Fertile Ground (23 page)

“I don’t know.” Shrugging, she put them down and returned to the table. “Don’t you find it interesting that Chelsea went to another clinic? I didn’t know that.” “I noticed that, but what does it have to do with Matthew?”

“I don’t know. Also, Ted was defensive when Matthew questioned him about his nurse’s having admitted Chelsea to the program.”

“Ted’s always defensive. That’s hardly news.” Sam placed his tiles on his rack. “Actually, I found the research reference upsetting. Why didn’t he tell me he was working on some incredible breakthrough? He discussed it with you, right?”

“Only in general terms. He was secretive about it.” She felt suddenly disloyal, criticizing Matthew. She wondered whether Barone had heard from the lab yet and felt her stomach knot. “You can’t blame him for being cautious, Sam. Hundreds of researchers are working on this.”

“I know, but I don’t understand why he didn’t trust me. Did he think I’d sell the information to some other clinic? And what about you? You’re his fiancee.”

“I’m also on staff. I guess he didn’t want to treat me differently than he treated you or Ted or anyone else.”

“You’re more forgiving than I am.” He grunted and rearranged his tiles. “Anyway, I don’t see a connection between the research and Chelsea’s murder or Matt’s disappearance.”

She didn’t, either. A half hour later she was concentrating, trying to spell a forty-six-point word that would put her in the lead, when the phone rang. She glanced quickly at Sam, then left the table and went into her bedroom to hear the message.

It was Barone. “Dr. Brockman, I have the lab results.”

Sam had followed her into the bedroom. She wasn’t sure what he’d think, but she picked up the phone and said, “Yes?” She knew from the mournful way the detective said her name that the news wasn’t good. She thought she was prepared, but when he said the blood found in Matthew’s car was 0 positive, she stiffened and her eyes welled with tears.

“I don’t have anything else to tell you, except that we’re doing everything we can to find Dr. Gordon. I’m sorry. Dr. Brockman. I’ll call you if I have any information.”

She hung up and turned to Sam. “It’s Matthew’s blood type.”

He put his arm around her and drew her close.

After sundown Sam recited the havdalah, the blessing that separated the Sabbath from the rest of the week. Lisa didn’t own a braided havdalah candle. She angled the two tapers she’d lit, holding them close together until their flames became one.

There was a moment of awkwardness when Sam was done—“So what are you doing tonight?” he asked. She sensed he wanted to spend the evening with her but was hesitant to ask and was waiting for her to suggest it.

But she didn’t. She wanted to be with him, yet she wanted to be alone with her sorrow. She told Sam she’d talk to him in the morning and drove him to his apartment. On the way back she stopped at Blockbuster Video and rented the Audrey Hepburn version of Sabrina, which she’d seen countless times because she loved romantic comedies, loved feeling tingly and teary-eyed when the guy got the girl.

Tonight the movie worked its magic, and she was able to forget her problems, if only for a short while. But when she went to bed, she cried quietly for Matthew and tried not to picture the attack that had left his blood in the trunk of his car.

Who could have killed him, and why? The thought frightened her, angered her. She turned on her lamp and read the “Notes” file slowly several times. On the last

reading, something struck her, but she wasn’t sure. She turned off the light and closed her eyes but couldn’t sleep. She switched on the lamp again and looked at her clock. Twelve-ten. She hesitated, then phoned Sam. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said when he answered. “Can I run something by you?”

“Like I have a choice.” His words were swallowed by a yawn. “Just kidding. Go ahead.”

She propped herself against the wall. “We know Matthew was making significant progress with his research. He’s on the verge of a breakthrough. All of a sudden, everything falls apart.”

“So? Researchers often hit dead ends. Lisa. It goes with the territory.” He yawned again.

“Yes, but Matt wrote’ data lies’—question mark. What if he suspected that someone had fudged his data to make it look like his procedures weren’t successful? What if someone was planning to sell Matt’s techniques as his own to another clinic?”

“Come on. Lisa. What gave you that idea?”

She pictured his scowl, saw the furrow between his brows. “You did. You said something about Matthew being afraid you’d sell his data to another clinic. Remember?” “I was being facetious. News like that would be written up in every medical journal in the world. Matt would have figured out pretty quickly that someone had stolen his data.”

“Everyone’s working on this. How could Matt prove he came up with the solution first? And maybe this person always planned to kill Matt before he sold the research.” It was getting easier, she thought sadly, to say that Matthew had been killed.

There was no immediate reaction from Sam. Finally he said, “So where does Chelsea fit in?”

“I don’t know. That’s my problem. Matt didn’t discuss his research with her.” She rested her chin on her bent knees and thought. From the silence she knew Sam was doing the same thing.

“I give up,” he said after a minute. “Maybe I’ll have

a brilliant idea in the morning. Try to get some sleep, Lisa.”

“I will. I’m sorry I woke you for nothing.”

She said good night, hung up, and scanned the “Notes” file one more time, trying to determine if she’d overlooked something, refusing to give up. The phone rang. She knew it was Sam and smiled as she picked up the receiver. “It’s not morning yet, so this had better be brilliant.”

“Chelsea saw the research thief at the other clinic when she went there to donate eggs!” Sam’s voice was taut with excitement.

“I don’t understand.” Lisa pulled herself up.

“She went there to donate eggs, right? This person-let’s call him X—went there about his research. So when he saw her over two weeks ago at our clinic, talking with Matt, he panicked—he was afraid she’d mentioned seeing him at the other clinic. That’s why he had to kill her! That’s why he killed Matthew!”

Lisa pondered what Sam had said. “I don’t know.”

“It makes sense. Lisa. Think about it.”

She was trying. “Do you think Matthew figured this out?”

“He suspected that someone had tampered with his data. When he started asking questions, he could’ve put two and two together.” Sam paused. “Or maybe he didn’t figure it out. In any case, X thought he was dangerous. Get it?”

“I guess so.” She needed to sort this out. Right now she was too tired.

“You know what this means?” Sam’s tone was urgent. “The killer doesn’t know how much Matthew told you about the research, about Chelsea, about his suspicions. That’s why he asked Paula Rhodes to tell him what you and she talked about. That’s why he’s following you.”

Lisa shivered with fear. “Who do you think it is?” she asked, whispering into the phone as if the walls had ears.

Barone sat hunched forward on Lisa’s sofa on Sunday morning, wearing a beige polo shin and brown slacks and looking more casual than she’d ever seen him, but there was nothing casual about the expression in his eyes or the intent way he was listening to her.

“That’s very interesting,” he said when she had finished explaining her theory. His face was expressionless, as usual. He leaned back against the cushions. “Tell me more about the research.”

“We know eggs are more likely to survive freezing if they’re cooled rapidly, or treated with chemicals like DMSO, which protect cellular membranes.” She crossed her legs and waited for his nod, then continued. “We also know that placing thawed eggs in tissue from Fallopian tubes seems to help the eggs develop properly. But we haven’t figured out an efficient way to freeze eggs that isn’t prohibitively expensive. So Matthew’s work was very important.” She remembered with a sharp pang how excited he’d been just weeks ago about the progress he’d been making.

“How much would a breakthrough like that be worth?” Barone pulled gently at his mustache. “Millions. Countless women would want to freeze their eggs now and use them later, when they want to get

pregnant.” Women like Gina Franco, Lisa thought. Women like me. “Statistically, younger eggs are more viable than older ones. There are also many women who would want to freeze their eggs for medical reasons—someone facing chemotherapy and ovarian failure, for example. A breakthrough like this would give these women the chance to have children. You can’t put a price on that.”

“If an egg is successfully frozen, how long can it last?”

“From what I’ve read, if it survives the freezing process, it should last four hundred years.” She’d been amazed herself to learn that, had speculated about the children who could be born centuries after their donor mothers no longer lived.

Barone whistled. “Very impressive. Assuming that your theory is correct. Dr. Brockman, do you have any idea who could have stolen this research data?”

“No.” After hanging up with Sam, she’d spent half the night thinking before she finally fell asleep. “I can’t see any of the nurses or secretaries being involved. They don’t have the biomedical knowledge to present the data to another clinic.”

“A nurse or secretary could have stolen the data for someone outside the clinic, someone who offered considerable money.”

“You’re right. That didn’t occur to me.” The field was suddenly larger. Lisa took a sip of coffee—it was her third cup this morning—then put the cup back on the coffee table, next to Barone’s coffee cup, still untouched, and the “Notes” printout, which he’d already read.

“Tell me about the clerical staff.”

“You met the office manager, Selena Velasquez. She books all appointments and schedules all procedures and surgeries. I’ve never seen her take a lunch break.” She smiled, but Barone remained straight-faced. “We have two secretaries and three women who do billing.”

“How many nurses are there?” “Four general nurses, one for each of the doctors, although they fill in for each other if needed. They take

patient histories, draw blood, monitor ultrasound screenings administer fertility injections. There are also two surgical nurses and one recovery room nurse.”

“Who was Dr. Gordon’s nurse?”

“Grace Fenton. She’s very close to Dr. Gordon—he helped her conceive her daughter. She’s been a wreck since he disappeared.” Lisa remembered guiltily that she’d promised Selena to talk to Grace, and made a mental note to do it tomorrow. ““My nurse is Ava Shemansky. She’s on vacation, so Dr. Davidson’s nurse, Carol Minh, has been helping me whenever she can. I don’t recall Dr. Cantrell’s nurse’s last name—she’s new. Her first name is Brenda.” She considered telling him Ted’s nurses quit every few weeks but decided it wasn’t relevant.

Barone was scribbling on his pad. “How many people are employed in the lab?”

“Four. Three technicians—Margaret Cho, Norman Weld, John Sukami. And the lab director, Charles McAllister. Charlie’s great at what he does, and the techs love him.” And he’s not a killer, she wanted to add.

She spelled the techs’ names. Waiting for Barone to write them down, she stared at the open living room window that faced the street and listened enviously to the carefree laughter of children having fun on a Sunday morning.

Barone had finished writing. “Has anyone seemed nervous lately? Secretaries, nurses, lab staff? Take your time.”

She found it difficult to think—he was looking at her so intently. She shook her head. “Everyone’s tense, of course, because of the allegations and Matthew’s disappearance. Selena told me lab techs and nurses are talking about quitting before they lose their jobs. I can’t blame them.”

“No odd behavior? Nothing unusual?”

She hesitated. “Well, there’s Norman Weld. He’s a little odd.”

Barone’s eyes narrowed. “Odd in what way?”

She was sorry she’d said anything. “More reserved than normal. A little intense in the way he looks at people. Charlie told me Norman is very devout.” She finished

her coffee and looked longingly at Barone’s cup. “I have to tell you. Detective, I’m extremely uncomfortable talking about these people as if they’re suspects.”

“But they are suspects,” he said somberly. “If your theory is right, that is. If so, someone at the clinic engineered the murders of Ms. Wright and Dr. Gordon.”

Though she’d resigned herself to the inevitability of Matthew’s death, she was jolted to hear the detective state it as fact. “You feel certain he’s dead?” Her voice sounded hoarse to her ears.

“We won’t be certain until we have a body, but with the blood in his car and the fact that there’s no record of his having taken a flight or train or bus out of the L.A. area, it looks that way. I’m sorry. This must be terribly painful for you.”

The gentleness of his tone made her want to cry. She nodded, unable to speak.

Barone shifted on the sofa. “You said the clinic has four doctors. Does that include Dr. Gordon?” He was all business now.

Lisa cleared her throat. “Yes. He’s chief of staff as well as director. The other doctors are Dr. Davidson, Dr. Cantrell, and me.”

“Tell me about Dr. Davidson.”

“Actually, he’s the one who figured out that Chelsea may have seen the killer at the other clinic.”

“Really?” Barone arched his brows. “That’s interesting.”

She wasn’t sure she understood his tone, or liked it. “He’s a good friend. In fact, he got me this job. I know he’s not involved with any of this.”

“I’ve learned from my experience as a detective that friends can deceive,” Barone said quietly. “The knowledge, and the cynicism that comes with it, give me no pleasure.”

The thought was ridiculous. She would have smiled if this weren’t so serious. “Not Dr. Davidson. First of all, he and Matthew are close friends. And he’d never kill anyone. He’s a very kind, very moral person. And he’s a devout Orthodox Jew.”

“So was the assassin of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, correct?”

She shook her head impatiently. “Yigal Amir acted out of an irrational, misguided belief that he was following a biblical mandate.”