“According to this, each one of your eggs went to a different recipient,” Deborah said. “Even that’s strange. I thought each patient would get multiple eggs, if they were available, to maximize the chances of implantation.”
“That was my understanding as well,” Joanna said. “I don’t know what to make of all this. I mean, not only are there too many eggs, but none of them was successful.” With her finger she ran down the long list where there was either a notation about implantation failure or a miscarriage date.
“Wait! There’s one that was successful,” Deborah said. She reached out and pointed. It was egg thirty-seven. A birth date of September 14, 2000, was indicated. It was followed by the name of the mother, an address, a telephone number, and the notation it was a healthy male.
“Well, at least there was one,” Joanna said with relief.
“Here’s another one,” Deborah said. “Egg forty-eight with a birth date October 1, 2000. It was also a healthy male.”
“Okay, two,” Joanna said. She was encouraged until both she and Deborah had gone through the entire list. Out of the 378, there were only two other positives, egg 220 and egg 241 both having been implanted that January. Each of these was followed by the notation that the pregnancies were progressing normally.
“How could they have implanted this so recently?” Joanna asked.
“I suppose it means they’re using frozen eggs,” Deborah said.
Joanna leaned back and looked up at Deborah. “This is hardly what I expected.”
“You can say that again,” Deborah responded.
“If this is correct, that’s a success rate around one in a hundred. That doesn’t speak well for my eggs.”
“There’s no way they got almost four hundred eggs from you. This has to be some kind of research fabrication for God knows what reason. Almost four hundred eggs is about as many as you’ll produce during your whole life!”
“You think this is all made up?”
“That would have to be my guess,” Deborah said. “Weird things are going on here, as we both know. In that light, a bit of data falsification wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. Hell, it happens in the best of institutions much less in an isolated place like this. But I’ll tell you: Now that we’re confronted with this mishmash, I’m even more disappointed we can’t get into their research files.”
Joanna turned around to the keyboard and started typing.
“What are you doing now?” Deborah questioned.
“I’m going to print the file out,” Joanna said. “Then we’re going to take it and leave. I’m crushed with these results.”
“You’re crushed!” Deborah said. “They have me down for no eggs whatsoever. At least they thought enough of you to attribute some live kids.”
Joanna glanced up at Deborah. As she suspected, her roommate was smiling. Joanna had to give her credit. Thanks to her mischievous personality, she could find humor in most any circumstance. For her part, Joanna was not amused at all.
“One thing I do notice,” Deborah said. “With each egg entry of yours, the sperm donor is not mentioned.”
“I would assume it was the woman’s husband,” Joanna said. She finished setting up the printing command and clicked on the Print button. “Now that’s going to take a few minutes with the size of the file. If there’s anything you want to do, do it now, because once we have the file, I want to leave.”
“I’m ready now,” Deborah said.
“WHAT A DAY,” RANDY LAMENTED. HE WAS THANKFUL TO have gotten rid of Kurt Hermann but disgruntled he’d had to have such a weird conversation in the first place. The man was like a caged tiger with his quiet demeanor and the slow way he moved and spoke. Randy shook himself as if having had a wave of nausea just remembering talking with him.
Randy was on his way back from fixing the workstation in accounting which he’d had to put on hold when he’d been called to have the chat with the security chief. It was going on two in the afternoon, and he was looking forward to getting back to his cubicle. Putting up with Kurt hadn’t been the worst part of the day: that was reserved for having lost to SCREAMER, and Randy was aching for a rematch.
Arriving in his cubicle, Randy went through his usual trick to see if Christine was around. He was glad to see she wasn’t, which was typical for that time in the afternoon when she had her department-head meetings. That meant he could allow a little more sound. Sitting down, he pulled his joystick from behind the monitor. Next he typed in his password to unlock his keyboard. The moment he did so, he saw the same pesky prompt flashing in the lower right-hand corner of his computer desktop that had been responsible for his death that morning. Somebody had been in the server room again!
With angry strokes, Randy brought up the appropriate window. Sure enough, the door had been opened at 12:02 P.M. and left open until 12:28 P.M., which meant that whoever had gone in there had remained for twenty-six minutes. Randy knew that a visit of twenty-six minutes was not like someone popping in for a peek, and it bothered him considerably. In twenty-six minutes someone could cause a lot of trouble indeed.
Next Randy called up the appropriate folder to see who it had been. He was shocked to find that once again it had been Dr. Spencer Wingate! Randy sat back and stared at the founder’s name while trying to decide what to do. He’d told Kurt about the first incident, but the security chief had hardly seemed impressed although he had asked to be informed if it happened again.
Randy tipped forward again. He decided he’d call the security chief but only after seeing if he could find anything in the system that had been changed. What first came to mind was a change in user levels. With rapid strokes and movement of the mouse, he accessed his Active Directory. After only a few minutes he had the answer. Dr. Wingate had added Prudence Heatherly to the access list for the Donor folder in the server’s data drive.
Randy tipped back in his seat again. He asked himself why the founder of the clinic would add the name of a new employee to a secure file that even Dr. Wingate didn’t have access to. It didn’t make a lot of sense unless Prudence Heatherly was working for him in some undercover capacity.
“This is unreal,” Randy said. In a way, he was enjoying himself. It was something like a computer game where he was trying to figure out his opponent’s strategy. It wasn’t as exciting as Unreal Tournament, but then again, little was. He sat and pondered for a number of minutes.
Without coming up with a plausible explanation, Randy reached for the phone. He wasn’t looking forward to talking with Kurt again, but at least it was by phone, not in person. He also decided to tell the man just the facts and none of his supposition. While he dialed the extension he noted the time. It was two o’clock on the button.
MAY 10, 2001
2:00 P.M.
JOANNA TRIED TO ACT NORMALLY
despite a creepy feeling she was being watched as she descended the steps at the Wingate Clinic’s entrance and started down the walkway toward the Chevy Malibu. Deborah was already in the car, and Joanna could see her head silhouetted in the driver’s seat. Since the workday was hardly over, they had decided that it would attract less attention if they left separately than if they walked out together. So far it seemed to have worked. Deborah had apparently made it safely, and no one had confronted Joanna.
Joanna had her purse over her right shoulder. In her left hand she was carrying a thick envelope containing the bulky printout of the donor file. As she walked she had to fight against the urge to run. Once again she felt like a thief making her getaway, only this time she was carrying the stolen goods.
She got to the car without incident and went around to the passenger side. As quickly as she could she climbed in.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Joanna proclaimed.
“Wouldn’t this be a good time for the car not to start?” Deborah joked as she reached for the ignition.
Joanna swatted her playfully, giving vent to the tension she felt. “Don’t even suggest it, you teas
e! Move it!”
Deborah leaned away from Joanna’s slap, got the car going, and backed out of the parking space.
“Well, we did it, for whatever it was worth,” Deborah said as she maneuvered the car to begin the descent of the long, curving drive. “I guess we should give ourselves credit for that, even if the payoff was a big disappointment.”
“We didn’t do it until we get out of the gate safely,” Joanna said.
“I suppose that’s technically true,” Deborah said. She pulled up to the gate, stopping at the indicated white line.
Joanna held her breath during the short interval before the gate began its long, slow swing open.
A moment later Deborah powered the car through the tunnel beneath the gatehouse and into the clear beyond.
Joanna visibly relaxed, and Deborah noticed.
“Were you really worried there?” Deborah asked.
“I’ve been worried all day,” Joanna admitted. She opened the envelope and extracted the heavy printout.
Deborah glanced at Joanna as she made the right turn onto Pierce Street to head into Bookford. “What are you going to do, a little pleasure reading on the way home?”
“Actually, I had an idea,” Joanna said. “And a pretty good one as I’m sure you’ll agree.” She began shuffling through the pages, looking for two in particular while being careful to keep them all in order. It took her several minutes.
“Are you going to clue me in, or is this great idea of yours a secret?” Deborah asked finally. She was mildly miffed at Joanna’s continuing silence.
Joanna inwardly smiled. She realized by not completing her thought she’d unconsciously subjected Deborah to the same irritating speech foible Deborah was forever pulling on her. Enjoying her revenge, Joanna didn’t answer until she’d isolated the proper pages and put the rest of the file on the backseat.
“Voila!” Joanna said. She held the sheets up so Deborah could look at them.
Deborah took her eyes off the road long enough to see that the papers Joanna was holding were those giving the details about the two children that had supposedly been born from her eggs. “Okay, I see what you’ve got there. So what’s the big idea?”
“Both these children would be about seven to eight months old,” Joanna said. “That is, if they exist.”
“Yeah, so?”
“We’ve got names here, addresses, and phone numbers,” Joanna said. “I suggest we call them up and if they’re willing, pay them a visit.”
Deborah gave Joanna a fleeting glance with an expression of total disbelief. “You’re joking,” she said. “Tell me you are joking.”
“I’m not joking,” Joanna said. “It was your suggestion that this list was a fabrication. Let’s check it out. At least one of these addresses is right here in Bookford.”
Deborah pulled over to the side of the road. They were in sight of the public library at the corner of Pierce and Main. She put the car in park and turned to look at Joanna. “I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think visiting these people is a good idea at all. A call, okay, but not a visit.”
“We’ll call first,” Joanna said. “But if the children exist, I want to see them.”
“That was never part of our plan,” Deborah said. “We were just going to find out if children had resulted. We never talked about a visit. It’s not healthy, nor do I think the parents would appreciate it.”
“I’m not going to tell them I was the donor,” Joanna said. “If that’s what you are worried about.”
“I’m worried about you,” Deborah said. “Knowing a child exists is one thing, seeing him in reality is another. I don’t think you should put yourself through such a situation. It’s asking for emotional heartache.”
“It’s not going to cause any emotional heartache,” Joanna said. “It will be reassuring. It will make me feel good.”
“That’s what the addict said with the first dose of heroin,” Deborah said. “If these children exist, and you see them, you’ll want to see them again, and that’s not fair to anyone.”
“You’re not going to talk me out of this,” Joanna said. She took out her cellular phone and began punching in the number for Mr. and Mrs. Harold Sard. She looked at Deborah as the call went through. The fact that it was ringing meant it was a real number and not a made-up one.
“Hello, Mrs. Sard?” Joanna questioned when the phone was answered.
“Yes, who’s this?”
“This is Prudence Heatherly from the Wingate Clinic,” Joanna said. “How’s the little one doing?”
“Jason is doing just fine,” Mrs. Sard said. “We’re quite excited. He’s just starting to crawl.”
Joanna raised her eye brows for Deborah’s benefit. “He’s starting to crawl already! That’s terrific! Listen, Mrs. Sard, the reason I’m calling is that we’d like to do some follow-up on Jason. Would it be all right if myself and another Wingate Clinic employee came by for a brief visit with the boy?”
“Of course!” Mrs. Sard said. “If it weren’t for the hard work you people do, we wouldn’t have this bundle of joy. He’s such a blessing. We’ve wanted a child for so long. When would you like to come by.”
“Is the next half hour or so convenient?”
“That would be perfect. He’s just awakened from his afternoon nap, so he should be in good spirits. Do you have the address?”
“I do, but I could use some directions,” Joanna said.
The directions turned out to be simple. They involved merely turning left on Main Street, heading into town, and then taking the first left after the RiteSmart pharmacy. The house was a sixties-style split-level with its faux brick disengaging from its front facade and its trim sorely in need of a paint job. In contrast a brand-new child’s swing set stood gleaming in the afternoon sun at the side of the modest house.
Deborah pulled into the driveway behind a vintage Ford pickup. She spotted the swings. “A new swing set for a six-month-old! I’d wager that means an eager dad!”
“The woman did say they’ve been wanting a child for some time.”
“It doesn’t look like a house belonging to people able to pay the money the Wingate requires.”
Joanna nodded. “It makes you wonder where they found the money. Infertility makes couples desperate. They often remortgage the house or just borrow the money, but looking at this house doesn’t suggest either of those avenues as possibilities.”
Deborah turned to Joanna. “Which means they’ve probably ended up with little money for the financial burden of raising a child. Are you sure you want to go through with this? I mean, it might be rather bleak in there, and upsetting. My advice is we just turn around and leave, no harm done.”
“I want to see the child,” Joanna said. “Trust me! I can handle it.” She opened the door and got out. Deborah did the same on her side, and the two women headed up the front walk. With her high heels Deborah had to walk with particular care to avoid the many cracks in the concrete. Even so she lost her shoe, requiring her to bend over to extricate it.
“Do me a favor and bend your knees when you do that,” Joanna said. “I can see why you caught Randy’s attention back at the water fountain.”
“Your jealousy has no bounds,” Deborah teased back.
The two women climbed the front steps.
“Are you ready for this?” Deborah asked with her finger poised over the doorbell.
“Ring the darn bell!” Joanna said. “You’re making this into such a big deal!”
Deborah rang the bell. It could be heard chiming within. The chiming went on for several seconds as if playing a tune.
“That’s a nice touch,” Deborah said sarcastically.
“Don’t be so judgmental!” Joanna complained.
The door opened and through the dirty glass of the storm door the women could make out a moderately obese woman in a house dress carrying a baby with a shock of black hair. When the storm door opened to provide an unencumbered view, both women’s mouths dropped in
astonished dismay. Deborah even staggered back in her high heels, and only by grabbing onto the railing was she able to maintain her balance.
PAUL SAUNDERS HAD MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO than meet with Kurt Hermann. He’d even had to postpone the autopsy he was going to do with Greg Lynch on the sow’s newborns down in the farm autopsy room. But Kurt had said it was crucial they speak right away, and Paul had reluctantly agreed, especially when Kurt had insisted they meet in the gatehouse away from other ears. Paul knew that meant trouble, but he wasn’t concerned. He was confident in Kurt’s abilities and discretion for which he was paid a lot of money . . . a very lot of money!
As Paul neared the squat structure he recalled the last time he’d been there. It had been well over a year before when there’d been the anesthetic disaster. He couldn’t help but remember how efficiently and with what aplomb Kurt had handled that crisis, and the memory contributed to Paul’s composure.
At the door Paul kicked off the mud his shoes had picked up on his walk down the moist lawn that was still recovering from the previous snowy winter. Once inside, he found his security chief at his desk in his ascetic office. Paul grabbed a chair and sat.
“We have a major security problem,” Kurt said with his characteristic equanimity. He had his elbows on the desktop with his clasped hands in the air. He pointed his steepled index fingers at Paul to emphasize his point but otherwise there was no sign of emotion or panic.
“I’m listening,” Paul said.
“Two new employees started today,” Kurt said. “A Georgina Marks and Prudence Heatherly. I assume you interviewed them as you normally do.”
“Absolutely,” Paul said. In his mind’s eye he immediately pictured Georgina and her curvaceous body.
“I’ve been doing some investigating. They are not who they said they are.”
“Explain!”
“They’ve used assumed names,” Kurt said. “Georgina Marks and Prudence Heatherly were from the Boston area, but they are both recently deceased.”