Damaged

by Pamela Callow

  The guard spoke for a minute into the receiver, then hung up the phone. “She’ll be right out.” He handed Kate a visitor’s tag on a lanyard. “Please sign in.”

  She was disappointed to see she was signing a fresh page of the visitors’ log. She’d hoped to scan the list of visitors to see if Morris MacNeil had already “dropped by.”

  “Hi.” Melinda Crouse’s perky voice materialized at Kate’s shoulder. She turned around to see a young woman in her mid-twenties greeting her with a warm, if puzzled, smile.

  “Hi, Melinda.” Kate held out her hand. Melinda grasped it limply. “Sorry to drop in on you, but I received the information you sent me and had a couple of questions.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Melinda said, with a smile as perky as her voice. “We can talk over here.” She pointed at a small reception room just off the foyer.

  “Great.” Kate followed her, studying her from behind. She wore an off-the-rack tailored navy suit, with pointy-toed shoes that were worn at the heels. Her blond hair was carefully streaked and pulled off her face.

  The reception room looked like one of those rooms the hospital set aside for family members to pray or grieve. It had several comfortable armchairs in pale green velveteen, with an oak side table. A water cooler was tucked in the corner.

  Kate settled herself in one of the chairs and pulled out the reports from her briefcase.

  Melinda sat opposite her. “Did you get everything you needed?” she asked.

  Kate smiled. “Yes, thank you. I wanted to run through a couple of things with you. First of all, were there only six batches of NextGeneration tissue filler made on the same day as the plaintiffs’ batches?”

  Melinda nodded. “Yes. We traced the batch numbers for the knee filler to the donor records I sent you.”

  Kate held up a donor record. “Is there any chance the donor records were filled out by TransTissue instead of BioMediSol?”

  Melinda shook her head. “No. We require the tissue supplier to fill in the form.”

  “Who reviews these forms?”

  Melinda straightened, a look of uncertainty on her face. “Um…it goes to the screening division. They check all that stuff and then the product is sent to processing.” She smoothed her skirt. “It’s all in the manuals I sent you.”

  “Great.” A movement in the foyer caught her eye. A brown-haired man with broad shoulders straining his suit turned the corner and was gone.

  “Is that where the processing division is?” Kate asked, pointing in the direction of the disappearing man.

  Melinda nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’ve always been curious about it. Do you think you could give me a tour?”

  Melinda smiled and jumped to her feet. Her relief at no longer having to answer questions was palpable. “Sure thing!”

  Kate shoved the reports into her bag and followed the young PR woman. They walked past the security guard and around the corner. Melinda swiped her security pass through the sensor, pulling open a set of white-painted metal doors.

  Kate walked through them. The doors fell closed behind her. There was a hum in the air, almost visibly shirring the fluorescent lights overhead.

  “We can’t go to the part where they make NextGen, because you need to be suited up and stuff,” Melinda said. “But I can show you how they make some of the pure bone products.”

  “All right.” She was disappointed. She wanted to watch how the filler was made, see if there was a weak link in the chain that Morris would undoubtedly hammer at. “Can I come back and see it?”

  “Um…you need to get approval from the CEO. It’s a restricted area.” Melinda gave Kate an apologetic smile.

  Kate frowned. “Why?”

  “Oh, because of the sanitation protocol. You know, everything has to be kept germfree and all that.” Melinda paused in front of a large window, which overlooked a room that looked like a laboratory. “Here’s the FADAL.”

  “The what?” Kate stared at her. It sounded like she said, “The fuh doll.”

  Melinda smiled and pointed to an eight-foot-tall rectangular machine with a long steel table running through the middle. A large drill was mounted over the table. “The technician uses CAD software to program the FADAL, so the bone is precision cut.”

  As Melinda spoke, a woman in a white lab coat lined up a bone on the steel table. She ignored Kate and Melinda staring through the window. After punching some buttons on the machine, she lowered the drill. White dust floated around her masked face. When the dust cleared, Kate saw that the bone had been cut into even dowels.

  “I presume the bone has already been screened for disease?” Kate asked.

  Melinda nodded. “Yes. We take the blood sample that’s sent with the tissue and test it. Once it’s cleared, the tissue is cleaned off the bone, and then it’s sent here for processing.”

  “What are the bone dowels used for?”

  “These ones will be used for lumbar fusion.”

  At Kate’s questioning look, Melinda added, “It’s a common spinal surgery. We also make dowels that are used for ACL surgery to aid in graft-to-bone healing.”

  The technician placed the dowels in a container.

  “What happens after the product is made from the bone?” Kate asked.

  Melinda smiled proudly. “All of our products go into our debug system afterward.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s like a big washing machine. It cleans the bone really well and it comes out free of germs. Some of the products are freeze-dried after that. Then they are ready for shipping.” She glanced at Kate. “We label each product with the batch number so we can trace it to the donor or donors.”

  “Can the debug system get rid of HIV or hepatitis?”

  Melinda nodded. “I think so. But it’s not really an issue because we screen the blood for it before we process the tissue. And the broker screens the donors to make sure they don’t have the disease before they harvest tissue from them.” She smiled brightly. “So that’s the tour. Any more questions?” She turned and began walking back to the foyer.

  Kate heard footsteps behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. It was the broad-shouldered man.

  “Just one,” she said to Melinda. “But I think we should finish our discussion in the conference room—”

  “If I may,” the man behind Kate interjected.

  He stepped next to Kate, studying her with shrewd brown eyes. Melinda threw him a flustered look. “Oh, Mr. Duggan, I didn’t see you—”

  Kate met the CEO’s gaze. He was youngish, in his forties, with football-player features that had aged well.

  “It’s quite all right, Melinda.” Mr. Duggan gave her a brief smile.

  Kate held out her hand. “Mr. Duggan, I’m Kate Lange.”

  He took her hand in his. His handshake was firm and warm. “Ms. Lange, I’ve heard a lot about you.” He smiled. His teeth were even and white. “You come highly recommended. I understand you are helping John mount a watertight defense for us.”

  Kate smiled. “I hope so. I wanted to see the bone filler processing facility.”

  He nodded. “We’ll try to arrange that. Now, what was the question you had for Melinda? Perhaps I can answer it for you.”

  “I received the donor reports for the plaintiffs’ knee fillers. Five of the donors have the exact same serology results. Same titers. I’m wondering how that is possible.”

  He could not hide his shock, although he tried. “The exact same?”

  “Yes. Do you think it’s possible that BioMediSol might have sent you the same blood sample for five of the donors?”

  Melinda gasped. Bob Duggan threw her an irritated look, then turned to Kate. “I shall look into it. This is extremely unusual. I can assure you that our screening director reviews every serology report prior to the tissue being processed. Perhaps there has been a paperwork error…”

  “I hope so.” She held his gaze. “This kind of error can have very unpleasant consequences for Tra
nsTissue, not to mention the patients that receive the allograft.”

  She hadn’t meant to sound so sanctimonious, but his obvious shock had sent her anxiety about the defense skyrocketing.

  Bob Duggan frowned. “I am well aware of that, Ms. Lange.” He walked her to the front door. “Please return those reports by courier today.” He pulled the door open for her. “I’ll have someone contact you about touring the NextGen processing area.”

  “Thank you.” She left the building, mulling over Bob Duggan’s reaction to her discovery. He’d been as horrified as she was.

  Damn.

  Hopefully, Bob Duggan would review the reports and find a reasonable explanation for the identical serology results.

  Otherwise, they were screwed.

  She glanced in her rearview mirror as she drove down Blue Ridge Crescent. The noonday sun turned TransTissue’s pink-tinted windows into a fiery shield, blinding her view of Bob Duggan. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. She may not be able to see him, but she felt his eyes on her.

  33

  Kate placed the phone down. It was 2:48 p.m. She’d managed to reach a friend of hers from her waitressing days who now worked in a pathology lab. Her friend had confirmed, as Kate had guessed, that it was nearly impossible for five people to have the exact same viral screening results.

  TransTissue’s paper trail was fatally flawed.

  The case had fallen apart in front of her eyes.

  She dialed John Lyons’ number. He answered on the first ring. “Can I talk to you for a minute about the TransTissue file?” she asked, her heart pounding.

  “Yes, in fact, I was going to call you about it.” His voice was cool, preoccupied. Disquiet edged along Kate’s nerves. “Come on up.”

  She gathered the TransTissue file and walked quickly to John’s office. “Hi, John.” She made sure her voice sounded confident despite the time bomb she had tucked under her arm.

  He gave her a small smile. “Sit down, please, Kate.”

  She sank into a Queen Anne chair facing his desk, balancing the TransTissue file on her knee. “What’s up?” Something was. Instead of the usual warmth she had grown to expect from her mentor, his gaze was perturbed.

  “I had a call from Bob Duggan,” he said. He watched her closely.

  She kept her gaze steady. “I met him this morning.”

  “What were you doing at TransTissue?” His tone wasn’t accusing, but it contained enough of an edge to put her on the defensive.

  “Checking out a few facts. Before Morris does,” she added pointedly.

  “Bob told me that you had all kinds of reports sent to you, and then questioned the veracity of them.”

  “I had asked for the donor blood-screening reports for the batches of knee filler products made the same day as the plaintiffs’.”

  His gaze didn’t soften.

  Alarm bells went off in Kate’s head.

  “I did it so that I could be sure there hadn’t been some slip in the manufacturing chain that would negate our defense.”

  He steepled his fingers together. “But you accused them of falsifying the reports.”

  Falsifying reports? Her mind raced back to her conversation with Melinda, then with Bob Duggan. She’d asked both of them if they knew why five of the reports were identical. There had been no accusations. She straightened. “John, I didn’t accuse them of falsifying reports. But there is a problem—”

  “I know.” His tone was flat. “Bob told me that the PR gal had made a photocopying error and sent you five copies of the same serology report.”

  “Did he, now.” Her fingers tightened their grip on the file. “That’s not what he told me. He asked me to send the reports back to him so he could investigate the matter. I just sent them.” Why was Bob Duggan trying to make her look bad? “Look.” She handed the photocopy she’d made of the reports to John. “See how these titers are identical?”

  John picked up the reports and flipped through the top five. He placed them carefully back on his desk.

  “I agree. They are identical.” His gaze sharpened. “Due to paperwork error. Simple as that.” His tone implied she should have figured that out without needing TransTissue’s CEO and her boss to tell her.

  “I agree. It could be a simple photocopy error.” It was the easiest explanation, but her research of the U.S. cases wouldn’t let her leave it at that. “We need to see the originals. Without the names or ID numbers blacked out.”

  John folded his arms. “Do you seriously believe that TransTissue was falsifying documents?”

  She met his gaze head-on. “I don’t think TransTissue is falsifying records. However, I think that their supplier might’ve been sending in fake blood samples.”

  John’s brows rose, a look of incredulity on his face. “Were you watching CSI Miami last night?”

  A flush heated her cheeks. “I came across this in my research of the U.S. cases. Whenever the tissue processors got in trouble, it started with the suppliers. They were harvesting contaminated tissue and falsifying the donor reports.”

  John leaned back in his chair and studied her. She couldn’t read his expression. After his CSI barb, she was tensed for anything. “So you think that TransTissue has a bad supplier and is ignoring the problem?”

  Relief surged through her. He was finally getting it. What she didn’t understand is why it took him so long. He was well-known for his abilities to ferret out the weak links in much more complicated chains of evidence than this. “That is one possibility. Have you heard of a company called BioMediSol?”

  John frowned. “Vaguely. Why? Were they the supplier?” He picked up a pen and rolled it between his finger and thumb.

  She nodded. “Yes. And the blood samples they sent to TransTissue for testing came up with the exact same results, five times out of twelve.”

  He sighed softly. “As Bob Duggan said, it was a paperwork error.” He put the pen down and held her gaze. “Kate, you have got to understand something. You are on shaky ground. TransTissue has above-standard industry screening procedures. They have a rigorous selection process. They have a health care professional who personally approves all tissue.” He shrugged. “They happen to have a PR gal who made an error.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Like I said, it’s not TransTissue themselves that worry me. It’s their supplier.” She didn’t understand why John, the veteran litigator that he was, wasn’t more concerned. “Better us than Morris MacNeil. Because I’ll bet he’ll be asking.”

  “Perhaps.” John picked up the pen and snapped it back in its holder. “But the problem is, you have managed to annoy a major client of LMB. They want you off the case.”

  “What?” She felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Yes. I’ve tried to smooth things over. But I can only do so much.” His eyes met hers. “I think you are an exceptional woman. In every respect—”

  She kept her features stony as he began the spiel of rejection she knew was coming.

  “—But you are walking on quicksand. First, the Lisa MacAdam debacle. Randall came very close to firing you.”

  She swallowed but held John’s gaze.

  His expression softened. “Did you know that Randall and Judge Carson were once an item?”

  She stared at John. “No.”

  “It was a long time ago. But those are the ties that bind people.”

  Randall Barrett and Hope Carson, once lovers. Had that former relationship been enough to let Hope compel him into stealing her notes?

  Would he really put his professional ethics aside for the sake of an ex-flame?

  She exhaled slowly. Hadn’t she let Ethan guilt her into doing the same thing?

  John clicked his pen. Kate’s gaze snapped back to him. She forced herself to concentrate. “The real issue is that you’ve antagonized a major client.”

  “I was trying to get the facts straight. The reports seemed fishy—” She stopped abruptly. She couldn’t afford to lose her cool. She’d alr
eady staked too much on this job, this case. She smoothed a finger slowly over the file folder. “I guess I should have been more diplomatic in the way I phrased my question to Bob Duggan.”

  “Yes. You should have. But—” his expression hardened again “—I called you in for a different reason.”

  Was he going to fire her for antagonizing their client? LMB had let go of associates for lesser trespasses. She braced herself.

  He leaned forward. “I advised Bob Duggan that we should settle.”

  “What?” She started, her fingers reflexively grabbing the file before it slipped off her lap.

  John gave her a slight smile. “He accepted my advice.”

  She stared at him. “But we haven’t even conducted the discovery!”

  “I know. We’ll save our client a considerable amount of money.”

  She breathed in through her nose. It was supposed to calm her. It didn’t. “I don’t understand why you want to settle at this juncture. It will cast them in suspicion.”

  John spread his hands on his desk. “Kate, it’s simple.” His tone rebuked her, as if she should have figured this out without him having to explain it to her. She smothered her irritation. This was her mentor, her champion, the man who had given her the golden egg. He had never spoken this way to her before. He had never made her feel as if she was out of her league. Until today.

  Was this a taste of things to come?

  John pointed to a blue-cornered document on his desk. “We’ve now got two plaintiffs: Denise Rogers filed today. TransTissue doesn’t want the publicity. They’ve posted record profits—which is quite a feat in our current economic climate—and are in the process of buying several tissue banks in the U.S. This is a period of growth and excitement for them. They are considered industry leaders.” He spoke like a proud father. “To enter into a lengthy lawsuit—no matter how innocent we know they are—is not in the best interests of the company. Bob was very concerned that they’d be pulled away from their expansion to deal with this.”

  “What are the terms of the settlement?” she asked, her tone flat. The bubble had been burst. Rudely. Without warning. Without a safety net. All that work, all her excitement at being on a ground-breaking case, was gone. What was left was the sticky reality of her job at LMB: family cases.