Fertile Ground (35 page)

And there, in bold lettering, was the refund policy.

Her chest felt hollow. She picked up the next file and was searching for the contract when she heard a knock on the door.

“Are you okay. Lisa?” Sam called. “You looked kind of pale.”

“I’m fine. I was just coming out.” She dropped the file and prepared her face to greet him as she opened the door. “So what did you do today?” she asked as they headed toward the dining room.

“Brooded, mostly. I spoke to Edmond. He feels confident that we’ll be open again soon. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I hope he’s right.”

Dinner was roast chicken and baked potatoes, Italian green beans, and salad. Everything was delicious, but Lisa had little appetite and might as well have been eating paper. At one point Sam asked Elana about her therapy practice; though Lisa tried to focus on the conversation, her mind was with the stack of files in the guest room.

“On Shabbos you mentioned a patient who hired a shomer,” Benjie said to Lisa. “I hope the police won’t be interfering, now that they’ve confiscated the clinic files.”

“Benjie, don’t bother Lisa with clinic business,” Elana said. “She probably wants to forget all about it.” She turned to Lisa with an apologetic smile.

“I don’t mind. Actually, this couple may be facing a big problem. It’s possible that they received someone else’s eggs.”

“But they had the shomer.” The rabbi was frowning.

“Right. But the attorney representing the rights of the donor argued convincingly that someone could have switched the eggs when the shomer wasn’t there.”

“Do you think it’s possible?” Elana asked, her voice filled with concern.

“Unfortunately, I do.” Lisa turned to Sam. “How about you, Sam? Do you think someone could have switched eggs?”

“I have no idea.” He was looking at her strangely. “Have you learned something that you aren’t telling me?”

“No, of course not. But I checked the Jane Doe file and the donor code file at the clinic. They’re both blank.” She watched him to see his reaction.

He scowled and put down his fork, accidentally clanging it against his plate. “How can they be blank?”

“Someone deleted all the data. Maybe it was the person who attacked me.” Still watching him; hating the fact that she was doing it.

“You’re right.” He sounded pensive. “And you don’t have a copy?”

“No.” She turned quickly to the rabbi, before her face could betray her lie. “If someone did switch eggs, where does that leave my patient? In terms of Halacha, I mean.”

The rabbi sighed. “The whole issue of donor eggs or sperm is complicated. Few Orthodox rabbis would sanction, a priori, the use of donor sperm. Most experts feel that it violates the basic Halachic values that stress genealogy and family integrity.”

“But it’s been allowed,” Sam said. “I was involved with a case where an Orthodox couple had to use donor sperm.”

“Yes, but there’s no blanket authorization. And I’m sure in your case the use of donor sperm was done in close consultation with a rabbi, and that only gentile sperm were used.”

“Why is that?” Lisa asked, surprised.

“Because the child will never unknowingly marry his Halachic half siblings. For that same reason, we encourage parents to adopt non-Jewish children.”

“I didn’t know that.” She sensed that Sam was looking at her. “But then the child isn’t really Jewish.”

“Of course he is. And when he or she reaches maturity—at thirteen or twelve, respectively—the child reaffirms his willingness to be Jewish. There’s no problem.”

“Maybe not in terms of Halacha, but isn’t there a stigma when it comes to marriage?” It was hard for Lisa to keep her tone casual.

“I’d be lying if I said it never poses a problem. We Orthodox Jews often obsess about yichus—genealogy-when it comes to whom our children marry. And the convert, after all, comes with a blank genealogical Jewish slate.” The rabbi smiled. “But Jewish history shows the true status of the convert. Ruth, King David’s ancestor, was a convert when she married Boaz. Unkelos, the nephew of the infamous Titus and one of our greatest

biblical commentators, convened to Judaism. Rabbi Ak iva, one of our greatest sages, was the son of a convert. And we follow his teachings daily.”

Lisa took a sip of water. “I remember learning that Rabbi Akiva’s father-in-law threw his daughter out of the house when she told him she wanted to marry Rabbi Ak iva.”

“At the time. Rabbi Akiva was a simple, uneducated shepherd. The father-in-law felt tremendous remorse later. And Boaz, a renowned judge, had no hesitation in marrying Ruth. In fact, even before he courted her, he ordered his employees to leave wheat in the field for her to gather, because he admired her so much. King David and King Solomon both had a special throne for her. And the Messiah will be her descendant, through King David. How’s that for yichus?” He smiled again and reached for the water carafe.

“What if your son wanted to marry a convert?” She told herself that his answer shouldn’t matter to her, but her heart beat a little faster.

“A fair question.” He nodded. “I hope I’ll have enough wisdom to look at the person, not the pedigree.” He glanced at his wife.

Elana smiled at him. “You will,” she said softly.

How different would her life have been. Lisa wondered, if she’d met the Presslers, or someone like them, years ago? Then again, years ago she might not have been willing to listen, to believe what they were saying. She nibbled on a cookie, lost in her thoughts. Then Sam said, “About the donor sperm and eggs, Benjie. What about after the fact?” and she looked at the rabbi. “Post-factum, virtually all rabbinic experts agree that the child is legitimate. But there are other problems. Inheritance, for one. The child born of donor sperm has no relationship to the infertile husband and can’t inherit according to Jewish law unless a proper will is drawn up.”

“What about donor eggs?” Lisa asked, tensing. What about Naomi Hoffman?

“Again, there’s no question of illegitimacy. But who is the mother? What’s the religion of the child?”

“Who is the mother?” Sam leaned forward and rested his chin in his palm.

“Most experts agree that the person who gives birth is the Halachic mother. Some say the donor is the mother. Others say that in terms of Halacha, the child is motherless.” Benjie turned to Lisa. “Is the donor in your case Jewish or non-Jewish?”

“Non-Jewish.”

He nodded slowly. “In that case, my understanding is that the child would probably have to be converted.”

If what she feared was true about Chelsea’s eggs, she didn’t know how she would explain this to Baruch, who was expected to carry on his family’s rabbinic dynasty.

Sam offered to take Lisa to a movie, but she pleaded exhaustion and said good night. Back in her room, she returned to the files. Twenty minutes later she put down the last one.

All thirty-one women—thirty-two, with Naomi—were on the refund plan. Lisa tried to think of another explanation for what she’d discovered, but couldn’t.

She was horrified, and frightened, too.

Was Nestle involved in this scheme, too? As a partner in the clinic, had he suggested this to Edmond?

But who was switching the eggs? Obviously not Edmond. And not Nestle—he’d kept his distance from the clinic.

Ted Cantrell? According to Barone, he’d lost a lot of money gambling and playing the market. Did he get a bonus for switching eggs?

And what about Sam, who was supporting his sister’s family, paying their medical bills? He was the doctor for at least one of those women. Someone had erased his name and written in Matthew’s instead. Had Sam done that? Had someone else done it to make him look suspect?

Or Charlie—dear, sweet, Charlie. He was in a perfect position to switch the eggs.

And what about Matthew? He liked luxuries. Had he

feared that the clinic would lose so many patients that Edmond would close it? Had he looked away, unwilling to know what was going on? Or had he participated, too?

Maybe Matthew hadn’t known. Someone had written his name over an erasure—to make him look guilty? Maybe he was killed because he’d been about to discover everything—because he’d been asking questions, trying to find out who had admitted Chelsea to the program. And then she was murdered. And her parents were certain to demand an investigation into the clinic records.

So this someone had needed a scapegoat. He’d killed Matthew and hidden his body to make it look as if he’d fled, and put money in Lisa’s pantry. And if not for the blood in his trunk, everyone would have believed Matthew was guilty.

Just as Lisa had.

Barone wasn’t at the station when she phoned, but he called back within minutes. “I haven’t found out anything new,” he told her before she could ask.

‘ 7 have,” she said with excitement and dread.

She told him about the thirty-one patients, about the blank Jane Doe and donor code files, about her theory. “The police and medical-board people who raided the clinic files this morning didn’t have access to those two confidential files. They didn’t know about them or ask about them. Based on the patient files, they won’t find anything suspicious.”

Barone was silent for a moment. “But what does this have to do with Chelsea’s murder or the man you think killed her?”

“Chelsea was murdered because she had to be ‘punished’ by the man in her’ dream When she was murdered, the person responsible for switching the eggs panicked. He knew the police would examine the files, so he set Matthew up and killed him.”

A pause. “Is this your theory or Dr. Davidson’s?”

She couldn’t tell from his voice, but assumed he was being sarcastic.

“I haven’t discussed this with Dr. David son or anyone else.” She paused. “I don’t know who I can trust.”

“That’s a wise, though painful, realization. Dr. Brock man,” he said kindly. “I think whoever attacked me Sunday night wanted to stop me from examining the files, especially the two confidential ones. He must have deleted them.”

“Who knew you were going to the clinic to check the files?”

“I told Edmond I planned to look at them on Monday. I went Sunday night because I was afraid they’d be confiscated.” She hesitated. “As I told you, Dr. Davidson came to the clinic after he got my message.”

“Right. And according to him, that’s when he was accosted by this masked assailant.”

“Are you implying that he’s lying?” she said, her voice tight. “That he’s the one who attacked me?” She was angry at Barone, she knew, because he was voicing the suspicion that had been gnawing at her.

“I’m implying nothing. Dr. Brockman. But as a detective, I can’t take something as fact just because one person says it’s so. I need corroboration.”

“He offered to help me examine the files. Why would he do that if he was afraid of what I’d discover?”

“To control what you discovered? That’s just a possibility. I’m not suggesting he’s guilty. It’s possible your attacker had no idea you were planning to examine the files Monday morning. I think you’re right—his goal was to delete the protected files. When he found you there, he didn’t know how much you’d learned. So he panicked.”

“Do you also agree that Matthew was probably killed because the egg switching was about to be exposed? That he was set up?”

Barone didn’t answer immediately. “To be frank, I’m not sure the motivation to kill him is strong enough.”

“Whoever switched eggs would lose his license, his reputation. He’d be open to numerous lawsuits and could end up impoverished—and in jail, now that stealing eggs is a felony.”

“He hasn’t stolen eggs—he’s switched them.”

“He’s done both. He’s stolen eggs from infertile patients and probably disposed of them. Or used them for research.”

“Dr. Brockman, I’d like to look at the lists and the files. Can you come to the station in the morning? If that’s not convenient, I can come to where you’re staying now or to your apartment.”

“Eleven o’clock, at the’ station? I have to be somewhere at nine.” She considered telling him about Nestle, but knew he’d try to discourage her from going there.

Naomi answered the door wearing a rose-and-white floral cotton robe and a navy snocd. “Baruch isn’t here. He’s teaching his nine-o’clock class,” she told Lisa as she led her to the dining room and eased herself into one of the armchairs. “We’ve been waiting for your call.”

The simplicity of the statement—there was no hint of impatience, of irritation—made Lisa feel worse. She sat next to her patient. “I’m sorry I’ve come so late, without calling first. I wanted to get as much information as I could before I spoke to you. Naomi, I’m afraid—”

“Oh, God!” the woman whispered. She started rocking back and forth, whimpering.

“I’m so sorry, Naomi, but there’s a strong possibility someone switched Chelsea Wright’s eggs with yours. I’m sorry,” she said again. Her own eyes filled with tears.

“How long have you known?” Naomi asked dully.

Lisa couldn’t reveal what she suspected because she had no real proof; because, as an employee of the clinic, she had to be circumspect. “I had a suspicion on Monday. Something I just learned confirmed it. I could be wrong,” she said, wondering if she was cruel to offer hope.

“Do you know what it’s like to go through nine years of agony, month after month, hoping to become pregnant?” ‘ Naomi whispered. To have a mother-in-law look at you with pity? Not pity for you, pity for her precious son, because he had the misfortune to marry an akara-someone who can’t have children.”

“But you are pregnant, Naomi,” Lisa said softly.

She’d never heard her talk like this. “You’re having twins.”

“Someone else’s twins, not mine. Baruch’s twins, not mine. Who’s to stop this girl’s parents from claiming them?” Her lips trembled.

“Our attorney said the courts won’t take the babies away from you.”

“Will he swear to that?” With a heavy movement, she pulled herself up and lumbered across the room. “You came here Friday and told us we had nothing to worry about. You promised us.” There are two babies, Jean Elliott had said. Two sets of parents who want them. “I was telling the truth, Naomi I hope you believe me. But you have every right to be angry.”