twenty-one possible genotypes of the DQ alpha sequence, and the test
fails to discriminate about seven percent of the time. But I went ahead
and ran the ABO blood groups on chromosome nine, and it was a perfect
match as well. Combining the two results, the chances are mighty slim
it’s not the patient’s own liver.’
‘I’m crushed,’ Jack said. With his fingers intertwined, he let his hands
fall onto the top of his head. ‘I even called a surgeon friend of mine
and asked if there would be any other reason to find sutures in the vena
cava, the hepatic artery, and the biliary system. He said no: that it
had to be a transplant.’
‘What can I say?’ Ted commented. ‘Of course, for you I’d be happy to
fudge the results.’ He laughed, and Jack pretended to take a swipe at
him with his hand.
Jack’s phone jangled insistently. Jack motioned for Ted to stay, while
he picked up the receiver. ‘What?’ he said rudely.
‘I’m out of here,’ Chet said. He waved to Jack and pushed past Ted.
Jack listened intently. Slowly, his expression changed from exasperation
to interest. He nodded a few times as he glanced up at Ted. For Ted’s
benefit he held up a finger and mouthed, ‘One minute.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Jack said into the phone. ‘If UNOS suggests we try Europe,
give it a try.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Of course it’s the middle of
the night over there, but do what you can!’
Jack hung up the phone. ‘That was Bart Arnold,’ he said. ‘I’ve had the
entire forensics department searching for a missing recent liver
transplant.’
‘What’s UNOS?’ Ted asked.
‘United National Organ Sharing,’ Jack said.
‘Any luck?’ Ted asked.
‘Nope,’ Jack said. ‘It’s baffling. Bart’s even checked with all the
major centers doing liver transplants.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t a transplant,’ Ted said. ‘I’m telling you, the
probability of my two tests matching by chance is very small indeed.’
‘I’m convinced it was a transplant,’ Jack said. ‘There’s no rhyme or
reason to take out a person’s liver and then put it back.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ Jack said.
‘You seem committed to this case,’ Ted commented.
Jack gave a short derisive laugh. ‘I’ve decided that I’m going to
unravel this mystery come hell or high water,’ he said. ‘If I can’t,
I’ll lose respect for myself. There just aren’t that many liver
transplants. I mean, if I can’t solve this one, I might as well hang it
up.’
‘All right,’ Ted said. ‘I’ll tell you what I can do. I can run a
polymarker which compares areas on chromosome four, six, seven, nine,
eleven, and nineteen. A chance match will be in the billions to one. And
for my own peace of mind, I’ll even sequence the DQ alpha on both the
liver sample and the patient to try to figure out how they could have
matched.’
‘I’ll be appreciative whatever you can do,’ Jack said.
‘I’ll even go up and start tonight,’ Ted said. ‘That way I can have the
results tomorrow.’
‘What a sport!’ Jack said. He put out his hand and Ted slapped it.
After Ted left, Jack switched off the light under his microscope. He
felt as if the slide had been mocking him with its puzzling details.
He’d been looking at it for so long his eyes hurt.
For a few minutes, Jack sat at his desk and gazed at the clutter of
unfinished cases. Folders were stacked in uneven piles. Even his own
conservative estimate had the figure somewhere between twenty-five and
thirty. That was more than usual. Paperwork had never been Jack’s forte,
and it got worse when he became enmeshed in a particular case.
Cursing under his breath from frustration at his own ineptitude, Jack
pushed back from his desk and grabbed his bomber jacket from the hook on
the back of his office door. He’d had as much sitting and thinking as he
was capable of. He needed some mindless, hard exercise, and his
neighborhood basketball court was beckoning.
The view of the New York City skyline from the George Washington Bridge
was breathtaking. Franco Ponti tried to turn his head to appreciate it,