A Case of Need: A Novel by Michael Crichton, Jeffery Hudson Page B

present,” he said.
    “Yes, for the present.”
    “Do you know William Sewall?”
    William Sewall was chief pathologist of the Mem. He was sixty-one and would shortly retire. I found myself disappointed in J. D. Randall. The last thing I had expected him to be was obvious.
    “Yes, I know Sewall,” I said. “Slightly.”
    “He will soon retire—”
    “Timothy Stone is second man there, and he’s excellent.”
    “I suppose,” Randall said. He stared up at the sky. “I suppose. But many of us are not happy with him.”
    “I hadn’t heard that.”
    He smiled thinly. “It isn’t widely known.”
    “And many of you would be happier with me?”
    “Many of us,” Randall said carefully, “are looking for a new man. Perhaps someone from the outside, to bring a new viewpoint to the hospital. Change things around a bit; shake things up.”
    “Oh?”
    “That is our thinking,” Randall said.
    “Timothy Stone is a close friend,” I said.
    “I don’t see the relevance of that.”
    “The relevance,” I said, “is that I wouldn’t screw him.”
    “I would never suggest that you do.”
    “Really?”
    “No,” Randall said.
    “Then maybe I’m missing the point,” I said.
    He gave his pleasant smile. “Maybe you are.”
    “Why don’t you explain?”
    He scratched the back of his head reflectively. I could see he was about to change tactics, to try a different approach. He frowned.
    “I’m not a pathologist, Dr. Berry,” he said, “but I have some friends who are.”
    “Not Tim Stone, I’ll bet.”
    “Sometimes I think pathologists work harder than surgeons, harder than anyone. Being a pathologist seems to be a full-time job.”
    “That may be right,” I said.
    “I’m surprised you have so much free time,” he said.
    “Well, you know how it is,” I said. I was beginning to be angry. First the bribe, then the threat. Buy him off or scare him off. But along with my anger, I had a strange curiosity: Randall was not a fool, and I knew he wouldn’t be talking this way to me unless he was afraid of something. I wondered for a moment whether he had done the abortion himself, and then he said, “You have a family?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Been in Boston some time?”
    “I can always leave,” I said, “if I find the pathological specimens too distasteful.”
    He took that very well. He didn’t move, didn’t shift his weight on the fender of the car. He just looked at me with those gray eyes and said, “I see.”
    “Maybe you’d better come right out and tell me what’s on your mind.”
    “It’s quite simple,” he said. “I’m concerned about your motives. I can understand the ties of friendship, and I can even see how personal affection can be blinding. I admire your loyalty to Dr. Lee, though I would admire it more if you chose a less reprehensible subject. However, your actions seem to extend beyond loyalty. What are your motives, Dr. Berry?”
    “Curiosity, Dr. Randall. Pure curiosity. I want to know why everybody’s out to screw an innocent guy. I want to know why a profession dedicated to the objective examination of facts has chosen to be biased and uninterested.”
    He reached into his suit pocket and took out a cigar case. He opened it and withdrew a single slim cigar, clipped off the end, and lit it.
    “Let’s be sure,” he said, “that we know what we’re talking about. Dr. Lee is an abortionist. Is that correct?”
    “You’re talking,” I said. “I’m listening.”
    “Abortion is illegal. Furthermore, like every surgical procedure, it carries with it a finite risk to the patient—even if practiced by a competent person, and not a drunken …”
    “Foreigner?” I suggested.
    He smiled. “Dr. Lee,” he said, “is an abortionist, operating illegally, and his personal habits are questionable. As a doctor, his ethics are questionable. As a citizen of the state, his actions are punishable in a court of law. That’s what’s on my mind, Dr. Berry. I want to know