“You could always spring for a desk,” Kyle said, sitting down at the little round laminated table.
Tim went to one of the big cardboard boxes he used as filing cabinets when he needed to keep paper records. This was a new cardboard box, with almost nothing in it. He opened it up and took out the letters from the Office of Health Care Access and the Office of the Health Care Advocate. He threw them down on the table in front of Kyle.
“Take a look at those,” he said. “I know this isn’t the kind of law you do. And I don’t expect you to handle this case for me. But you’re a smart lawyer. And I was hoping you’d give me your thoughts.”
Kyle picked up the first of the letters and read through it. Then he picked up the second and read through that. Then he put them both back down on the table.
“Well?” Tim said.
“It’s Virginia,” Kyle said.
“I know it’s Virginia,” Tim said. “The only thing I’ve known for sure since those letters came is that Virginia was behind them.”
“You won’t find her fingerprints on them,” Kyle said. “You won’t find a scrap of paper to so much as hint that she knew this was going to happen, or that she talked to anybody about it before the fact. Or am I stating the obvious again?”
“Somewhat,” Tim admitted. “I guess what I was hoping for was some kind of legal strategy that would allow us to resolve this without going to court. I’ve been advised that if this does go to court, the state will not be able to prevail. That’s a wonderful word, isn’t it? Prevail. But they don’t have to prevail, and I think Virginia knows it. If they did, I would shut the clinic down voluntarily. I wouldn’t operate it if I was required to give out morning-after pills to rape victims or anybody else. The court case will gut us. Even if we walk out in victory, we’ll also walk out dead broke and unable to go on. I’ve got a fair amount of money, but not enough money to fund half this clinic and a major court case at the same time.”
“Do you really fund half the clinic?”
“Just about,” Tim said. “Donations have gotten better and better over the years, but every time donations get better, I think of four more things we need to have.”
“I was surprised when I heard you were opening this up in Alwych,” Kyle said. “I kept thinking it would make more sense to open it in Bridgeport.”
“If you think there isn’t need out here, you’re crazy,” Tim said. “Especially since the financial crash, but even before. You’d be amazed at how many people, even people we grew up with—well, never mind. I really didn’t bring you here to give you a fund-raising speech.”
Kyle thought about it. “You could start a legal fund,” he said. “You could explain the situation. It’s not like you’ve been accused of diddling the choirboys. People know what you do here. If they’ve been giving you money, they almost certainly approve of it. Most of them probably hold the same views you do about abortion and the morning-after pill. That might not cover everything you need, but it would go a long way, I’d think.”
“Except that if they’re giving to the legal defense fund, they’re not giving to the clinic,” Tim said. “Money only goes so far. And the kind of people who give to the clinic tend not to be, how do I put it? In your financial position.”
“You mean most of your donors are small donors.”
“Exactly,” Tim said. “And we don’t take any government money—not Medicare, not Medicaid, nothing. We can’t. As soon as you take their money, they think they have the right to tell you how to run your clinic.”
“I don’t think that’s all that outrageous,” Kyle said.
“I don’t either,” Tim said. “But it does bring us back to being in that same position.”
Kyle picked up the letters again. He glanced through them again. He put them down again.
“Was Virginia like this when we were all growing up?” he asked. “This doctrinaire.”
Tim was surprised. “You were married to her.”
“I know I was married to her, but that doesn’t tell me much, does it?” Kyle said. “I get along with Virginia. I always have. Married or divorced, it never made any difference. But lately, it’s like she’s turned into petrified wood.”
“She’d say I’ve turned into petrified wood,” Tim said.
“I know. She’d be right. You both have. I don’t think either of you understands how completely alike you are.”
“And now Chapin is dead,” Tim said, “and there’s a world-class detective consultant the town is paying God only knows what to do something about it.”