The Last Clinic by Gary Gusick

well, you know what I mean. I’m not Catholic so I don’t know about his church-going habits, but he acts the way a Christian is supposed to. He does all this charitable work, health education up in the Delta with all those young black girls. It’s hard to imagine him performing an abortion, being Catholic the way he is. I’d be interested to know what that’s about. Me personally, I could never have an abortion. Maybe if it was a rape. Something like that. I might feel different then. I think I would. What about you? I guess I just assumed you were on women’s rights side. How do you see the issue?”
    Darla was thinking about not answering, but knew Lulu would want a response. “Right now, I guess I see it as an investigator. The issue may have played a role in the crime. I’m trying to find out what kind of a role, if any.”
    “Darla Cavannah, lady of mystery.”
    Darla shrugged. “I’m from a family of cops. We were taught to keep things to ourselves.”
    “It’s working good for you. I think that’s why all the guys in Northeast Jackson are after you.”
    “Are they?”
    This was news to Darla. Most men she met seemed intimidated by her. A combination of her height and her natural aggressiveness, traits most Southern men didn’t care for.
    “This is Jackson. A girl hears things. I know for a fact a lot of men have got you hot listed. Even some that are unmarried.” She cackled and touched Darla on the arm. “Just waiting for you to take off the widow’s weeds.”
    “Must be after my money,” Darla said, joking. Lulu knew she was broke.
    “You know what they say. If it ain’t the money in the pot, it’s the honey in the pot.” Lulu winked.
    “About the right-to-life issue,” Darla said, “I’m trying to keep my personal views out of things.”
    “Listen Lamb Pie, women’s rights, right-to-life. It don’t matter to me.”
    Darla felt the muscles in her stomach relax. Lulu wasn’t going to pry. Rare in this part of the world, where people told all there was to tell and expected to be told as much in return.
    Lulu offered dessert, a peach trifle. When Darla begged off, saying she had to get back to work, Lulu lifted her glass for the last few drops of tea mixed with the melting ice.
    “Here’s to Sisterhood Of The Swamp. For as long as it takes.”
    “For as long as it takes,” said Darla. The phrase was the group’s official slogan. Kendall had T-shirts made up with the words printed across the chest. They wore the shirts when they went hunting. They never discussed the exact meaning of the phrase, but they knew it meant something slightly different to each of them.
    “God I hope he’s innocent,” said Lulu. “Those hands of his, I’d hate to have to find another ob-gyn.”
    She fanned herself again and laughed.
     

7
 
A Lesson in Italian.
 
 
 
    On Tommy’s orders, the crime scene had been shut down. The media, the gawkers, and ambulance chasers had moved on. So had Tommy and his pink Caddy. Probably out in Madison at the nursing home doing one of his endless encores, Darla guessed.
     The security officer Darla had requested hadn’t shown up yet. A group of nearly two-dozen protestors was parading around on the sidewalk, sent, no doubt, by The National Rights of the Unborn. One of the protestors, a middle-aged man, was carrying a makeshift imitation of Reverend Aldridge’s cross, sans the photo of the fetus. In its place was a poster with the words, MURDERER! A second poster, this one carried by a young woman, read, ARREST NICOLETTI. Another protestor pulled out a digital camera and snapped Darla’s picture when she crossed the picket line. She ignored him.
    A fourth protestor stepped in front of her. He looked like one of the clean-cut kids in cheap suits that knocked on her front door Saturday mornings and wanted to read the Bible to her. He extended his arms to the side.
    “Halt in the name of God,” he said and then saw she was with the Sheriff’s