Next. Michael Crichton

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СКАЧАТЬ later, she heard the receptionist say, “Long Beach Memorial.”

      “I want to talk to the morgue,” she said.

      “I’m sorry. The morgue is at the County Coroner’s Office. Would you like that number?”

      “Someone in my family just died at your hospital. Where would his body be now?”

      “One moment please, I will connect you to pathology.”

      Four days later, her mother called back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I mean, going down to the hospital and asking for blood from your father.”

      “He’s not my father.”

      “Lisa. Don’t you ever get tired of this game?”

      “No, and he’s not my father, because the genetic tests came back negative. It says right here”—she reached for the printed sheet—“that there is less than one chance in 2.9 million that John J. Weller is my father.”

      “What genetic test?”

      “I had a genetic test done.”

      “You’re so full of shit.”

      “No, Mom. You’re the one who’s full of shit. John Weller’s not my father, and the test proves it. I always knew it.”

      “We’ll see about that,” her mother said, and hung up.

      About half an hour after that, her brother, Tom, called. “Hey, Lise.” Real casual, laid-back.

      “Just got a call from Mom.”

      “Yeah?”

      “She said something about a test?”

      “Yeah. I did a test, Tommy. And guess what?”

      “I heard. Who did this test, Lise?”

      “A lab here in Long Beach.”

      “What’s it called?”

      “BioRad Testing.”

      “Uh-huh,” her brother said. “You know, these labs that advertise on the Internet aren’t very reliable. You know that, don’t you?”

      “They guaranteed it.”

      “Mom’s all upset.”

      “Too bad,” she said.

      “You know she’ll do her own test now? And there’s going to be lawsuits? Because you’re accusing her of infidelity.”

      “Gee, Tommy, I don’t really give a damn. You know that?”

      “Lise, I think this is causing a lot of needless trouble around Dad’s death.”

      “Your dad,” she said. “Not mine.”

      CH009

      Kevin McCormick, chief administrator of Long Beach Memorial, looked up at the chubby figure coming into his office, and said, “How the hell did this happen?” He pushed a sheaf of papers across his desk.

      Marty Roberts, the chief of pathology, glanced quickly through the document. “I have no idea,” he said.

      “The wife of the deceased, Mr. John J. Weller, is suing us for unauthorized release of tissue to the daughter.”

      “What’s the legal situation?” Marty Roberts said.

      “Unclear,” McCormick said. “Legal says the daughter is a family member and has a clear right to be given tissues to test for diseases that may affect her. Problem is, she did a paternity test and it came back negative. So she’s not his daughter. Arguably that makes our release of tissues unauthorized.”

      “We couldn’t have known that at the time—”

      “Of course not. But we’re talking about the law. The only important question is, can the family sue? The answer is yes, they have grounds to bring a suit, and they are.”

      “Where’s the body now?” Marty said.

      “Buried. Eight days ago.”

      “I see.” Marty flipped through the pages. “And they are asking for…”

      “Besides unspecified damages, they’re asking for blood and tissue samples to conduct further testing,” McCormick said. “Do we have blood or tissue samples from the deceased?”

      “I’d have to check,” Marty said. “But I’d presume that we do, yes.”

      “We do?”

      “Sure. We keep a lot of tissue these days, Kevin. I mean, everybody that comes into the hospital, we collect as much as we possibly can legally…”

      “That’s the wrong answer,” McCormick said, glowering.

      “Okay. What’s the right answer?”

      “That we don’t have any tissues from this guy.”

      “But they’ll know that we do. At the very least, we did a tox screen on the guy because of the accident, so we have his blood—”

      “That sample was lost.”

      “Okay. It was lost. But what good does that do? They can always dig up the body and get all the tissues they want.”

      “Correct.”

      “So?”

      “So let them do that. That’s Legal’s advice. Exhumation takes time, permits, and money. We’re guessing they won’t have the time or the money—and this thing will go away.”

      “Okay,” Marty said. “And I am here because?”

      “Because I need you to go back to pathology and confirm for me that, unfortunately, we have no more samples from the deceased, and that everything not given to the daughter has been lost or misplaced.”

      “Got it.”

      “Call me within the hour,” McCormick said, and turned away.

      Marty Roberts entered the basement pathology lab. His diener, Raza Rashad, a handsome, dark-eyed man of twenty-seven, was scrubbing the stainless steel tables for the next post. If truth be told, Raza really ran the path lab. Marty felt himself burdened by a heavy administrative load, managing the senior pathologists, the residents, the medical student rotations, and all the rest. He’d come to rely on Raza, who was highly intelligent and ambitious.

      “Hey, Raza. You remember that forty-six-year-old white guy with crush injuries, a СКАЧАТЬ