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prison, more likely to vanish. By then she was ready to get even with almost anyone. Stayed for four years until she hooked up with Banne rm a n a nd he managed to get the French off her back. Nobody messed with Bannerman back then.
    But for those four years, and the fifteen that followed, George Benedict had never seen her, had hardly heard from her. But he heard about her. Mostly from the CIA when they were building their file on her. They told him stories. Like the one about the Algerian engineer who she blinded with a ballpoint pen on a crowded street in Rome and then stood by watching as he staggered, screaming into the path of a trolley. The Algerian's new address had been a gift from Bannerman.
    “ Miss Fa rr ell ,” he said, awkwardly, as he poured her tea. “ You are,ah... from Westpo r t as well ?”
    She knew what he meant. “ Yes. I am .”
    “ And you've been back in this country how long? Al most four years ?”
    “ Just about. Yes .”
    “ Well ,” he sighed audibly, “ it's nice that you took the time to come see me .” He flicked a glance toward Ca rl a, then quickly looked away. He filled her cup. The tea was yellow, Carla noted. Smelled more like straw.
    “ And when, Carla ,” he asked, still not looking at her, “ did you last find time to call your sister ?”
    ”A week ago Thursday ,” she said evenly.
    He raised an eyebrow. His lips curled. Both doubt and scorn.
    “ And the week before that .” Her eyes began to shine. “ And almost every week, not counting visits, for the past ten years .”
    “ That's a lie ,” he said through his teeth.
    “ An d I sent her money ,” she hissed, “ and paid her tuition, and I gave her that white car for her twenty-first birthday. Fuck you, George Benedict .”
    His color rose. He shook his head, slowly, still disbe lieving. “ She had a scholarship ,” he said firmly.
    “ That's right. I set it up .”
    His head shook again. His lips moved wordlessly. He seemed to be repeating what she said to him. “ She would have told me ,” he said at last.
    Carla leaned forward. “ You told her you never wanted to hear my name again, George. You got your wish .”
    He closed his eyes. Molly saw moisture forming on the corner of the one farthest from Carla. He had turned h i s head so that Carla could not see it.

“ Mr. Benedict ,” she said gently, “ if there 's anything we can do . . .”
    “ No . . . thank you .”
    “ We can help with the arrangements. Make calls to friends and relatives .”
    “ They all know. The newspapers, the...''He gestured toward his television set.
    “ Have you seeN her ?” Ca rl a asked. Her manner had softened.
    He nodded, shutting his eyes again.
    “ When will she be . . .” Carla rephrased. “ When can we have her ?”
    “ Tomorrow, I think. They were doing an autopsy today .”
    Carla became quiet. She had, she realized, hoped to see Lisa before the cutting began, having blocked from her mind the knowledge that the most terrible cutting had al ready been done. Abruptly, she reached for her purse and stood.
    “ We're staying at the Beverly Hills ,” she said to her father. Then, after a pause, “ Will you be okay ?”
    “ Some neighbors are coming over. They'll stay the night. Otherwise ,” he said, looking at his hands, “ I'd ask you to . . .”
    “ I'll call you tomorrow ,” she said.
    “ Go ahead. Say it .” They were back on the San Diego Freeway. Carla stared out the side window.
    “ It's none of my business ,” Molly said quietly.
    “ You think I was a shit, don't you ?”
    Molly shrugged. She said nothing.
    “ When I was twenty, I met this guy in Paris .”
    ”I know. Paul told me .”
    “ He told you what happened ?”
    “ That one thing led to another, yes .”
    She was silent for a long moment. “ They let me call my father. I told him I was in trouble. I asked him to come .”
    And he didn't, Molly gathered.
    “ He said I've made my bed. I should take my medi cine. It's the