Next

CHAPTER 025

Henry Kendall parked in the Long Beach Memorial parking lot, and walked into the side door of the hospital, carrying a tissue container. He went down to the basement to the pathology lab and asked to see Marty Roberts. They had been high school friends in Marin County. Marty came out at once.

“Oh my God,” he said, “I heard your name and I thought you were dead!”

“Not yet,” Henry said, shaking his hand. “You look good.”

“I look fat. You look good. How’s Lynn?”

“Good. Kids are good. How’s Janice?”

“She took off with a cardiac surgeon a couple of years ago.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“I’m over it,” Marty Roberts said. “Life is good. Been hectic around here, but things are good now.” He smiled. “Anyway, aren’t you a ways from La Jolla? Isn’t that where you are now?”

“Right, right. Radial Genomics.”

Marty nodded. “So. Uh…what’s up?”

“I want you to look at something,” Henry Kendall said. “Some blood.”

“Okay, no problem. Can I ask whose it is?”

“You can ask,” Henry said. “But I don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure.” He handed Marty the tissue container. It was a small styrofoam case, lined with insulation. In the center was a tube of blood. Marty slid the tube out.

“Packing label says, ‘From the Laboratory of Robert A. Bellarmino.’ Hey, the big time, Henry.” He peeled it back, looked closely at the older label beneath. “And what’s this? A number? Looks like F-102. I can’t quite make it out.”

“I think that’s right.”

Marty stared at his old friend. “Okay, level with me. What is this?”

“I want you to tell me,” Henry said.

“Well, let me tell you straight off,” Marty said, “I won’t do anything illegal. We just don’t do things like that here.”

“It’s not illegal…”

“Uh-huh. You just don’t want to analyze it at your lab.”

“That’s right.”

“So you drive two hours up here to see me.”

“Marty,” he said, “just do it. Please.”

Marty Roberts peered through the microscope, then adjusted the video screen so they could both look. “Okay,” he said. “Red cell morphology, hemoglobin, protein fractions, all completely normal. It’s just blood. Whose is it?”

“Is it human blood?”

“Hell yes,” Marty said. “What, you think it’s animal blood?”

“I’m just asking.”

“Well, if it’s certain kinds of ape blood, we can’t distinguish it,” Marty said. “Chimps and people, we can’t tell the difference. Blood’s identical. I remember cops arrested a guy worked in the San Diego zoo, covered in blood. They thought he was a murderer. Turned out to be menstrual blood from a female chimpanzee. I had that one when I was a resident.”

“You can’t tell? What about sialic acid?”

“Sialic acid’s a marker for chimp blood…So you think this is chimp blood?”

“I don’t know, Marty.”

“We can’t do sialic acid at our lab. No call for it. I think Radial Genomics in San Diego can do it, though.”

“Very funny.”

“You want to tell me what this is, Henry?”

“No,” he said. “But I want you to do a DNA test on it. And on me.”

Marty Roberts sat back. “You’re making me nervous,” he said. “You getting into anything kinky?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It was a research project. From a few years ago.”

“So you think this might be chimp blood. Or your blood?”

“Yeah.”

“Or both?”

“Will you do the DNA test for me?”

“Sure. I’ll take a buccal swab, and get back to you in a few weeks.”

“Thanks. Can we keep this between us?”

“Jesus,” Marty Roberts said, “you’re scaring me again. Sure. We can keep it between us.” He smiled. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”