Sophie shrugged. “If it’s supportive to say, whatever you do is all right by me, and then make no effort to find out what the other is doing, then we had a supportive relationship.” Sophie got to her feet and for the first time Lindsay noticed the deep lines of exhaustion round her eyes. “Anyway, enough of my troubles. Have you eaten?” Lindsay shook her head. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Come and tell me about your day while I throw some dinner together.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” Lindsay followed Sophie and found her pulling the crisper out of the fridge. Sophie picked up a sharp kitchen knife and started chopping vegetables into a big wooden salad bowl. Lindsay picked up a carrot and chewed it idly, feeling vaguely guilty about imposing her problems on Sophie when it was obvious she had more than enough stress in her own life. “What kind of day have you had?” she asked.

“Pretty shitty. Delivered a baby this morning, mother’s an IV heroin user, virus positive, starting to develop AIDS-related symptoms,” Sophie said dispassionately. “We won’t know if the baby’s carrying the virus till the last traces of his mother’s blood have left his system and we can test him, but he’s not looking too good. Imagine your first experience outside the womb being heroin withdrawal,” Sophie sighed as she savagely attacked a lollo rosso lettuce.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Lindsay said.

Sophie stopped chopping.

“Matter of principle,” she said. “After all, according to you journalists, AIDS is the disease that proves God’s a lesbian. Least I can do is help the poor unfortunates who are stricken by it.”

Lindsay looked puzzled. “I’m not with you.”

“Well, the moral majority as represented by our beloved tabloid columnists spent a lot of time telling us that AIDS was a gay plague sent by God to punish the sodomites. So if AIDS is God’s punishment, it must follow that the people God identifies with and loves best must be the people least at risk. And since non-drug-using lesbians are statistically the lowest risk group . . .”

In spite of herself, Lindsay laughed. “That’s sick,” she said.

“Gallows humor. One of the lesser known medical specialties. If I didn’t laugh, I’d crack up completely. Now, tell me about your day. How are your inquiries going?”

Lindsay brought Sophie up to date, finally adding, “Do you know a gynecologist at the Western who fits the description Macho the Knife? Possibly married to a nurse?”

Sophie barely paused for thought before replying. “Yes, as it happens. Why?”

“He could be on my list of suspects for Alison’s murder,” Lindsay replied, picking up a chunk of mozzarella cheese and dicing it into tiny cubes.