But true human chimeras-meaning people with two sets of DNA-had been discovered only recently. A woman needing a kidney transplant had tested her own children as possible donors, only to discover that they did not share her DNA. She was told the children weren’t hers, and was asked to prove she had actually given birth to them. A lawsuit ensued. After considerable study, doctors realized that her body contained two different strands of DNA. In her ovaries, they found eggs with two kinds of DNA. The skin cells of her abdomen had her children’s DNA. The skin of her shoulders did not. She was a mosaic. In every organ of her body.
It turned out that the woman had originally been one of a pair of fraternal twins, but early in development, her sister’s embryo had fused with hers. So she was now literally herself and her own twin.
More than fifty chimeras had since been reported. Scientists now suspected that chimerism was not as rare as they had once thought. Certainly, whenever there was a difficult question of paternity, chimerism had to be considered. It was possible that Lisa’s father might be a chimera. But to determine that, they would need tissues from every organ of his body, and preferably from several different places on each organ.
That was why Dr. Roberts was required to take so many tissue samples, and why it would have to be done at the hospital, not at the grave site.
Dr. Roberts raised the lid and turned to the family on the opposite side of the grave. “Would one of you make the identification, please?”
“I will,” Tom said. He walked around the grave and looked into the coffin. His father appeared surprisingly unchanged, except the skin was much grayer, a dark gray now, and the limbs seemed to have shrunk, to have lost mass, especially the legs inside the trousers.
In a formal voice, the pathologist said, “Is this your father, John J. Weller?”
“Yes. He is, yes.”
“All right. Thank you.”
Tom said, “Dr. Roberts, I know you have your procedures, but…if there is any way you can take the tissues here…so my mother doesn’t have to go through another day and another burial…”
“I’m sorry,” Marty Roberts said. “My actions are governed by state law. We’re required to take the body to the hospital for examination.”
“If you could…just this once…bend…”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could.”
Tom nodded and walked back to his mother and sister.
His mother said, “What was all that about?”
“Just asking a question.”
Tom looked back and saw that Dr. Roberts was now bent over, his body half inside the casket. Abruptly the pathologist rose up. He walked over to speak in Tom’s ear, so no one else could hear. “Mr. Weller, perhaps we should spare your family’s feelings. If we can keep this between us…”
“Of course. Then you’ll…?”
“Yes, we’ll do everything here. It should take only a few moments. Let me get my kit.” He hurried off to a nearby SUV.
Emily bit her lip. “What’s he doing?”
“I asked him to do all the tests here, Mom.”
“And he said yes? Thank you, dear,” she said, and kissed her son. “Will he do all the tests that he would do at the hospital?”
“No, but it should be enough to answer your questions.”
Twenty minutes later, the tissue samples had been taken and placed in a series of glass tubes. The tubes were placed in slots in a metal refrigeration case. The casket was returned to the grave, disappearing into shadow.
“Come on,” Emily Weller said to her children, “let’s get out of here. I need a damn drink.”
As they drove away, she said to Tom, “I’m sorry you had to do that. Was Jack’s poor body very decayed, dear?”
“No,” Tom said. “Not much, no.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Emily said. “That’s very good.”
CHAPTER 014
Marty Roberts was sweating by the time he got back to Long Beach Memorial Hospital. Because of what he had done at the cemetery, he could lose his license, no problem. One of those gravediggers could pick up the phone and call the county. The county could wonder why Marty had broken protocol, especially with a lawsuit pending. When you take tissues in the field, you risk contamination. Everybody knew that. So the county might start wondering why Marty Roberts would risk that. And before long, they might be wondering…
Shit. Shit, shit, shit!
He pulled into the emergency parking, next to the ambulances, and hurried down the basement hallway to Pathology. It was lunchtime; almost nobody was there. The rows of stainless steel tables stood empty.
Raza was washing up.
“You dumb fuck,” Marty said, “are you trying to get us both in jail?”
Raza turned slowly. “What is the problem?” he said quietly.
“The problem,” Marty said, “is that I told you, take the bones only on the cremations. Not the burials. The cremations. Is that so fucking hard to understand?”
“Yeah, well. That’s what I do,” Raza said.
“No, that’s not what you do. Because I just came from an exhumation, and you know what I saw when I dug the guy up? Very fucking skinny legs, Raza. Very skinny arms. In a burial. ”
“No,” Raza said, “that’s not what I do.”
“Well, somebody took the bones.”
Raza headed to the office. “What’s the name of this guy?”
“Weller.”
“What, that guy again? He’s the guy we lost the tissues for, right?”
“Right. So the family exhumed him. Because he wasburied. ”
Raza leaned over the desk, keyed in the patient name. He stared at the screen. “Oh yeah. You’re right. It was a burial. But I didn’t do that one.”
Marty said, “You didn’t do that one? Who the fuck did?”
Raza shrugged. “My brother came in, that’s all. I had an appointment that night.”
“Your brother? What brother? Nobody else is supposed to be-”
“Don’t sweat it, Marty,” Raza said. “My brother comes in from time to time. He knows what to do. He works at Hilldale Mortuary.”
Marty wiped sweat from his forehead. “Jesus. How long has this been going on?”
“Maybe a year.”
“A year!”
“Only at night, Marty. Late night only. He wears my lab coat, looks like me…We look the same.”
“Wait a minute,” Marty said. “Who gave that girl the blood sample? That girl Lisa Weller.”
“Okay,” Raza said. “So sometimes he makes mistakes.”
“And sometimes he works afternoons?”
“Only Sundays, Marty. If I have appointments, is all.”
Marty gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself. He leaned over and breathed deeply. “Some fucking guy who doesn’t even work for the hospital gave unauthorized blood to a woman because she asked for it? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Not some fucking guy. My brother.”
“Jesus.”
“He said she was cute.”
“That explains everything.”
“Come on, Marty,” Raza said, in a soothing tone. “I’m sorry about the Weller guy, I really am, but anybody could have made the switch. Fucking cemetery could have dug him up and taken the long bones. Gravediggers working as independent contractors could have done it. You know it happens all over. They got those guys in Phoenix. And the ones in Minnesota. And now Brooklyn.”
“And they’re all in jail now, Raza.”
“Okay,” Raza said. “That’s true. The thing is, I told my brother to do it.”
“You did…”
“Yeah. That particular night, the Weller body came in, we had a stat call for bone, and the Weller guy typed right. So do we fill the order or what? Because you know those bone guys can take their business elsewhere. To them, now means now. Supply or die.”
Marty sighed. “Yeah, when they call stat, you should fill it.”
“Okay, then.”
Marty slid into the chair and began typing at the keyboard himself. “However,” he said, “if you extracted those long bones eight days ago, I don’t see any payment transfer to me.”
“Don’t worry. It’s coming.”
“The check is in the mail?”
“Hey, I forgot. You’ll get your taste.”
“Make sure of it,” Marty said. He turned to go. “And keep your fucking brother out of the hospital from now on. You understand me?”