone. Driving in the rain was distracting. But it wasn’t enough of a distraction to keep me from thinking about abused children.

Chapter 24

The sun was finally shining, although I wasn’t in much of a mood to appreciate it.

I again thought about calling O’Connor, but knew it wouldn’t be prudent to use my phone nor the height of wisdom to walk out of my building and use the phone on the corner. I also wanted at talk to Barbara. All the major items on today’s agenda were things that I would prefer to avoid. I kept busy until the only chores left to me were the truly repugnant instead of the merely odious.

By this time it was five thirty, and Barbara should be home from work. The sun was setting as I got there, the short days of winter approaching. I sat in my car for a moment or two trying to think of what I wanted to say, to ask. I looked up to see Barbara coming across the lawn. I got out of the car to meet her.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hello,” she answered, wary but not hostile. She didn’t appear surprised to see me.

“How’s Cissy?”

“She’s okay. She’s watching TV.” Barbara crossed her arms across her chest, a barricade to my concern. “I’d prefer you didn’t see her.”

“I don’t need to see her. I really just wanted to find out how she’s doing. See if there’s anything I can do. Maybe this weekend…”

Barbara didn’t say anything for a moment, her arms still held tightly across her chest. She looked away from me before she spoke. “I mean not see Cissy…for a while.”

“‘For a while’?” I stupidly echoed.

She still avoided looking at me. “I just think Cissy needs to be with her family for a while, that’s all.”

“A week? A month? Six months?” I took a step toward Barbara, but she took a step away.

For a moment Barbara’s eyes met mine, then she looked away. “I need to protect Cissy. I’ve seen some of the people you hang around with, men who wear dresses, women in motorcycle jackets. I don’t know them or what they—”

“They’re not child abusers,” I cut her off. “I didn’t think you would fall for those ugly—”

“Micky!” Barbara cried. “I can’t afford an experiment in liberalism. This is my daughter. My daughter has been hurt.”

“Pandering to ugly myths and stereotypes won’t help her,” I shot back.

“This is my daughter,” Barbara repeated fiercely. “I don’t care what I have to do to protect her. I can’t afford to be fair and just and open-minded. Not if she gets hurt.”

“You might hurt her even more,” I replied. “Because if the only place you look is at the queer part of town, you’ll miss the real child molesters. The teachers, the ministers, the nice neighbor, a relative, a boyfriend,” I added pointedly. “That’s where they really hide, behind their façade of normality and kindness.”

Barbara shook her head. “It doesn’t change my mind. Cissy sees no one but family.”

“What about your boyfriend, Ted?” I demanded. “Does he have a criminal record? Any idea? Or does protecting your daughter only extend to getting rid of queers?”

Barbara glared at me before saying, “I think you’d better leave.”

“If you really want to protect Cissy, you’re going to have to ask yourself a lot of difficult questions. You may like the answers even less. But it’s the only way—”

“I know all this,” Barbara cut me off. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

A car pulled into her driveway. A stocky man in his late forties got out. “Barb,” he called, “what’s going on?”

“It’s okay, Ted,” she answered. To me, she said quietly, “You’d better go now.”