Fertile Ground by Rochelle Krich

thought with a flash of irritation, but he hadn’t come in, wasn’t expected to be in.
    She put the cup on the coaster. “We have a superior staff of physicians and lab technicians who have perfected the assisted-reproduction techniques we use. We also
    have unique methods of dealing with male infertility and problems related to the woman’s immune system.”
    “That’s what your brochure says. Mr. Fisk messengered all the literature to me yesterday.” Gina paused. “It doesn’t really explain all that much, though. You mentioned you don’t have the latest statistics. Are they forthcoming?”
    “The new brochures are at the printers’.”
    “As the clinic’s founder and one of its directors. Dr. Gordon would know the statistics. But he’s not available?”
    There was no mistaking the innuendo in the reporter’s tone. Lisa hoped her own face was impassive. “That’s correct.”
    She’d barely slept last night. She’d phoned Sam as soon as she’d stepped inside her apartment, still shaking, even though she’d realized that no one had been following her, that her imagination had invented menace. She hadn’t mentioned the car or the “Notes” file, but she’d told him that Matthew was missing, that Barone thought his disappearance might be linked to Chelsea Wright’s murder. She’d heard Sam’s shock when he finally spoke. “I’m coming over,” he’d told her. “You shouldn’t be alone.” She’d turned down his offer—it was late, and she hadn’t wanted to take advantage of his friendship—but they’d talked for a while, and she’d taken solace in the warmth and caring his voice offered.
    Edmond had phoned, too. She’d repeated what she’d told Sam but hadn’t mentioned the missing luggage and clothes; she’d told him she’d tried to file a missing persons report and would try again in the morning. She’d done so on the way to work and had been pestering Se lena, who was too kind to show annoyance, asking her every half hour for news.
    “You have no idea where Dr. Gordon is?” the reporter pressed.
    “No.” Lisa made a point of looking at her watch, as if time were her problem. Normally, it was—the clinic saw over five hundred patients a year, and the pace was grueling. But today she had too much free time. She’d
    been busy till now with patient procedures, all of which were scheduled for the early morning. Interviews with prospective patients took place later in the morning or in the afternoon. Many of today’s appointments had canceled. She was certain the reporter had noticed the relatively empty waiting room.
    “Since you’re interested in assisted reproduction, Gina, I thought we’d start with the retrieval of the patient’s eggs. This is after the patient has taken fertility drugs, like Pergonal.”
    “The retrieval’s done here, in the clinic?”
    Lisa nodded. “In an operating room, under what we call conscious sedation. The patient is in a light state of sleep and needs no assisted breathing, just an oxygen mask.”
    Gina wrote on her pad. “How do you remove the eggs?”
    This was the kind of question Lisa felt comfortable answering. “Using an ultrasound screen as a guide, I insert a needle attached to a transvaginal probe into the ovaries and puncture each of the mature follicles. The needle has a suction tip that aspirates the egg from the follicle into a tube attached to the needle.”
    “Just a sec.” The reporter was scribbling quickly. “How do you activate the suction apparatus?” “With a foot pedal. On the ultrasound screen you can see the follicle collapse when it’s empty.”
    “Neat.” Gina nodded. “It would be great if we could get that on film. Do you always find an egg?” “We don’t do a retrieval unless there are at least four follicles, sixteen millimeters or larger. The ultrasound shows the size and quantity of the follicles. Blood tests show the hormone levels that indicate the probability of eggs being present.” Lisa