‘A colleague. Not someone I knew well – but Jose always struck me as a good guy. I went to see his widow a few days ago. Felicia. She’s just twenty-eight, with two kids to now support and bring up alone. A boy and a girl, seven and five, who can’t work out why their father was murdered. Felicia told me that Jose was working three jobs and managing to somehow cover their bills. He had no life insurance, no savings. And she had done bartending jobs – but with two young kids she can only work just a few hours a day. There’s no way she can make next month’s rent on their little house in Lakeview Terrace. I paid it straightaway – but in the long term the family is probably facing eviction unless we can get some sort of emergency fund together. Their prospects are bleak. I wish I had the money to pay their rent for a year.’

‘I hear you.’

‘I’m sure you do. How long have you been doing this?’

I told her – and answered all her questions about my past professional life selling fiber cable.

‘From your tone it sounds like it was a job, not a passion.’

‘It was a job.’

‘Really?’ she said. ‘But surely there’s something you love doing?’

‘Do you love the work you do?’

‘I never told you what I do,’ she said.

‘But I’m bringing you to another clinic, right?’

‘How did you know I was going to another clinic?’

‘The usual way we figure things out these days.’

In the rearview I could see her smile.

‘Yet after you googled that you still decided to do this trip with me.’

I didn’t respond. I asked:

‘So … are you a doctor?’

‘Not at all. I’m a retired professor.’

‘What did you teach?’

‘French.’

‘Wow, that’s kind of unusual. Speaking French in LA …’

‘Well, there is a university down the road from here. And they do have a French department. I taught there for forty years.’

‘You ever live in France?’

‘For five years when I was in my twenties. Which was another time, another epoch. I did my doctorate there.’

‘Why didn’t you stay?’

‘Fell back in love with someone from my college days. He lived out here. I wanted to be with him. I followed him back to Southern California. Got lucky when an opening came up at UCLA. Four decades later …’

‘Where is your husband now?’

‘In the great beyond, I’m afraid. He died two years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I.’

A silence.

‘You teach French at the clinics?’ I asked.

Now Elise laughed.

‘What a thought!’ she said. ‘I’m a volunteer.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I’m what’s called a “doula”. Someone who spends time with women who are about to have an abortion and don’t have anyone with them for support.’

‘That’s like charity work?’