Looking for Jane (75)

“They need something to charge us with. And for that, they need evidence. Nancy says she never used the word ‘abortion,’ and you disposed of the products of Kathleen’s while Nancy was in pre-op with this Patricia, right?”

Alice nods. “Of course, it’s protocol.”

“Okay, so…” Evelyn trails off, images in her mind whipping past at breakneck speed. They probably don’t have far to go until they reach the station. “I saw Doris in the crowd and nodded to her to go clean up. She’ll take out anything that shows we were even there, the instruments, magazines. There really isn’t much. We keep it deliberately sparse.” Evelyn pauses. “So, the only thing connecting us to what we were doing in that apartment is the patient sheet in my pants.”

Nancy and Alice gasp.

“This is going to be a team effort,” Evelyn says, attempting half a smile.

She kneels on the metal floor and turns her back to Alice and Nancy. She slides her thumb and index finger awkwardly into her waistband, straining against the handcuffs. Sweat trickles into her eye from the baking van, but her heart leaps as she grips and withdraws the folded piece of paper.

“Alice, take this.”

Alice looks at the piece of paper for a moment, then leans in and bites down on the fold with her teeth.

Evelyn nearly laughs out loud. “That’s it. Alice, you’re brilliant.”

Alice lets out a guttural sound through the paper that Evelyn takes as “What?”

Evelyn leans forward and Alice’s eyes widen before Evelyn bites down on the paper, too. She twists her face quickly away from Alice’s and most of the piece of paper comes with it. They both snort with laughter. Nancy shakes her head, shimmies toward Evelyn, and bites off her own piece of the sheet.

Evelyn lifts her eyebrows at them both and pulls the piece of paper farther into her mouth with her tongue. It’s dry as all hell and the ink smells and tastes like chemicals. Alice follows suit, and after a groan, so does Nancy. The three of them sit there, moistening the paper with their saliva until it’s soft enough to try to chew it. It’s harsh on Evelyn’s teeth and a few seconds into the process, Nancy gags hers up and has to start all over again.

By the time the van slows to a final stop, all three of them have swallowed their pieces of paper. The last bit of evidence is destroyed. Tears are pouring down Nancy’s face now, but she’s also laughing. Alice and Evelyn join in, and when the burly cop rattles the doors open, ready to intimidate and haul them into the station, he’s met with three sweaty arrestees, their hair plastered to their necks, laughing their heads off like a pack of hyenas.

“I’m not sure what’s so funny here, ladies,” he says, scowling like a Scottish terrier.

“Ohhh, we happen to think it’s pretty funny, Officer. You’ve got nothing to hold us on.” Evelyn flashes a smile at him, but her stomach churns all the same.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” His fellow officers pop their heads around the doors of the van; the female cop is nowhere to be seen. “Get them out,” he barks.

They yank the women roughly out of the back of the van and frog-march them into the station. They pass through a hallway that’s lit with harsh halogen strip lighting and smells like rubber, sweat, and cigarette smoke.

“We want to speak to legal counsel immediately,” Evelyn says loudly. “Let me call—”

“She’s already here,” the sergeant snaps at her, wrenching her by the elbow and directing her toward an interrogation room.

“Evelyn!” Alice shouts from behind her. Evelyn cranes her neck over her shoulder; Alice and Nancy are being guided toward a set of hard green plastic chairs set against a painted brick wall. One of the officers shoves Alice hard in the back and she stumbles and falls, barely avoiding landing face-first in the lineup of chairs. He hurls a racial slur at her, and Nancy tells him to fuck off.

“Leave it, Nancy!” Alice snaps, struggling to her feet, hands still cuffed behind her back.

“Why aren’t they coming with me?” Evelyn fires at the sergeant.

“You think we don’t know who’s running the show here, Doctor? Come on.”

“Hold the fuck on—” Evelyn says, doing her best to plant her feet on the slippery tile floor. She wheels to face him. They’re eye to eye.

“What did you just say to me?”

Evelyn takes a deep breath. “Are we under arrest or not? You can’t hold us if we’re not under arrest.”

“Do you want me to arrest you? Because keep talking to me like that, and that’s exactly what you’ll get. Now move.”

He shoves her toward the door and nods to the guard beside it, some rookie kid with no identifying features who unlocks the door. He swings it open and Evelyn is pushed into the harshly lit room.

There’s a woman standing beside the metal table, tall and broad-shouldered and also wearing heels, so she positively towers over Evelyn and Sergeant Moustache. The mop of brown curls piled on top of her head adds several inches to her height. She’s dressed in a smart navy skirt and suit jacket; the crisp white lapels of her shirt collar are ironed to perfection. She’s an intimidating presence, and Evelyn isn’t surprised to feel the sergeant loosen his grip on her arm.

“Selena Donovan,” the woman says. Her voice is booming yet efficient in its delivery. “I’ll shake your hand once these kind officers remove your handcuffs.”