LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

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 week back? Drove himself into an overpass?”

      “Yeah. I remember. Heller, or Weller.”

      “The daughter asked for blood?”

      “Yeah. We gave her blood.”

      “Well, she ran a paternity test, and it came back negative. Guy was not her father.”

      Raza stared blankly. “That right?”

      “Yeah. Now the mother’s all upset. Wants more tissues. What’ve we got?”

      “I’d have to check. Probably the usual. All major organs.”

      Marty said, “Any chance that material got misplaced? So we couldn’t find it?”

      Raza nodded slowly, staring at Marty. “Maybe so. Always possible it could be mislabeled. Then it would be hard to find.”

      “Might take months?”

      “Or years. Maybe never.”

      “That’d be a shame,” Marty said. “Now, what about the blood from the tox screen?”

      Raza frowned. “Lab keeps that. We wouldn’t have access to their storage facility.”

      “So they still have that blood sample?”

      “Yeah. They do.”

      “And we have no access?”

      Raza smiled. “It might take me a couple of days.”

      “Okay. Do it.”

      Marty Roberts went to the phone and dialed the administrator’s office. When McCormick came on the line, he said, “I have some bad news, Kevin. Unfortunately, all the tissues have been lost or misplaced.”

      “Sorry to hear that,” McCormick said, and hung up.

      “Marty,” Raza said, coming into the office, “is there a problem with this Weller guy?”

      “No,” Marty said. “Not anymore. And I told you before—don’t call me Marty. My name is Dr. Roberts.”

      CH010

      At the Radial Genomics lab in La Jolla, Charlie Huggins twisted his flat-panel screen around to show Henry Kendall the headline: TALKING APE CLAIMED FRAUD. “What’d I tell you?” Charlie said. “A week later, and we learn the story’s a fake.”

      “Okay, okay. I was wrong,” Henry said. “I admit it, I was worried about nothing.”

      “Very worried…”

      “It’s in the past. Can we talk about something important?”

      “What’s that?”

      “The novelty-seeking gene. Our grant application was denied.” He began typing at the keyboard. “Once again, we’ve been screwed—by your personal favorite, the Pope of Dopamine, Dr. Robert A. Bellarmino of the NIH.”

      For the last ten years, brain studies had increasingly focused on a neurochemical called dopamine. Levels of dopamine seemed to be important in maintaining health as well as in diseases such as Parkinsonism and schizophrenia. From work in Charlie Huggins’s lab, it appeared that dopamine receptors in the brain were controlled by the gene D4DR, among others. Charlie’s lab stood at the forefront of this research, until a rival scientist named Robert Bellarmino from the National Institutes of Health began referring to D4DR as the “novelty gene,” the gene that supposedly controlled the urge to take risks, seek new sex partners, or engage in thrill-seeking behavior.

      As Bellarmino explained it, the fact that dopamine levels were higher in men than women was the reason for the greater recklessness of men, and their attraction to everything from mountain climbing to infidelity.

      Bellarmino was an evangelical Christian and a leading researcher at the NIH. Politically skilled, he was the very model of an up-to-date scientist, neatly blending a modest scientific talent with true media savvy. His laboratory was the first to hire its own publicity firm, and as a result, his ideas invariably got plenty of press coverage. (Which in turn attracted the brightest and most ambitious postdocs, who did brilliant work for him, thus adding to his prestige.)

      In the case of D4DR, Bellarmino was able to tailor his comments to the beliefs of his audience, either speaking enthusiastically about the new gene to progressive groups, or disparaging it to conservatives. He was colorful, future-oriented, and uninhibited in his predictions. He went so far as to suggest that there might one day be a vaccine to prevent infidelity.

      The absurdity of such comments so annoyed Charlie and Henry that six months before, they had applied for a grant to test the prevalence of the “novelty gene.”

      Their proposal was simplicity itself. They would send research teams to amusement parks to draw blood samples from individuals who rode roller coasters time and again during the day. In theory these “repeat coasters” would be more likely to carry the gene.

      The only problem with applying to the NSF was that their proposal would be read by anonymous reviewers. And one of the reviewers was likely to be Robert Bellarmino. And Bellarmino had a reputation for what was politely termed “appropriation.”

Скачать книгу