Lost Girls

''I didn't say I thought he was guilty. I didn't say I thought he wasn't.''

''Well, why couldn't you have said something?''

''Because he's as good a pick as any. I couldn't say I have every confidence in my client's innocence when I don't.''

''Why the fuck not? Why not say what you're supposed to say, for God's sake! You know what I don't get about all this shit? How come you're the Goody Two-shoes Boy Scout all of a sudden? 'Oh, no! I couldn't possibly tell a lie!' Jesus Christ, Barth, what's happened to you up there?''

The line goes quiet as they wait for me to respond. But I can't say any of the things they want to hear. Don't worry, it won't happen again. I was just joking around. My comments were taken out of context. It's too late.

''I'm sorry. I guess I'm just having a bit of a rough time up here. A lot of things have been going on that I'm having trouble putting together, you know? No, you wouldn't know.''

''Sure, sure,'' Graham says uncertainly. ''We understand the pressures of a trial of this kind. We just need to know if you're telling us you're not able to continue. The truth, now. Can you get this job done on your own or do you need to be bailed?''

''Yeah. No problem. I'm going to finish it. I need--it's important that I finish it.''

''Are you sure?''

''I'm aces.''

''That's the spirit! Now, we'd ask you to stay in touch a little more, okay, Barth? And answer your phone when it rings.''

''Sure.''

''And, Barth?'' Bert craning his head back to blow smoke directly into the air above him.

''Yeah?''

''Get some sleep, all right? And if the bogeyman keeps you up in the nighty-nights, give me a call and I'll send my mother up there to hold your hand. She's got nothing better to do these days.''

''Thanks, Bert.''

''Right, then! Good luck with it and do stay in touch!''

Graham's false briskness has returned, calling the conversation to a close. I should be relieved. But instead there's a bubble of sudden panic rising in my chest.

''There's something--'' I start, but the line's already dead.

chapter 42

Pulling up outside the Emergency Room doors of the Murdoch District Medical Clinic and Dr. MacDougall there to meet me. Smile on his face like on open fly, smoking with the smug conviction of a man who's been the first to learn that science has been wrong the whole time, that in fact all that nicotine and tar and pesticides have never done the slightest harm to a single soul.

''The boy's been asking for you,'' he states flatly as I step out of the Lincoln and attempt to pass him on the way inside.

''The nurse called me. That's why I'm here.''

''I didn't know you'd made such close friends among the teenaged subculture of our town, Mr. Crane.''

''Not sure I know what you mean.''

''People have seen you about, haven't they? Hanging out with the kids at the doughnut shop. Mooning round the high school halls. And now wee Laird's using his one phone call on you.''

''It's a real mystery, isn't it, Doctor? But obviously the best minds of Murdoch are on the case, so I'm sure you'll have everything figured out soon.''

He gives me the slow up-and-down that's meant to communicate suspicion rather than read any signs I might be showing.

''End of the hall,'' he says after he's taken all of me and the remainder of his cigarette in.

Laird's room no larger than a walk-in closet but at least he has it all to himself: the subterranean clangs within the heating vent that lolls out tongues of gaseous heat, the nylon roses set in a coffee mug on the bedside table, the window screen with a hole at the bottom as though a fist had been plunged neatly through. And the patient himself. A bony extraterrestrial under the single sheet.

''How you doing there, Laird?''

''How's it look?''

''Not too damn good.''

''Sounds about right.''

There's no sign of physical injury outside of the IV tubes and ECG beeping out the truth of his mortal condition. The room's size forces me to stand closer to him than I'd prefer, however. I could reach down and take the banana-peel skin of his hand in mine without moving forward another step.

''All this has a certain self-inflicted look to it,'' I say.

''And you'd be correct.''

''What's your poison?''

''Acid. Rolled up a sheet of blotter and kind of ate the whole thing,'' he laughs, shoots a tail of mucus out his nose. ''Then I headed out on this major quest but started to trip really fucking bad. And I guess I must have passed out or something, because some guy peeled me off the highway, brought me in here, and the next thing I know I'm having my stomach pumped and they've got me hooked up to all these bags and machines and shit.''

''Where did you think you were going?''

''Let's keep in mind that I wasn't thinking. But I guess I had an idea I was going to make my way out to the lake.''

''Why?''

''I wanted to go for a swim.''

A thousand needles pushed through the whole of my body. Instant stabs of cold in the overheated room.

''Wrong time of the year for that,'' I say.

''Tell me about it.''

He motions his chin toward the table and I pour some water into the empty plastic cup that sits there but his hands don't rise to take it, so I have to dribble it between his lips myself. Palm behind his head. Teenage boy vapors rising off his skin.

''And once you came around you decided to call me,'' I say after returning his skull to the wet indentation it's left in the pillow. ''Not your mom or any of your friends.''

''I've told you before. I don't have any friends. And my mother? Please. I'll be lucky if she pays for my cab home.''

''What about your father?''

''Missing in action.''

Laird closes his eyes for a second and the lids come down purple, thick, and shining.

''But still. Why me?''

''I guess I wanted to tell you because I had a feeling-- because I know that whatever I say to you is privileged or whatever, right?''

''No. You're not my client. But if there's something you want to tell me about the trial, I assure you that I--''

''I thought about doing things to them, too, man.''

He looks so small. Not that Laird was ever a big kid. But there was a rangy breadth to the space he filled before that's gone now, his head turned to face me and everything else narrow and still under the covers.

''What kind of things?''

''Sex and shit. And worse.''