I wanted to get up and hit him. He was good. But only if you were on his side.

“I’ve been married,” Joanne replied tersely.

“Yeah?” he said, still seemingly casual. “What happened? I never heard that.”

“We’re divorced,” she responded neutrally.

“Yeah, well, I’m Catholic. We don’t believe in divorce.”

“Just practical things, like transubstantiation and the infallibility of the Popes,” I commented.

“You got a Catholic problem?” he shot at me.

“Oh, no, I think the Inquisition was one of the most benign periods in history,” I retorted, deliberately baiting him.

He turned his back to me. He probably didn’t know what the Inquisition was.

Cordelia came back into the waiting room. She looked drained. She sat staring at her hands, as if they had somehow deceived her.

“It’s late, O’Connor. Is there any real need for us to be here?” Joanne asked, after he continued to ignore us for about twenty minutes.

“Naw, you can go,” he said, not even turning around.

I stood up. Joanne walked over to Cordelia and put her hand on Cordelia’s shoulder.

“Let’s go,” she said gently. “We’ll take you home.”

Cordelia nodded assent, shakily standing up.

“Not Dr. James,” O’Connor said.

“Then we’ll stay,” I said, sitting back down. “I’ll stay,” I amended.

“Are you charging me with something?” Cordelia asked him.

“Well, it is late,” he said. “I’ll be nice, Dr. James. This here patrolman,” he nodded at one of the uniformed officers, “will take you home. And he’ll hang around just so you don’t decide to take any sudden trips. We want to know where we can find you.”

“Home. Then here taking care of my patients,” she retorted.

“You do that. Just be careful.” He motioned the patrolman and Cordelia out. “Take good care of your patients,” his voice floated after us.

“Damn him,” Cordelia said under her breath.

Joanne and I walked with her to her car, the patrolman following behind. He got in the driver’s seat.

“Call your lawyer,” Joanne said as Cordelia got in. She nodded tiredly, shutting the door.

“Cordelia…” I said, leaning in the window. But there was nothing to say. I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

She turned to look at me, then covered my hand with one of hers.

The patrolman started the car. I moved away as he backed out.

Joanne and I walked around the building to her car. It was almost four in the morning. We got in and she started the car.

“Bastards,” I said to the policemen in the building, adding to Joanne, “There’s got to be a way to prove she didn’t do it.”

“If she didn’t,” Joanne said, as she pulled away.

“If? What do you mean if?” I demanded angrily.

“People make mistakes.”

“Let me out,” I said, suddenly furious. “Just fucking let me out of the car.” I opened the door even though we were still going.

Joanne jammed on the brakes. She grabbed my arm. I tried to pull away. She reached with her other hand and got the back of my neck, pulling me roughly back in the car.

“You idiot,” she said harshly. “You damned idiot. What good are you going to do anyone by running off half-cocked like that?”

“How can you think she did it?” I spat back.

“I don’t. At this point I don’t know anything was done.” She shook me harshly and pulled me closer. “I haven’t seen an autopsy report and I don’t know how that girl died.” I felt her fingers pressing into the back of my neck, tightly, angrily. “It may have nothing to do with Cordelia,” she finished.

“What if she died of a botched abortion?”

“I don’t know. Take things one step at a time.”

“She didn’t kill that woman,” I stated.

“People make mistakes,” Joanne replied tersely.

I grabbed Joanne by the shirt.

“No, not Cordelia. You can’t say that.”

“Can you promise me she’s perfect? That her hand can’t slip? You’ve seen how tired she is,” Joanne retorted.

“Maybe not that. But I can promise you that if she did make a mistake, she wouldn’t let the woman die, then dump her in some dirty basement to cover it up. Not Cordelia.”

Joanne didn’t say anything. But her grip slowly loosened, finally turning into an embrace, her hand gently rubbing the back of my neck.

“No, not Cordelia,” she finally said.

I let go of her shirt, resting my hands along the ridge of her collarbone.

“Will you help?” I asked. “Can you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Alex and Cordelia have been friends since junior high. I could never explain—not to mention Danny.”

“Danny’ll help.”

“Yeah, if she can.”

“She’d better,” I replied.

I looked at Joanne. I felt pressure from her hand on the back of my neck pulling me closer. We kissed, the anger becoming passion.

“My place?” she whispered in my ear. “I think I’d better change clothes before I show up for work tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I assented, breathless from our kissing.

Joanne drove us to her apartment.

“Shower?” she asked as she let us in.

“Yeah,” I agreed, wanting very much to get the grime of this day washed off. “You first,” I offered.

“Together?” she amended.

We did, making love under the streaming water, then collapsing into bed and a good-night kiss. Then a kiss that wasn’t good night, sex taking us past exhaustion, so when we finally rolled away from each other, we had no choice but to sleep.