a woman’s voice, low and unfamiliar, not rushed, not hysterical, not even angry. That was what made it so much worse.
“DNA scandal,” she said.
I sat up in bed, thinking I had misheard.
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“DNA scandal,” she repeated, almost gently, as if she were reminding me of something I ought to have expected.
Then, before I could speak, before I could ask who she was or what she wanted or whether she had thecourage to say anything with her own name attached to it, she whispered it a third time.
“DNA scandal.”
The line went
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