Informed Consent (11 page)

S
asha and Connelly
were snuggled under a thick, fleece blanket, each holding a sleepy baby, and waiting for the sun to begin its rise over Cadillac Mountain when Naya called.

“You’re kidding,” he said when Naya’s distinctive ringtone—the Batman theme—sounded from deep within Sasha’s pocket.

She fumbled in her pocket for the phone and answered in a loud whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you always have to assume something’s wrong?”

“Because I’m freezing my butt off on the top of a mountain waiting for the earliest sunrise on the East Coast. Which means
you’re
freezing your butt off in the pre-dawn light, because the sun won’t rise there for at least another forty-five minutes, maybe longer. So, either you haven’t gone to bed yet or you’re already up. Neither one is likely to be good news. Unless you and Carl ran off and eloped. Are you calling me from Vegas?”

Naya snorted. “No surprise nuptials. But, yeah, I guess something’s wrong. Sorry to interrupt your family getaway.”

Oh, don’t be. It’s already been pretty well ruined by the knowledge that my shady father-in-law wants my husband, the father of my children, to undergo major surgery to save his life
, Sasha thought. What she said was, “Don’t worry about it. I know you wouldn’t call if it weren’t important. What’s going on?”

Connelly was gawking at her as if she were out of her mind, making big, looping arm gestures toward the horizon, as if she were going to somehow miss the spectacle. She gave him a withering look before turning to pin her eyes on the orb revealing itself in the sky while keeping the phone pressed firmly against her ear.

“Actually, I’ve got Dr. Kayser on hold. I’m going to patch him in and he can explain it, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

While Naya added Dr. Kayser to the call, Sasha turned to her husband. “Look, something’s wrong. I have to take this. I promise I’ll watch the sun come up while I talk to them.”

He just shook his head. “You’ll be missing out. Whatever it is can wait a few minutes, can’t it?”

She pinched the phone between her shoulder and neck and raised her palms skyward. “I don’t know. Maybe not.”

Just then, Dr. Kayser’s apologetic voice sounded in her ear. “Sasha, I’m so sorry to bother you. I didn’t know you were on vacation.”

“First of all, I’m your lawyer. You’re supposed to call me if you need me. Second of all, it’s not really a vacation. It’s more of … a personal errand. Anyhow, you and Naya are up very early. Who wants to tell me what the issue is?”

“Actually, Dr. Kayser hasn’t gone to bed yet,” Naya interjected.

“Really? Why?” Sasha asked.

“I napped. I have a patient who is about to leave this mortal coil. It’s a matter of hours, maybe a day at most, at this point. I’ve been at her bedside with her family since last night,” he explained.

“Let me guess. She’s on the locked dementia unit at Golden Village,” Sasha posited.

“Close, but no cigar. Adina Chevitz
is
a resident of Golden Village but she hasn’t exhibited any signs of dementia. She recently moved from an independent living cottage to the main wing because her physical health was failing,” he said.

“Okay.” Sasha waited for either her associate or her client to explain the reason for the call.

Naya prompted the doctor. “Dr. Kayser had a run-in with Dr. Allstrom last night.”

He made a small sound of protest. “I wouldn’t call it a run-in. She caught up with me in the hall outside Mrs. Chevitz’s room and asked me if she could talk to the family because Adina is enrolled in her study.”

“You think she was asking if she could talk to them about taking a sample of her brain?”

“Almost certainly, which given her past practices, is great progress. But her timing was just terrible. The family was gathered around the bed so Mrs. Chevitz could say the last prayer.”

“Last rites?”

“No, last prayer. They’re Jewish. After the prayer, the dying person shouldn’t be left alone. The family, of course, stayed, but they asked me to be there, too. So I also spent the night. Around two in the morning, she was resting comfortably, so I availed myself of one of the vacant cottages and had a short rest. When I returned to the main building, a young woman, a Dr. Yotamora, chased me down. She was quite agitated.”

“Who is she?” Sasha asked, unable to place the name. She raised her free hand and shielded her eyes from the brilliant light that spread across the sky. Beside her, Connelly inhaled, a sharp intake of breath.

“She’s a graduate student working on Greta Allstrom’s team.”

“Interesting,” Sasha remarked.

“Oh, it gets better,” Naya promised.

“She explained to me that she and one of her colleagues had gotten in to the lab very early this morning to wait for the delivery of some important brain tissue slices. While they waited, they chatted. In the course of conversation, her coworker mentioned that it was lucky that the Chevitz family had agreed to the donation despite their religion’s prohibition on autopsy. Ms. Yotamora became concerned because the only consent form in the file was the earlier form agreeing to participate in the blood draws.”

“I can’t believe even Allstrom would try to pull something like this. I mean, this is really brazen,” Sasha said.

“Brazen is a good word for it. Desperate is another. From what I gathered, Mrs. Chevitz’s brain is particularly important to the study because Adina doesn’t have dementia. But Dr. Allstrom can’t just
take
it. I explained to Ms. Yotamora that, as far as I knew, neither Mrs. Chevitz not her family had been asked, let alone given consent. I offered to let her speak to Mrs. Chevitz’s oldest son, who’s making many of the decisions, but she demurred.”

“Why?” Sasha wondered aloud.

“She’s scared. She’s rightfully worried that Dr. Allstrom is going to be furious with her for coming to me. And she knows I’m powerless to protect her from university politics if the study falls apart because she acted. Meeting with a member of the Chevitz family would have just entangled her further in the whole morass. I understand her predicament. I did pop my head into the room and ask Adina herself, who was awake at that point. She emphatically does not want to be autopsied and certainly doesn’t want her brain to be harvested. I set off a round of wailing among her children. They’re an observant family, and the idea is abhorrent to them. I explained this to Mikki Yotamora, thanked her for her courage in seeking me out, and sent her back to her lab. I told her I’d handle it from here. But, aside from barricading Adina’s door, I’m not sure what to do. I tried to reach Athena, but she didn’t answer her phone. Of course, it is very early in the morning. But I don’t think Athena is the best person to resolve this, anyway,” Dr. Kayser finished in a mournful tone.

He might not be sure what to do next, but Sasha was. And, as Naya proved with her very next sentence, she was, too.

“I already called and checked. The emergency judge this weekend is Nolan. I can get started on a TRO as soon as we hang up. I’ll have a draft to you in a couple hours.”

“Don’t reinvent the wheel,” Sasha told her. “Crib from papers on the system and go light on the details. The salient facts should be plenty to get the order—the family’s religious beliefs prohibit an autopsy. We have reason to believe that Allstrom intends to violate those beliefs.”

“I’m a little confused. I thought we couldn’t file a complaint,” Dr. Kayser said.

“This changes everything. The Chevitz family is a real plaintiff, facing a very real harm. Assuming they’ll agree to cooperate in the litigation, of course.”

“Oh, they will. They were pleading with me to do whatever I could to stop this.”

“Okay. Naya will put together an emergency motion asking the court to enter a TRO—a temporary restraining order—preventing Dr. Allstrom from harvesting Adina Chevitz’s brain tissue. She’ll send it to me to review and I’ll sign off on it. We’ll probably need affidavits from you and Mrs. Chevitz to support the motion—”

“What about Mikki Yotamora?” Naya broke in.

“Eventually, it’ll be unavoidable. But I think we can get the temporary order without involving her. Let’s not spook her now. Dr. Kayser, once we have final papers, Naya will bring them to Golden Village and go over them with you and the family. Then we’ll get them on file. We could have an order in hand by lunchtime, certainly before dinner.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “The Chevitz family will be so relieved.”

“No worries,” Sasha said. “Just hang tight until Naya gets there.”

They said their goodbyes, and Sasha and Naya waited for him to drop off the call.

“I’ll get you a draft as fast I can,” Naya said.

“I know.” Sasha let her eyes drift over to Connelly’s face. He was watching her and seemed to know what she was thinking. He nodded. “We’re going to go back to the house, pack up, and change our flight. I’ll be back in Pittsburgh by tonight, but in the unlikely event the court wants to have a hearing before I’m on the ground, you’ll have to do it.”

“No, don’t cut your vacation short, Mac. I’ll handle this. Trust me, I’m not conflicted any more. This Allstrom woman has gone too far. The hearing will probably be Monday, don’t you think?”

“Probably. But, I’m coming back anyway. Connelly has something that came up, too. We were going to cut it short by a day. What’s one more? Just get cracking.”

Naya exhaled and laughed shakily. “Okay. Then, I’m not going to lie, I’ll be glad to have you back in town. This is heavy. Some lady’s dying wish?—I don’t want to screw it up.”

Me neither,
Sasha thought.

“We won’t,” she said firmly.

L
eo was bizarrely
grateful for Sasha’s work emergency. For one thing, it meant they could return home even earlier than they’d agreed, which would mean he could start poking around in his father’s background sooner than he’d thought. For another, the flurry of telephone calls and emails that she and Naya were exchanging meant that she’d be occupied during the trip back to Pittsburgh and wouldn’t want to discuss Wynn/Nguyen and his request. Not yet, at least. He trusted Sasha’s judgment and valued her input tremendously—as much as Hank’s, maybe even more. But he needed more time to process what had happened at the Blue House.

He glanced over at the driver’s seat. She was white-knuckling the steering wheel. The road was clear and traffic was light, so he assumed her death grip was the result of stress over her case and not the driving conditions. But just in case, he asked, “Do you want to switch?”

“What? No. I should drive now, while Naya’s revising the motion to include my edits. Once she emails me the revision, you can take over so I can read it.”

He still didn’t understand how she could read long, dense legal documents on the tiny smartphone screen, but more power to her.

“You seem a little tense,” he observed.

She took her eyes off the interstate and gave him a look. “You think? Some rogue doctor’s planning to cut up the brain of an old Jewish lady, and my husband’s father wants his liver. I don’t know why I’d be stressed.” She lapsed into silence and then felt mildly guilty about the sarcasm. “Are they sleeping back there?” she asked, changing the subject.

He twisted in his seat to check. “Nope. Finn’s staring at Fiona. And well, so is Fiona. She’s transfixed, looking at her reflection in that toy attached to the carseat.”

“Perfect. If they stay awake for this leg, I bet they’ll both sleep on the plane.”

“Amen to that.”

They fell back into silence, and his thoughts returned to his father. He accepted that the man didn’t want to establish a relationship with him. That fact infuriated Sasha, but it was inescapable. He couldn’t force Wynn to be paternal, and, at this point, he wasn’t sure what he needed a father for anyway. He had Hank, who was a mentor and guide. Sasha’s dad doted on the twins and provided any support he and Sasha might ask for, which wasn’t much—maybe an extra set of hands during a home improvement project. So Wynn’s emotional distance didn’t really bother him. Sure, it was odd to know he was connected through DNA and bloodlines to a stranger, but that weirdness aside, nothing had changed in his actual day-to-day existence as a result of knowing that Wynn was the man who impregnated his mother.

Except, of course, for the favor. The favor complicated things. If Wynn could be trusted, he was dying. Leo was inclined to believe him because he
seemed
sick and weak. When Leo looked closely at the man, he could see the faint ghost of a once hale and powerful Doug Wynn, but the man he met was anything but. And, again, if he took him at his word, Leo could save his life. In fact, he
expected
Leo to save his life, no questions asked.

Leo conceded that Wynn had a point. Even though he didn’t teach Leo how to fish or take him to his first baseball game, the reality was that, if not for Doug Wynn, Leo wouldn’t be alive. But now he, too, was a father. And a husband. He had to weigh those roles.

The issue was also clouded by Leo’s suspicion that Doug Wynn may not be the most upstanding of citizens. In addition to the gruesome
punji
trap in Wynn’s yard and the possibility that Wynn had killed or otherwise caused his messenger to disappear, there was the fact that even Hank, with all his connections and access, had been able to uncover no real, traceable background on the man. Perhaps running Duc Nguyen through the databases would prove more fruitful. But even more than these red flags, Leo had a feeling about him. Wynn reminded him, in some ephemeral, unprovable way, of all the terrorists, thieves, and murderers he encountered in his work. It was just a hunch, but he didn’t intend to ignore it.

Regardless of what, if anything, he learned about his father’s past, he was going to have to make a decision. He turned and studied Sasha’s profile. Could he risk undergoing major surgery if it meant he might die and miss out on a lifetime with his spitfire of a wife? If it meant he might not see Finn and Fiona take their first steps, ride a bike, graduate from college? His eyes grew damp and he blinked quickly, willing himself to pull it together.

“What are you thinking?” Sasha asked, giving him a curious sidelong glance.

“That I love you.”

“And I love you,” she answered as her cell phone blared to life. Batman again. “That’s Naya. I have to take it. Why don’t I pull over and you can drive for awhile?”

“Sure thing,” he agreed in a forced, cheerful voice, as he banished all thoughts of Doug Wynn and his cancerous liver from his mind.