Macandrew looked at Klinsman as if pleading to be told that this couldn’t be true. No reassurance was forthcoming.
Macandrew found it almost impossible to speak for a few moments then he said, ‘Christ, I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’
‘One of the technicians discarded the Francini tumour by mistake. I’m sorry Mac.’
Macandrew rubbed his forehead nervously. ‘Can’t you recover it?’ he asked.
Lessing shook his head and said, ‘It had already gone to the incinerator before we realised what had happened.’
‘Jesus!’ said Macandrew, sinking down into a chair. ‘So we can’t prove that Jane Francini ever had a malignant tumour?’
‘That’s about it,’ agreed Klinsman.
Macandrew sank down into a chair. ‘Francini is going to be more convinced than ever that I butchered his wife.’
‘Christ, I just don’t know what to say,’ said Lessing.
Macandrew just shook his head. ‘What a fucking mess,’ he whispered.
Klinsman put his elbows on his desk and leaned forward. He said, ‘In the final analysis Mac, what Francini thinks, doesn’t matter. It’s facts that matter. We all know that Jane Francini’s condition was caused by a malignant brain tumour and that’s the important thing. You are a good surgeon, one of the best and you did your best for the Francini woman. Nothing that happened subsequently was your fault. It’s a real bummer about the Mayo not being able to rubber stamp our pathology report but shit happens and we just have to accept that and get on with it... whatever they throw at us now.’
Macandrew felt sick. He nodded absently and got up. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said and left the room.
With every step along the corridor, Macandrew wanted to slam his fist into the wall. The pain would be a welcome relief from what was going on inside his head. Tony Francini was going to go through the rest of his life believing that he had brain-damaged his wife and then colluded with the path lab in a cover up of his mistake. The story would do the rounds. Lots of families had tales to tell about incompetent medical practitioners and how they had blighted the life of one of their own. These stories were handed down through the generations. He himself was now going to feature in that list. ‘Fuck!’ he raged as the elevator descended. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
He was finding the thought unbearable. The theatre nurse, Lucy Long, was waiting to get in as Macandrew stepped out of the elevator.
‘Hi Mac. How’s it going?’ she asked.
Macandrew looked at her as if she was an alien from a different planet. He couldn’t say anything.
‘Excuse me,’ murmured the nurse under her breath.
Macandrew sat alone in his apartment for nearly an hour without doing anything other than stare out at the sky. He could not believe that fate had been so cruel, or maybe it wasn’t fate, he reasoned. What kind of half-assed operation was Lessing running down there in the path lab anyway?
It didn’t help his state of mind to realise he was doing exactly what Tony Francini had been doing, looking for someone to blame! In his heart he knew well that Carl Lessing was an excellent pathologist and that his lab was extremely well run and normally 100 percent reliable. He also knew that Saul Klinsman had been right to point out that these things happened. It just didn’t help to believe any of that right now.
A knock came to his door a little after seven thirty and Macandrew opened it to find Mort Jackson, his landlord, standing there.
‘You haven’t forgotten have you?’ asked Jackson.
‘Forgotten?’ repeated Macandrew.
‘You were coming down this evening to look at the slides Ginny and I took up in Michigan.’
Macandrew had completely forgotten but even in his current mental state, he didn’t want to hurt Mort’s feelings. If only he had remembered earlier he might have been able to come up with a plausible excuse for postponing it. As it was, he had to insist that he hadn’t forgotten and would be down in a few minutes.
‘I’ll have Ginny pour a glass of her elder flower for you,’ said Mort as he disappeared back down the stairs.
‘Jesus,’ whispered Macandrew under his breath. It was going to take a lot more than Ginny’s home-made wine to take the edge off reality this evening. He poured himself a large whisky and threw it down his throat before going downstairs to be welcomed by Mort and Ginny.
Ginny was everyone’s idea of what a grandmother should look like. She was plump, smiling and had a magnificent head of pure white hair. She had prepared a large plate of sandwiches and handed Macandrew a glass of wine as he sat down. Mort was about the same height as Ginny but he was thin and stooped and had a complexion the colour of leather from a lifetime spent on the open air as a lineman for the phone company. He held his left arm at an awkward angle, the legacy of an accident at work — the one which had ultimately forced him to retire.
Macandrew did his best to make light conversation while Mort set up the projector. It was easy to feed Ginny the right questions. She loved talking about her family. The lights finally went down and the slides faithfully recorded the Jacksons’ visit to their daughter up in Michigan. Macandrew did his best to concentrate on what appeared on the screen rather than what was in his head but he was fighting a losing battle. The Francini case was winning.
He was almost relieved when his pager went off and gave him an excuse to leave the room although this was almost immediately replaced by concern as he ran upstairs. His pager shouldn’t have gone off. He wasn’t on call this evening and he’d had a fair bit to drink. He wasn’t drunk but he certainly wasn’t fit for surgery.
‘Dr Klinsman for you,’ said the hospital operator.
‘Mac? I’ve just had Kurt Weber on the phone. Carl Lessing called him about the missing tissue and he felt obliged to advise Francini’s attorney of the situation.’
‘And?’
‘Kirschbaum asked if he would be willing to stand up in court and testify that Jane Francini’s condition could have been caused by surgical malpractice.’
‘And?’ asked Macandrew, feeling as if he was pulling the pin from a grenade a second time.
‘Weber told him that he hated the idea but, in the circumstances, he’d have to say it was theoretically possible,’ said Klinsman. ‘Weber just wanted us to know that it’s nothing personal and he doesn’t believe for a moment that that’s what happened.’
‘Nice of him.’
‘He really doesn’t have much choice in the matter,’ said Klinsman.
‘Right,’ said Macandrew.
‘Weber says he’ll point that out if he gets the chance.’
‘Thanks for letting me know.’
‘Least I could do,’ replied Klinsman.
Macandrew put the phone down and went downstairs to rejoin the Jacksons. He would sit through the remainder of their holiday slides on autopilot.
‘Everything all right Mac?’ asked Ginny as he slipped back into the room.
‘Just fine, Ginny. Sorry about that.’
‘This is us up at Mill Glade,’ announced Mort as the next slide came up. ‘That’s Charlotte’s friend, Sandy with us there and that’s her dog, Rupert.’
‘Rufus,’ corrected Ginny.
‘Sorry, Rufus,’ conceded Mort.
‘And this is us up near Jansen Creek: real pretty country up there.’
‘Looks it,’ agreed Macandrew, suddenly realising that a comment was called for.
‘More wine, Mac?’ asked Ginny in a whisper.
‘Please,’ replied Macandrew.
Ginny moved across the room to the table in front of the window; she did it in a crouch to avoid the projector beam but totally without success as her shadow filled the screen.
‘This was a Saskwatch we saw while we were up there,’ joked Mort, winking at Macandrew when he saw that Ginny didn’t realise she was the butt of the joke.