"Once, when he threw me on the floor," she said in a low voice. "Then he pulled the knife."

McHenty's voice was matter-of-fact, and he looked down at his notebook as he spoke. "Did you try to fight him off?"

She shook her head. "I was afraid he would cut me."

"So you really didn't put up any resistance after that first scream?"

She shook her head and began to cry. Jeannie squeezed her hand. She wanted to say to McHenty, "What the h.e.l.l was she supposed to do?" But she kept silent. Already today she had been rude to a boy who looked like Brad Pitt, made a b.i.t.c.hy remark about Lisa's b.o.o.bs, and snapped at the lobby guard in the gym. She knew she was not good at dealing with authority figures, and she was determined not to make an enemy of this policeman, who was only trying to do his job.

McHenty went on: "Just before he penetrated you, did he force your legs apart?"

Jeannie winced. Surely they should have female cops to ask these questions?

Lisa said: "He touched my thigh with the point of the knife."

"Did he cut you?"

"No."

"So you opened your legs voluntarily."

Jeannie said: "If a suspect pulls a weapon on a cop, you generally shoot him down, don't you? Do you call that voluntary?" voluntary?"

McHenty gave her an angry look. "Please leave this to me, miss." He turned back to Lisa. "Do you have any injuries at all?"

"I'm bleeding, yes."

"Is that as a result of the forced intercourse?"

"Yes."

"Where are you injured, exactly?"

Jeannie could not stand it any longer. "Why don't we let the doctor establish that?"

He looked at her as if she were stupid. "I have to make the preliminary report."

"Then let it say she has internal injuries as a result of the rape."

"I'm conducting this interview."

"And I'm telling you to back off, mister," Jeannie said, controlling the urge to scream at him. "My friend is in distress and I don't think she needs to describe her internal injuries to you when she's going to be examined by a doctor any second now."

McHenty looked furious, but he moved on. "I noticed you had on red lace underwear. Do you think that had any effect on what happened?"

Lisa looked away, her eyes full of tears.

Jeannie said: "If I reported my red Mercedes stolen, would you ask me whether I had provoked the theft by driving such an attractive car?"

McHenty ignored her. "Do you think you might have met the perpetrator before, Lisa?"

"No."

"But the smoke must have made it difficult for you to see clearly. And he wore a scarf of some kind over his face."

"At first I was practically blind. But there wasn't much smoke in the room where...he did it. I saw him." She nodded to herself. "I saw him."

"So you would recognize him if you saw him again."

Lisa shuddered. "Oh, yes."

"But you've never seen him before, like in a bar or anything."

"No."

"Do you go to bars, Lisa?"

"Sure."

"Singles bars, that kind of thing?"

Jeannie boiled over. "What the h.e.l.l h.e.l.l kind of question is that?" kind of question is that?"

"The kind defense lawyers ask," McHenty said.

"Lisa isn't on trial-she's not the perpetrator, she's the victim!"

"Were you a virgin, Lisa?"

Jeannie stood up. "Okay, that's enough. I do not believe this is supposed to happen. You're not supposed to ask these invasive questions."

McHenty raised his voice. "I'm trying to establish her credibility."

"One hour after she was violated? Forget it!"

"I'm doing my job-"

"I don't believe you know your job. I don't think you know s.h.i.t, McHenty."

Before he could reply, a doctor walked in without knocking. He was young and looked hara.s.sed and tired. "Is this the rape?" he said.

"This is Ms. Lisa Hoxton," Jeannie said icily. "Yes, she was raped."

"I'll need a v.a.g.i.n.al swab,"

He was charmless, but at least he provided an excuse to get rid of McHenty. Jeannie looked at the cop. He stayed put, as if he thought he were going to supervise the taking of the swab. She said: "Before you do that, Doctor, perhaps Patrolman McHenty will excuse us?"

The doctor paused, looking at McHenty. The cop shrugged and went out.

The doctor pulled the sheet off Lisa with an abrupt gesture. "Lift your gown and spread your legs," he said.

Lisa began to cry.

Jeannie could hardly believe it. What was it with these men? "Excuse me, sir," she said to the doctor.

He glared at her impatiently. "Have you got a problem?"

"Could you please try to be a little more polite?"

He reddened. "This hospital is full of people with traumatic injuries and life-threatening illnesses," he said. "Right now in the emergency room there are three children who have been in a car wreck, and they're all going to die. And you're complaining that I'm not being polite polite to a girl who got into bed with the wrong man?" to a girl who got into bed with the wrong man?"

Jeannie was flabbergasted. "Got into bed with the wrong man?" she repeated.

Lisa sat upright. "I want to go home," she said.

"That sounds like a h.e.l.l of a good idea," Jeannie said. She unzipped her duffel and began to put the clothes out on the bed.

The doctor was dumbstruck for a moment. Then he said angrily: "Do as you please." He went out.

Jeannie and Lisa looked at one another. "I can't believe that happened," Jeannie said.

"Thank G.o.d they've gone," Lisa said, and she got out of bed.

Jeannie helped her take off the hospital gown. Lisa pulled on the fresh clothes quickly and stepped into the shoes. "I'll drive you home," Jeannie said.

"Would you sleep over at my apartment?" Lisa said. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Sure. I'll be glad to."

McHenty was waiting outside. He seemed less confident. Perhaps he knew he had handled the interview badly. "I still have a few more questions," he said.

Jeannie spoke quietly and calmly. "We're leaving," she said. "Lisa is too upset to answer questions right now."

He was almost scared. "She has to," he said. "She's made a complaint."

Lisa said: "I wasn't raped. It was all a mistake. I just want to go home now."

"You realize it's an offense to make a false allegation?"

Jeannie said angrily: "This woman is not a criminal-she's the victim of a crime. If your boss asks why she's withdrawing the complaint, say it's because she was brutally hara.s.sed by Patrolman McHenty of the Baltimore Police Department. Now I'm taking her home. Excuse us, please." She put her arm around Lisa's shoulders and steered her past the cop toward the exit.

As they left she heard him mutter: "What did I do?"

3.

BERRINGTON J JONES LOOKED AT HIS TWO OLDEST FRIENDS. "I can't believe the three of us," he said. "We're all close to sixty years old. None of us has ever made more than a couple of hundred thousand dollars a year. Now we're being offered sixty million each each-and we're sitting here talking about turning the offer down!"

Preston Barck said: "We were never in it for the money."

Senator Proust said: "I still don't understand it. If I own one-third of a company that's worth a hundred and eighty million dollars, how come I'm driving around in a three-year-old Crown Victoria?"

The three men had a small private biotechnology company, Genetico Inc. Preston ran the day-to-day business; Jim was in politics, and Berrington was an academic. But the takeover was Berrington's baby. On a plane to San Francisco he had met the CEO of Landsmann, a German pharmaceuticals conglomerate, and had got the man interested in making a bid. Now he had to persuade his partners to accept the offer. It was proving harder than he had expected.

They were in the den of a house in Roland Park, an affluent suburb of Baltimore. The house was owned by Jones Falls University and loaned to visiting professors. Berrington, who had professorships at Berkeley in California and at Harvard as well as Jones Falls, used the house for the six weeks of the year he was in Baltimore. There was little of his in the room: a laptop computer, a photograph of his ex-wife and their son, and a pile of new copies of his latest book, To Inherit the Future: How Genetic Engineering Will Transform America. To Inherit the Future: How Genetic Engineering Will Transform America. A TV set with the sound turned down was showing the Emmy ceremonies. A TV set with the sound turned down was showing the Emmy ceremonies.

Preston was a thin, earnest man. Although he was one of the most outstanding scientists of his generation, he looked like an accountant. "The clinics have always made money," Preston said. Genetico owned three fertility clinics that specialized in in vitro conception-test-tube babies-a procedure made possible by Preston's pioneering research in the seventies. "Fertility is the biggest growth area in American medicine. Genetico will be Landsmann's way into this big new market. They want us to open five new clinics a year for the next ten years."

Jim Proust was a bald, suntanned man with a big nose and heavy gla.s.ses. His powerful, ugly face was a gift to the political cartoonists. He and Berrington had been friends and colleagues for twenty-five years. "How come we never saw any money?" Jim asked.

"We always spent it on research." Genetico had its own labs and also gave research contracts to the biology and psychology departments of universities. Berrington handled the company's links with the academic world.

Berrington said in an exasperated tone: "I don't know why you two can't see that this is our big chance."

Jim pointed at the TV. "Turn up the sound, Berry-you're on."

The Emmys had given way to Larry King Live, Larry King Live, and Berrington was the guest He hated Larry King-the man was a red-dyed liberal, in his opinion-but the show was an opportunity to talk to millions of Americans. and Berrington was the guest He hated Larry King-the man was a red-dyed liberal, in his opinion-but the show was an opportunity to talk to millions of Americans.

He studied his image, and he liked what he saw. He was in reality a short man, but television made everyone the same height. His navy suit looked good, the sky blue shirt matched his eyes, and the tie was a burgundy red that did not flare on the screen. Being supercritical, he thought his silver hair was too neat, almost bouffant: he was in danger of looking like a television evangelist.

King, wearing his trademark suspenders, was in an aggressive mood, his gravelly voice challenging. "Professor, you've stirred up controversy again with your latest book, but some people feel this isn't science, it's politics. What do you say to that?"

Berrington was gratified to hear his own voice sounding mellow and reasonable in reply. "I'm trying to say that political decisions should be based on sound science, Larry. Nature, left to itself, favors good genes and kills off bad ones. Our welfare policy works against natural selection. That's how we're breeding a generation of second-rate Americans."

Jim took a sip of scotch and said: "Good phrase-a generation of second-rate Americans. Quotable."

On TV, Larry King said: "If you have your way, what happens to the children of the poor? They starve, right?"

Berrington's face on the screen took on a solemn look. "My father died in 1942, when the aircraft carrier Wasp Wasp was sunk by a j.a.panese submarine at Guadalca.n.a.l. I was six years old. My mother struggled to raise me and send me to school. Larry, I am a child of the poor." was sunk by a j.a.panese submarine at Guadalca.n.a.l. I was six years old. My mother struggled to raise me and send me to school. Larry, I am a child of the poor."

It was close enough to the truth. His father, a brilliant engineer, had left his mother a small income, enough so that she was not forced to work or remarry. She had sent Berrington to expensive private schools and then to Harvard-but it had had been a struggle. been a struggle.

Preston said: "You look good, Berry-except maybe for the country-western hairstyle." Barck, the youngest of the trio at fifty-five, had short black hair that lay flat on his skull like a cap.

Berrington gave an irritated grunt. He had had the same thought himself, but it annoyed him to hear it from someone else. He poured himself a little scotch. They were drinking Springbank, a single malt.

On the screen, Larry King said: "Philosophically speaking, how do your views differ from those of, say, the n.a.z.is?"

Berrington touched the remote control and turned the set off. "I've been doing this stuff for ten years," he said. "Three books and a million c.r.a.ppy talk shows later, what difference has it made? None."

Preston said: "It has made a difference. You've made genetics and race an issue. You're just impatient."

"Impatient?" Berrington said irritably. "You bet I'm impatient! I'll be sixty in two weeks. We're all getting old. We don't have much time left!"