“That might not be an exact quote, but it's pretty damn close. He also got into this whole racist rap—said the kid in the truck was black. “A savage, Meredith. A jungle native. Why would you want to imitate the savages when there's a world of civilization out there?' On top of everything else, he's a racist, too. Even without the rap, you could tell. The looks he gave the minority kids.”

“Were there a lot of minority kids?”

She shook her head. “Just a few. Tokens, probably—part of the public image. In public he was Mr. Liberal—pictures of Martin Luther King and Gandhi and the Kennedys all over the place. Like I said, it's all acting—the world is a fucking stage.”

She placed her hands flat on the table, looking ready to get up again.

“A couple more names,” I said. “Silk.”

Headshake.

“Merino.”

“What is this, a fabric show? Uh-uh.”

“Lyle Gritz?”

“Grits and toast,” she said. “Nope. How many people have gotten bumped off, anyway?”

“Lots. I'm on the list, too.”

Her eyes rounded. “You? Why?”

“I co-chaired a symposium on de Bosch's work. At Western Peds.”

“Why?” she said coldly. “Were you a fan?”

“No. Actually, your father requested it of me.”

“Requested it, huh? What approach did he take? Squeezing your balls or kissing your ass?”

“Squeezing. He did it as a favor to Katarina.”

“Symposium, huh? Gee thanks, Dad. The man tortures me, so you throw him a party—when did this take place?”

“Seventy-nine.”

She thought. “Seventy-nine—I was in Boston in seventy-nine. Catholic girls' school, even though we weren't Catholic . . . a symposium.” She laughed.

“You never told your parents anything that happened at the Corrective School?”

“Nothing—I was too numb, and they wouldn't have listened, anyway. After that summer, I didn't talk to anyone, just went along, like some robot. They handed Botch a naughty acting-out girl and got back this compliant little zombie. They thought it was a miracle cure. Years later, they were still saying it was the best decision they ever made. I'd just stare at them, want to kill them, keep my feelings all inside.”

The pale eyes were wet.

“How long did you stay that way?” I said softly.

“I don't know—months, years—like I said, it blurs. All I know is it took a real long time to get back to my true self, get smart enough to mess around and cover my tracks. No sticky stains on the clothes.”

She licked her lips and grinned. A tear dripped down one cheek. She wiped it away angrily.

“When I was eighteen, I told them “fuck you' and left—ran away with a guy who came to unclog the toilet.”

“Sounds like you've done pretty well since.”