Of Flesh and Blood (58 page)

As she stepped through the door into her lab, a hero’s welcome greeted
her. The research assistants and other staff lined up to share encouraging words and hugs. Jill was touched by the outpouring of support, but she felt sheepish. A phony. Aside from Andrew Pinter, no one else in the office knew of the impending disaster. They still believed their study was going to catapult them to glory, rather than cost most of them their jobs.

After ten minutes of small talk, she shook free of the crowd and escaped to her office. The sight of data files piled up on the desk set her nerves on end. Ignoring the pile, she walked over to the filing cabinet to find the hard copy of her grant reapplication. She was just pulling out the folder when the door clicked open behind her. She glanced over to see Andrew Pinter saunter into the room.

“Look at you, Jill,” he said, as though he had completely forgotten their previous bitter encounter. “I knew that superbug would be no match for you.”

“You’re
still
here?” she said coolly.

Pinter shrugged. “The work goes on even when the boss is sick.”

“That’s not what I meant, Andrew, and you know it.”

He held out an open hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Jill, it’s been a week. Nothing happened. I know you’ve been sick, but I kind of assumed you were going to . . . you know . . . just forget about our stupid run-in.”

She stared at him incredulously. “Just forget about research fraud in my own lab? That’s what you thought?”

He rolled his eyes. “Guess not, then.”

The sight of his smug smirk set off her anger. “You guessed right!” She slammed the file drawer shut. “Where do you get off pretending like nothing happened?”

“Where do you get off being all holier than thou?” he said without a hint of repentance. “A couple weeks ago, I’m your hero. Things don’t work out, and suddenly I’m your fall guy.”

“You can’t be serious!”

He shrugged and then showed her another simpering grin. “I’m sensing you don’t want me around anymore.” She only glared in response. “Just as well, I guess. I have an offer from another lab. The pay is a bit better and the study more interesting.” He smirked. “Best part, though? The principal investigator isn’t a self-pitying, two-faced prima donna.”

“Go then.” She jabbed a finger toward the door. “What the hell are you waiting for?”

“A reference letter.”

Jill squealed a laugh in surprise. “From me?”

His grin faded. “A formality, but I need one for the new lab.”

“You’re joking.”

“Dead serious.”

“Why the hell would I ever write you a reference, Andrew?”

“You should do it because I’m a fucking good statistician. But I’ll tell you why you’re going to do it.” He eyed her threateningly. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to go public about your study and how I uncovered your falsified result.”

Jill’s hand curled into a fist. She had never wanted to hit anyone as much in her life. “
My
results? You signed off on all those excluded patients. I never even saw them.”

“Really?” Pinter flashed a look of pure malice. “You might want to look at those files again. You won’t find my name on them anywhere. Yours, on the other hand . . .”

Jill suddenly understood. While she lay near death in the ICU, Pinter must have been erasing evidence and framing her for the fraud. “You miserable bastard!”

He turned for the door. “I’ll need that reference within two days. Three signed copies.”

As she watched Pinter swagger away, Jill reached an instant decision. “
No!
” she cried.

He wheeled around to face her. “I’m not fooling around, Jill.”

“You think I am?” she shouted. “We would’ve been fine if you hadn’t screwed me and everyone else on our team over by tampering with the data. Even worse, you might’ve taken the last hope away from the people who need it the most.” Her voice quieted. “Now you want me to help infect someone else’s research lab with the likes of you?” She shook her head. “I’d sooner rot in hell.”

Pinter’s face turned beet red. The muscles in his neck stuck out and he scowled at her, bug-eyed with hostility. Jill expected him to lunge at her. But, without another word, he whirled and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the window rattled noisily.

Will he really go through with it?

Jill considered his threat and decided that the only way to protect herself, and her lab, was to preempt Pinter and go public with the truth before he twisted the facts irreparably. But if she did, Jill realized she might torpedo Wilder’s hopes of starting on the stem cell treatment and undermine William’s cause at his upcoming board meeting.

Feeling penned in by her own office, Jill gathered the folders she needed and rushed for the door. She dodged the well-wishers still congregated in the front of the lab and hurried to the elevator. She had already been on her feet longer than her doctors had recommended and would have gone straight to meet Tyler, but she felt compelled to make one stop on the way.

Jill stepped out of the elevator and headed straight to Senator Wilder’s room. Outside, the same bald Secret Service agent stood guard. He nodded in friendly recognition as Jill rushed past him into the room.

She found the senator lying in his bed and staring at the wall-mounted TV across from him. At the sight of her, he broke into a friendly smile. “Dr. Laidlaw! Good to see you back on y-your feet,” he stammered. “I owe you an ap-apology.”

Jill realized that Wilder meant for spreading the superbug infection to her. “Not at all, Senator,” she said as she pulled a chair up beside his bed. “Should be vice versa. You came here for our specialty care and ended up getting sick.”

He nodded. “Let’s call it even, then.”

She nodded. “Deal.”

Wilder brought a trembling hand to his chest. “The big Alfredson b-board meeting is in a couple days.”

“What have you heard?”

“That the vote is going to be extremely close.”

“Do you know which way it’s going to go?”

He chuckled. “Only God knows. And I’m not entirely sure
She’
s made up her mind yet.”

Guilt rippled through Jill. She wondered if the premature news of the scandal surrounding her study might tip the vote in the wrong direction.

“What’s wrong?”

“My study.” She sighed.

“I take it things are not looking up any more for your lab since your last v-visit?”

“No, Senator. In fact, I need to talk to you about the treatment protocol.”

His face fell. “Are you going to tell me that you can’t start me on your ex-experimental treatment, after all?”

“It’s not that.” She reached out and touched his bony arm. “The news of the tainted results will become public soon. Very soon.”

He frowned at her. “And?”

“All hell might break loose. There’s no time to wait.”

Wilder shook his head. “What are you s-suggesting?”

“We’ve already harvested your stem cells, right?”

“Yes.”

“We need to implant them right away. Maybe today.”

A huge smile lit his face. “Nothing on CNN but an-another boring election. Let’s do it now.”

It was supposed to be a dinner celebrating Jill’s unexpected pregnancy and her triumphant return home.

Tyler rarely cooked anything aside from the basics, such as pastas or stir-fries, but for tonight he had dusted off one of his mother’s recipes—slow-roasted short ribs, his childhood favorite. After returning from the local market with fresh produce, and a bottle of nonalcoholic wine for Jill, he tuned his satellite radio in to a world music station and happily hunkered down to whittle the afternoon away in the kitchen. Jill, who had been subdued since returning home, had told him she needed a rest and had gone up to their room.

She finally trudged down the stairs just before six o’clock, looking as downcast as she had on the ride home. She held several typed sheets in her hand.

“Did you even sleep?” Tyler asked, touching her cheek with balsamic vinegar–stained fingers.

Jill shook her head. “It took me a while to find an available neurosurgeon—Seth Warrington said he’d do it—and coordinate Wilder’s stem cell transplant this afternoon.”

Tyler grimaced. “It’s already done?”

She glanced at her watch. “Should have happened by now.”

“Good for him.”

“God, let’s hope so.”

He pointed to the pages in her hand. “Is that the letter to your funding agency?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Oh. I thought you were going to wait until next week. Until
after
the Alfredson board meeting.”

“I can’t, Ty. I have to e-mail it tonight.”

“
Tonight?
What’s the urgency?”

“Andrew Pinter.”

Tyler scowled. “What has that weasel done
now?
”

“He’s extorting me, Ty.” She explained Pinter’s threat to set her up for research fraud. By the time she finished, her eyes had reddened and she was shaking her head repeatedly. “I was such an idiot, Ty. I should have just written his stupid reference. Let him be someone else’s problem.”

“That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Neither is blindsiding your father before his meeting.”

Tyler was touched by her naked vulnerability. He draped an arm over her shoulders. “This is not your fault, hon.”

She bit her lower lip. “I have to tell William.”

Tyler nodded. “I’ll call and see if we can drop over later.”

But when he finally reached his father through his pager, William said he was on the road all evening and it would be easier for him to drop by their house than vice versa.

Tyler’s effort to lighten Jill’s mood over dinner fell flat, and the meal ended up tasting to him as bland as the nonalcoholic wine. She had just poured two cups of herbal tea when the doorbell rang. As soon as William stepped into the lit hallway, Tyler was struck by his father’s frailty. He was limping noticeably as he entered, his gray suit floated on him, and his cheekbones looked like ridges.

“Dad, you’ve really lost weight.”

“Eating hasn’t been my priority lately.” He shrugged. “How is Jill?”

“Better.” But Tyler could not shake his concern for his father. “Have you seen your doctor?”

“You didn’t summon me here to discuss my weight, did you?” William sighed. “Because right now I’m more than a little preoccupied with the impending board meeting. Less than three days, Tyler. Everything else will just have to wait until after.”

Tyler nodded. “Jill’s in the kitchen. She needs to talk to you, Dad.”

As soon as they stepped into the kitchen, Jill rushed over and kissed
William on the cheek, her hand resting on his shoulder. It was as warm a greeting as Tyler had seen them share in recent memory. She poured another cup of tea and they all sat down together in the living room.

They discussed her health, followed with a few minutes of forced small talk, before William said, “Jill, I understand there was something you wanted to discuss.”

She glanced nervously at Tyler, who nodded his encouragement, and then turned back to her father-in-law. “There’s a problem in my lab.” She swallowed. “A big problem.”

William viewed her evenly. “What is it?”

“My study data is not . . . entirely accurate.” Without downplaying the significance, she went on to describe the falsified preliminary numbers as well as Pinter’s intent to frame her for the fraud.

Bone straight, William sat entirely still through her entire explanation. When she finished, he said, “Jill, once you notify the funding agency, do you think these . . . irregularities will come to light straight away?”

“You mean before the board meeting?” Tyler clarified.

William nodded. He slid a hand behind his back and began to rub.

Jill sighed. “Blogs are incredibly popular among the research set right now. As a result, rumors like these spread like wildfire.”

“I see.”

Jill’s chin lowered and her gaze fell to the floor. “William, I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

William pulled his hand away from his back and showed her a stiff smile. “Jill, maybe it hasn’t worked out as hoped, but I appreciate your efforts to try to stall this news from breaking until after the meeting.”

Tyler expected his father’s stoicism, but he was still touched by the man’s restraint. “Dad, is there anything we can do?” he asked.

William shook his head. “Do you believe in fate?”

Tyler wasn’t used to hearing his rigidly practical father pose such philosophical questions. “Not really. Why?”

“I never used to, either.” He exhaled slowly. “So many factors seemed to have conspired against my—
our
—cause over the past few weeks. I think maybe the Alfredson is simply not meant to remain as it is.”

“But what about the McGraths’ role there?”

William interlocked his fingers. “When it comes to the Alfredson, maybe the McGraths’ time has passed.”

Jill sat up straighter. “You can’t believe that!”

William viewed them with an expression more plaintive than any Tyler had ever seen from him. “I am no longer convinced our family’s role in the Alfredson’s past, present, or future matters to anyone other than myself.”

Tyler reflected on his father’s lifetime of commitment to the Alfredson; and the same for William’s uncles and grandfather before him. Then he remembered how his other grandfather had brought his own hellish Holocaust experiences to the Alfredson and more than redeemed them by pioneering a better and more humane form of care for children suffering with cancer.

“It matters to me, Dad,” Tyler said quietly.

William frowned. “Does it really, Tyler?”

“Yes.”

“So . . . would you attend the board meeting with me?” he asked in a hedging tone.

“I should be there,” Tyler said, nodding. “Matter of fact, Dad, I’d be honored to attend.”

“Good.” William chuckled, and his face shed a few years. “Now the McGraths will only be outnumbered sixty to three by the Alfredsons.”

“Three?”

“Your sister is coming, too.”

After William left, Tyler joined Jill in the kitchen. He stood beside her and read through the final draft of her letter. He was impressed by the tone and tenor but frustrated by her insistence on assuming sole responsibility. “Why don’t you name that lowlife, Pinter, in here?”