Embryo 1: Embryo

by JA Schneider

  David checked his watch again: Jill, for God’s sake…

  “…another one, also a prostitute, eighteen years old. In this case, the victim had no direct connection to the hospital, but it looks like it was the same guy using the same M.O. – ”

  “They need that explained,” Stryker interrupted, as if he were talking about children.

  Pappas ignored him. “This morning, 6:00 a.m., harbor cops picked up a floater. About six months pregnant, no amniotic fluid, strangled like Gaines. Medical Examiner’s working on it now. Been dead about two weeks.”

  Rosenberg looked at him. “Floating in the water for two weeks?”

  “Yes,” said Pappas. “In July.”

  He opened a folder and pulled out an 8 x 10 photograph. “This picture’s only a preliminary. They have to, ah, reconstruct parts of the face.” He had spotted George Mackey, who was standing feet away.

  “Doctor,” he said. “You remembered Bonnie Gaines yesterday. Does this victim look familiar to you?”

  Pappas held the photo up to him.

  Mackey looked at it and grimaced. “Jeez, you expect me to identify that?”

  “Mackey!” said Graham sharply.

  “Reasonable reaction,” murmured Clifford Arnett, taking the photo, looking at it with a headshake, then passing it to Stryker.

  Willard Simpson was angry. “Detective, there are thousands of people in this city with clean needles. Why connect the second victim with this hospital?”

  “She lived in the neighborhood,” Pappas said drily.

  Simpson glared at him.

  And Levine was thinking: Jill’s late because it’s rush hour. Hard to get a cab. Hard to…oh hell. He began pushing his way to the door. Had his hand on the doorknob when he heard Pappas call to him.

  “Doctor, where are you off to? I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

  “What?” David said impatiently.

  “Actually, it isn’t just you I want to talk to. It’s also a female intern who’s under your supervision, the one hospital security guards tell us was mugged last night.” His gaze scanned the room. “Is she here?”

  Think, Jill commanded herself. The cab is cool at least.

  Her whirling mind refused to cooperate. There were too many pieces. Moran and Tarasov trying to prevent pregnancy. Tarasov convinced that something was “done” to her at the hospital. Incomplete records. Warner and Chang trusting so blindly…

  The taxi swung left and entered the heavy traffic on First Avenue. She was half an hour late. Big mistake not to have reckoned with rush hour traffic. Two messages were on her cell phone: David, telling her to come straight to an all-department meeting in Howard Graham’s conference room. Sheri Chang had also called at 5:10; had just remembered something that could be important.

  What, Sheri? And Administration? The hospital director calling an all-department meeting? Jill felt her belly clutch. What now?

  She reached the hospital, raced to the second floor, and stood in the hall watching the OB staff troop out of Graham’s conference room. Woody and Tricia were among them, and told her about the police being there.

  “David’s still with them,” Tricia said. “As we were leaving I saw them go into Graham’s office.”

  “Grim stuff,” Woody said. “Wait till you hear.”

  The atmosphere in Graham’s office was tense. Pappas sat in an upholstered chair, watching Levine and Ganon arguing in a corner. The White-Coat Tribunal was there too, now in street clothes, looking grim. Heads turned to her when she appeared.

  Damn, if only she’d taken two minutes to change back into scrubs. David stepped toward her, his face a mix of exasperation and relief.

  “Sit please,” Stryker ordered. Graham, gray-haired with an aggressive, corporate face, watched her with distaste. She had seen him once at a gathering to greet new interns, and didn’t like him.

  Jill sat. Levine leaned on the back of her chair.

  “Breaking rules again, Doctor Raney?” Stryker snapped.

  She looked at the cops. Stryker was trying to use her to distract them.

  “I…obtained proper coverage for a two hour absence,” she said, “and returned half an hour late. Is that why you’ve called an all-department meeting?”

  Stryker glared at her, and turned to Gregory Pappas. “Perhaps you’d better tell Dr. Raney what you’ve told us,” he said.

  Pappas did – beginning with the two murdered prostitutes.

  Jill stared at him. “The second one too? No amniotic fluid?”

  “There’s more,” Pappas said. He was silent for a moment, then abruptly changed topics.

  “Dr. Raney, we’ve heard from hospital security that a female intern was helped into Emergency yesterday evening. That was you, wasn’t it? Attacked in the Madison Museum the guard said?”

  Jill controlled herself with an effort and said, “Yes. That was me.”

  She saw Ganon and Stryker exchange glances.

  Pappas asked Levine, “Why didn’t you mention this last night?”

  “Why?” David said. “You came about the Gaines murder.” He glanced down at Jill. She’d pulled her hair further over her bandage.

  To no avail. Stryker said, “She suffered a laceration and you stitched her up. Is that correct, Dr. Levine? You saw no need to call in a surgery resident?”

  “None whatsoever. It was a simple laceration. I was already there, conferring with Detective Pappas.”

  “Nonsense! From what I hear you two have a special relationship!” Stryker turned irritably to Pappas. “Detective, I truly don’t see why you’re interested in this intern’s misadventure. We’ve had a couple of obstetrical tragedies. Dr. Raney has insisted on considering these tragedies as mysteries to be solved, with no restraint put on her by her superior, Dr. Levine.”

  Ganon snickered. Graham watched Jill keenly.

  And Pappas held up a hand. “The museum,” he said, “is precisely why we want to see Dr. Raney.” He paused, consulted some notes. “One of your obstetrical tragedies is a woman who worked at the museum. We’ve had a Missing Persons Report filed by the museum’s curator, Margaret Haywood. The patient under heavy sedation was discharged from this hospital by a man falsely claiming to be her husband. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”

  One of the uniformed cops rested his hand on his gun.

  The anger Jill had long struggled to suppress erupted. “This hospital allowed her to be kidnapped!” She felt deep burning color spread across her face. “She was lucid and talking. There was no reason to knock her out with Thorazine!”

  She saw Stryker’s fury, felt David’s hand on her shoulder. Pappas, scribbling in his notebook, said, “That will take some looking into. By the way” – he glanced up – “the museum was further troubled during the night by a strange theft. Two ancestor-of-man dummies were stolen.”

  Jill leaned forward. “Hominids?”

  “That’s it. Two hominids are gone. So the museum has a missing employee who gave birth here, and two stolen hominids. How could someone carry off two life-size dummies from a burglar-proof museum?”

  He looked at Jill again. “Did you get a description of your attacker?”

  She told him. “Some guy in a long grass mask wearing Nike sneakers - black with silver markings.”

  Pappas looked at her thoughtfully. “So not exactly a mugging, was it? Your attacker planned, must have been familiar with the museum and the dummy costumes. Did you hear his voice?”

  “Yes. He said, ’Bitch, I’ll get you.’ I threw a javelin at him.”

  One of the uniformed guys couldn’t repress a smirk. Pappas closed his notebook. “Got to go,” he said. “Inspect two murders, an assault and a burglary all connected with this hospital.” He headed for the door. “Alert your staff. Tell them I’m opening a formal investigation and this place is going to be crawling with cops.”

  He and the two uniforms left.

  And moments later Stryker was coolly telling the others why
he thought department records should be immediately impounded. This was a catastrophe. Everything they’d dreaded. It would be a blaring news story full of lurid, ridiculous exaggerations!

  Jill realized she was done for here. How she hated those smug jury faces.

  “…only way to approach this problem is to expand the investigation we’ve already begun,” Stryker demanded. “I want every chart from the past three months scrutinized by the most highly trained staff and protected” – he shot a furious glance at Jill – “from any further meddling and misinterpretation.”

  Jill shot to her feet. “Cover-up!” she cried. Ignoring David’s look, she stepped forward. “Sure, get there first and sift out anything that would imperil your reputation!”

  Rosenberg said solemnly, “Impounding charts won’t work. There are thousands of them. It would take months and a lot of staff and that would get out; make us look even worse.”

  Arnett, Simpson, and Graham nodded unhappily. “Damage is done,” Simpson said.

  Stryker looked at all of them for several moments, then turned to Jill. To her surprise his voice changed, sounded very sad.

  “I am filled with regret for you. It was for your own good that I implored you to stop what you were doing. You ignored my requests. Your histrionics and your wild and unsubstantiated charges have placed our department in an intolerable situation.” He hesitated. “Tomorrow I’m going to call a faculty-wide hearing to see that your internship here is terminated.”

  “No,” David behind her said involuntarily.

  “Yes,” snapped Willard Simpson vindictively.

  Jill flared back at him. “You’re just using this police business to get me out of the way. Just try it and I’ll be singing to the media! There happens to be a lot more I know – ”

  Levine grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the door. “Come on, Jill.”

  She yanked her arm free and looked at Stryker. “Do you actually think I’ll disappear just like that? You may think you’re God around here but there’s no way you can – ”

  “Come on!”

  Levine hustled her out, and with a bang the door slammed behind them.

  26

  It was nine o’clock, and sudden rain pelted the window. Numbly, Jill watched droplets trickle down the darkened panes, then looked despondently into his face.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, Shh. I can’t hear. Open more buttons.”

  She unbuttoned her blouse all the way and tried to appear calm, which was useless, with David’s stethoscope moving across her breast, pressing here, there.

  “Heart rate’s still 110,” he said. He pulled off his stethoscope, and reached from his chair across the bed where she sat for the blood pressure cuff.

  Her eyes followed his. “You even believe about Tarasov?”

  “I believe that what she told you is what she believes.” David stopped and looked at her. “Those were her exact words? The pregnancy was done to her – here?”

  “Verbatim. Sheri Chang called, by the way. I just found her message. She said she’d just remembered something that might be important.”

  “That didn’t seem important when you talked to her?”

  He was sorry for his dismissive tone. Shook his head, pushed her sleeve above her elbow and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm. Adjusting his stethoscope again, he pumped up the mercury with his left hand, listened over the brachial artery inside her left elbow, then let the pressure hiss down. He was frowning.

  “Don’t say it.”

  “160 over 95.”

  “I could have told you that.”

  “Wise guy.” He undid the cuff, tossed it into a near armchair and got up to pace the small room. By the window he stood looking out. Below was a very small light, bobbing and tossing its way up the blackened East River. Brave little boat, he thought. Upriver in the dark in the rain, alone. And then he thought: no, not alone.

  He turned around.

  Jill’s hands covered her face. She was crying.

  He crossed to the bed and put his arms around her. “Listen,” he said. “Sayers and Moran make two, and that’s still damn bizarre.” He stroked her hair. “It’s…enough. Tomorrow I’m planning to make it exhibit A for Stryker’s little sideshow. We can point a few fingers too. They’re going to look pretty bad when the faculty finds out what you’ve discovered.”

  Her glistening face looked up at him. “I’ve messed you up too. I’m so sorry.”

  “You haven’t messed me up.”

  “But he’s so powerful!”

  “Who cares? Listen, what’s the worst that could happen? We’ll get thrown out and deliver babies in the boonies. Y’know? That would be nice. It would be very nice to feel appreciated.”

  “Oh David,” she said, very softly, and for a moment he thought she seemed right again. Her arms tightened around his neck, her self-control seemed to be returning…

  Then he felt the strain pumping back into her. Through the closeness of their chest walls he felt the new thudding of her heart.

  He pulled back to study her face. “Jill – ”

  “Don’t you realize,” she said, her face anxious, “that somebody’s getting away with murder around here?”

  His shoulders sagged. He loosened his grip around her, looking grim. “You’re obsessed,” he said quietly.

  She dropped her gaze. “Guess I am. Can’t help it.”

  “Okay, so you’re obsessed. But can you please not get yourself killed? Tomorrow we wage war, but tonight I’m on call and you have to get some sleep.”

  He reached to turn off the lamp. “At least the phone hasn’t rung yet.” He pulled her to him and kissed her. She kissed him back, hesitantly at first, then not hesitantly at all.

  The rain outside drummed softly.

  “Now,” he said. “Do you think I can get you into this bed?”

  The phone rang at 2:30 and she came awake with a start.

  He had it off the hook before the second ring.

  “Umm?”

  Silence. David listening. Then, groggy-voiced, “Okay, be right down.”

  He stood and pulled on his scrubs, muttering that the case sounded dicey; he’d probably be up the rest of the night.

  Jill felt a stab of fear. She’d been dreaming of the grass creature chasing her with Stryker screaming “Get the bitch!” Her heart kicked up in her chest.

  “David…”

  “Sleep,” he said. In the darkness he bent and kissed her, then headed for the door. Fighting panic, she followed him. She wanted to hold him, beg him to get someone else to cover for him – just for this awful night. By the door she made herself stop. This was no way to behave. He’d be away for hours; she had to wrestle with her demons alone.

  “Who else is on call?” she asked weakly.

  “Woody. MacIntyre. I forget who else.”

  He glanced down at her nakedness. Sleepiness vanished from his face.

  “Lock the door. Double-lock it. Those murders – ”

  “That was outside. The hospital security – ”

  “Hospital security stinks.”

  “And those extra cops Pappas talked about?”

  David shook his head. “You think they can tell staff apart from anyone else? Besides, it could one of the staff who’s the bad guy… just go to bed and stay there, please?”

  Reaching down, he adjusted the bolt on the door so it would snap when he closed it. He kissed her again, then was gone.

  The lock’s click echoed in the darkness. Jill stepped away from the closed door. David had to be wrong, she thought. Between the security guards and extra police the hospital must look like an armed camp.

  She went back to bed, lay frowning at the shadowy ceiling, and finally reassured herself. David had every reason to feel jittery, but the murders had happened outside the hospital.

  All I have to worry about, she thought, is William Stryker.


  Outside, a high wail heralded the arrival of another ambulance. She realized that it had stopped raining.

  A tense-looking nurse disappeared into the delivery room, and Levine, approaching, quickened his pace. He was preoccupied; could not shake his uneasy feeling. Ducking into the scrub room, he found a peevish Sam MacIntyre already up to his elbows in suds.

  “Chrissakes,” bitched MacIntyre. “They’ve already got Greenberg in there. What do they need us for?”

  David took the sink next to him. “Problems,” he said. He pressed the foot pedal that turned on the water. “Woman’s been fully dilated for forty minutes. Labor’s not progressing.”

  “She’s not getting good contractions?”

  “She’s not getting any contractions.”

  Mac pounded out more Phisohex. “Jeez, I hope we don’t have to open her up. I want to go back to bed.” Which reminded him: “Where’s Jill, by the way?”

  “Sleeping, I hope. Recovering from her thoroughly rotten day.” David pitched a used nailbrush into the hamper.

  MacIntyre stared thoughtfully into the sink. “Tomorrow is bullshit. She’ll get used to Stryker’s terror tactics.” He shook his hands free of water, used a sterile towel to dry, and turned toward the delivery doors. “In the meantime,” he said, “I hope you chained her to the bed.”

  “I should have,” David said, following him.

  MacIntyre looked at him in mock horror. “You mean you didn’t?”

  27

  Shortly before 3:00 Jill gave up trying to sleep. Fatigue was gone and she had an idea, a solution to something that had been nagging.

  She’d felt cocky after stealing the Master Computer code from Arnett’s office; then had thought, so what do I do with it?

  Her conversation with the Cytology tech came back to her: “So only staff cleared for total access can get any info they want?” “Yup. Only the top brass have the Master Code.”

  The top brass… In her crazier moments Jill had tried to figure how to break into their offices when they were locked for the night. But she’d preferred not to get arrested, and didn’t know how to pick a lock anyway.