Next: A Novel (14 page)

“I didn’t realize that,” she said.

“I’m sure you never imagined that taking your husband’s body out of the ground would be so traumatic.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You might decide not to put yourself through it again.”

“That’s just how I feel,” she said.

Marty thought, I’ll bet you do. “Of course, if you knew there was going to be an investigation, you would not be permitted to cremate the body. Certainly I would never suggest you cremate.

But you might decide on cremation yourself, for your own reasons. And if that happened soon—

later today, or tomorrow morning—then it would just be one of those things. The body was unfortunately cremated before the inquest was called.”

“I understand.”

“I have to go,” he said.

“I appreciate your taking the time to call me,” she said. “Was there anything else?”

“No, that’s everything,” he said. “Thank you, Mrs. Weller.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Roberts.”

Click.

Marty Roberts leaned back in his chair. He was very pleased with how that call had gone. Very pleased indeed.

Just one more thing, for the moment, remained to be done.

“Fifth-Floor Lab. This is Jennie.”

“Jennie, this is Dr. Roberts down in Pathology. I need you to check on a lab result for me.”

“Is it stat, Dr. Roberts?”

“No, it’s an old test. Tox screen that was ordered eight days ago. Patient name is Weller.” He read off the serial number.

There was a brief pause. He heard the clicking of keys. “John J. Weller? White male, age forty-six?”

“Yes.”

“We did a full-panel tox screen at three thirty-seven a.m. on Sunday, May eighth. Tox screen and, uh, nine other tests.”

“And you kept the blood sample?”

“Yes, I’m sure we did. We keep all tissues these days.”

“Would you check for me?”

“Dr. Roberts, these days we keep everything. We even keep the heel stick cards whenever a child is born. It’s PKU testing required by law, but we keep the cards anyway. We keep cord blood.

We keep placenta tissue. We keep surgical excisions. We keep everything—”

“I understand, but would you mind checking?”

“I can see it’s registered right here on my screen,” she said. “We have the frozen sample stored in freezer locker B-7. It’ll be taken to the offsite storage at the end of the month.”

“I’m sorry,” Marty said. “But this involves a potential legal issue. Would you physically check to make sure the sample is where it’s supposed to be?”

“Of course. I’ll send somebody down there and call you back.”

“Thank you, Jennie.”

He hung up and leaned back in his chair again. Through the glass wall, he watched Raza scrubbing down a steel table, in preparation for the next autopsy. Raza did a thorough job of cleaning. Marty gave him that: The guy was thorough. He paid attention to details.

Which meant that he was not above changing the hospital database to indicate the storage of a nonexistent sample. Either he did it, or he had someone do it for him.

The phone rang. “Dr. Roberts? It’s Jennie.”

“Yes, Jennie.”

“I’m afraid I spoke too soon. The sample for Weller is thirty cc’s of venous blood, frozen. But it’s not in B-7; it seems to have been misplaced. I have a trace on it now. I will let you know as soon as it’s found. Was there anything else?”

“No,” Marty said. “Thank you very much, Jennie.”

CH020

Finally!

Ellis Levine found his mother on the second floor of the Polo Ralph Lauren store on Madison and Seventy-second, just as she came out of the dressing room. She was wearing white linen pants and a colorful wraparound top. She stepped in front of the mirror, turning this way and that. Then she saw him.

“Hello, dear,” she said. “What do you think?”

“Mom,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Buying my cruise wardrobe, dear.”

“But you’re not going on a cruise,” Ellis said.

“Oh yes,” his mother said. “We take a cruise every year. Do you like the cuffs on the trousers?”

“Mom…”

She frowned and fluffed her white hair absently. “And I’m not sure about this top,” she said.

“Does it make me look like a fruit salad?”

“We have to talk,” Ellis said.

“Good. Do you have time for lunch?”

“No, Mom. I have to get back to the office.” Ellis was an accountant for an advertising agency.

He had left the office and hurried uptown because he had gotten a panic call from his brother.

He walked over to his mother and said quietly, “Mom, you can’t shop now.”

“Don’t be silly, dear.”

“Mom, we had a family meeting…” Ellis and his two brothers had met with his parents the weekend before. A difficult, painful meeting at the house in Scarsdale. His father was sixty-three. His mother fifty-nine. The brothers had gone over the finances with them.

“You can’t be serious,” she said to him now.

“I am.” He squeezed her arm.

“Ellis Jacob Levine,” she said, “you are being inappropriate.”

“Mom, Dad lost his job.”

“I know, but we have plenty—”

“And his pension tanked.”

“It’s only temporary.”

“No, Mom, it is not temporary.”

“But we have always had plenty of—”

“Not anymore. You don’t. Not anymore.”

She glared at him. “Your father and I talked, after you boys left. He said we would be fine. All that business about selling the house and the Jag. That’s all ridiculous.”

“Dad said that?”

“He certainly did.”

Ellis sighed. “He was trying to keep you from worrying.”

“I’m not worried. And he loves that Jag. Your father always gets a new Jag every year. Ever since you were babies.”

The salespeople were staring at them. Ellis steered his mother off to one side. “Mom, things have changed.”

“Oh, please. ”

Ellis looked away from his mother’s face. He could not meet her eyes. All his life he had looked up to his parents: they were successful, stable, solid. He and his brothers had their ups and downs—his older brother was already divorced, for God’s sake—but his parents were from an earlier generation that was stable. You could count on them.

Even when his father lost his job, nobody worried. True, at his age, there was no chance he would get another. But they had investments, stocks, land in Montana and the Caribbean, an ample pension. There was no reason to worry. His parents did not change their lifestyle. They continued to entertain, travel, spend.

But now he and his brothers were paying the mortgage in Scarsdale. And trying to sell the condo in Charlotte Amalie, and the town house in Vail.

“Mom,” he said, “I’ve got two kids in preschool. Jeff has one in first grade. You know what it costs, private school in the city? Aaron has alimony. We have lives of our own. We can’t keep paying for yours.”

“You are not paying for me or your father, ” she snapped.

“Yes, we are, Mom. And I am telling you that you cannot buy these clothes. Please. Go back and take them off.”

Suddenly, to his horror, she burst into tears, throwing her hands over her face. “I’mso afraid, ”

she said. “What will happen to us?” Her body shook. He put his arm around her.

“It’ll be fine,” he said gently. “Go get dressed. I’ll take you to lunch.”

“But you don’t have time. ” She was sobbing now. “You said so yourself.”

“It’s okay. We’ll have lunch, Mom. We’ll go to the Carlyle. It’ll be fine.”

She sniffled and wiped her eyes. She headed back to the dressing room, head high.

Ellis flipped open his phone, called his office to say he would be late.

CH021

At the Congressional Biotechnology Prayer Breakfast in Washington, Dr. Robert Bellarmino waited impatiently for his introduction to end. Congressman Henry Waters, famously long-winded, droned on. “Dr. Bellarmino is known to all of us,” he said, “as a physician with a conscience, a man of science and a man of God, a man of principle in an age of expediency, a man of rectitude in a hedonistic era where anything goes, especially on MTV. Dr. Bellarmino is not only a director of the National Institutes of Health, but also a lay pastor of the Thomas Field Baptist Church of Houston and the author of Turning Points, his book of spiritual awakening to the healing message of Jesus Christ Our Lord. And I know—well, he’s looking at me, and he has to be at the congressional hearing room in one hour, so let me present, our man of God and science, Dr. Robert A. Bellarmino.”

Handsome and assured, Bellarmino stepped to the lectern. His topic, according to the printed schedule, was “God’s Plan for Mankind in Genetic Science.”

“My thanks to Congressman Waters, and to all of you for coming today. Some of you may wonder how a scientist—especially a genetic scientist—can reconcile his work with the word of God. But as Denis Alexander points out, the Bible reminds us that God, the Universal Creator, is separate from His creation but that He also actively sustains it moment to moment. Thus God is the creator of DNA, which underlies the biodiversity of our planet. That may be why some critics of genetic engineering say we shouldn’t do it, because it involves playing God. Some ecological doctrines hold a similar view, that nature is sacred and inviolable. Such beliefs are of course pagan. ”

Bellarmino paused, letting his audience savor the word. He considered saying more about pagan beliefs, particularly the pantheistic nature worship that some called “California cosmology.” But not today, he thought. Press on.

“The Bible tells us clearly, in Genesis 1:28 and 2:15, that God has given human beings the task, the responsibility to care for the earth and all the creatures on it. We are not playing God. We are answerable to God if we are not responsible stewards of what God has given us in all its majesty and biodiversity. This is our God-given assignment. Weare the stewards of the planet.

“Genetic engineering uses the tools the Creator has given us to carry out good works on the planet. Unprotected crops are eaten by pests, or die of frost and drought. Genetic modification can prevent that, use less crop acreage, leave more untouched wilderness, and still feed the hungry. Genetic engineering allows us to distribute the munificence of God to all His creatures as He would want. Genetically modified organisms make pure insulin for diabetics, pure clotting factors for hemophiliacs. Previously these patients often died of contamination. Surely for us to create this purity is God’s work. Who will say it is not?

“Critics charge that genetic engineering is unnatural, because it changes the very essence of an organism, its deep and profound nature. That idea is Greek and pagan. But the plain fact is that domestication of plants and animals, as practiced for thousands of years, does change the deep and profound nature of an organism. A domestic dog is no longer a wolf. Corn is no longer a stunted, largely inedible weed. Genetic engineering is simply another step in this long-accepted tradition. It does not mark a radical departure from the past.

“Sometimes we hear that we shouldn’t change DNA, period. But why not? DNA is not fixed.

DNA changes over time. And DNA interacts constantly with our daily existence. Should we tell athletes not to lift weights, because it will change the size of their muscles? Should we tell students not to read books, because that will change the structure of their developing minds? Of course not. Our bodies are constantly changing, and our DNA with them.

“But more directly—there are five hundred genetic diseases that can, potentially, be cured by gene therapy. Many of these diseases cause terrible suffering in children, early and agonizing death. Other diseases hang over a person’s life like a prison sentence; the person must wait for the disease to come and strike him down. Should we not cure these diseases if we can? Should we not alleviate suffering whenever we can? If so, we must change DNA. Simple as that.

“So do we modify DNA or not? Is this God’s work or man’s hubris? These are not decisions to be taken lightly. And so it is with that most sensitive subject, the use of germ cells and embryos.

Many in the Judeo-Christian tradition are unequivocally opposed to embryo use. But such views will, eventually, conflict with the goal of healing the sick and alleviating suffering. Not this year, not next year, but the time will come. Careful thought and much prayer are needed to arrive at our answer. Our Lord Jesus made men walk again. Does that mean we should not do likewise, if we can? It is most difficult, for we know man’s hubris takes many forms—not only overreaching, but also stubbornly holding back. We are put here to reflect the glory of God in all His works, and not the willful ego of man. I, myself, have no answer as I stand before you today.

I confess I am troubled in my heart.

“But I have faith that God shall lead us, in the end, to the world that He wants for us. I have faith that we shall be guided to wisdom, that we shall be cautious, and that we shall not be willful in tending His works, His suffering children, and all the creatures in His creation. And for this I pray, most humbly, in the name of God. Amen.”

The speech worked, of course—it always worked. Bellarmino had been giving it in various versions for a decade, and each time, he pushed forward a little harder, spoke a little more firmly.

Five years ago, he did not use the wordembryo. Now he did, cautiously and briefly. He was laying the groundwork. He was getting them thinking. The thought of suffering made them uneasy. So did the thought of enabling the crippled to walk again.

Of course, no one knew whether that would ever happen. Personally, Bellarmino doubted it ever would. But let them think it was coming. Let them worry. They should: the stakes were high and the pace of advance rocket-fast. Any research that Washington blocked would take place in Shanghai, or Seoul, or São Paulo. And Bellarmino, skilled and sanctimonious, intended to make sure that never occurred. Nothing, in short, that would interfere with his lab, his research, and his reputation. He was very good at protecting all three.

An hour later, in the wood-paneled hearing room, Bellarmino gave testimony before the House Select Committee on Genetics and Health. The hearing had been called to consider whether it was appropriate for the patent office to grant patents for human genes. Thousands of such patents had already been issued. Was this a good idea?