“What is your guesstimate in terms of my taking the trigger injection and having the intrauterine insemination? Jack likes a little warning about when he’s going to be required to step up to the plate.”

“Considering the current size of the follicles, I’d say maybe five or six days. Have the front desk schedule another ultrasound and estradiol for two or three days from now, whatever’s most convenient. I’ll be able to give you an even better estimate.”

“And one other thing,” Laurie said, as Dr. Schoener was about to leave. “Last night I was lying in bed unable to go back to sleep when the question dawned on me about my job. Do you think that there could be any environmental issues at the morgue that could be contributing to this infertility problem, like fixatives for tissue samples or something like that?”

“I doubt it,” Dr. Schoener said without hesitation. “If pathologists had more infertility than other docs, I think I would have heard of it. Remember, I see a lot of docs around the med center, including a few pathologists.”

Laurie thanked her friend, gave her a quick hug, and then ducked into the changing room where she’d left her clothes. The first thing she did was get out her watch. It was not quite eleven-thirty, which was perfect. It meant she’d be getting back to the medical examiner’s office just about noon, the time she gave herself her daily hormone shot.

Chapter 3

OCTOBER 15, 2007
MONDAY, 9:30 A.M.
LOS ANGELES, USA
(20 MINUTES AFTER LAURIE GIVES HERSELF HER HORMONE INJECTION)

The cell phone’s vibration caught Jennifer completely off guard because she’d totally forgotten she’d slipped it into the pocket of her scrub pants instead of leaving it in her locker. As a consequence she jumped, and it was enough to catch her new preceptor’s attention. His name was Dr. Robert Peyton. Since he’d made her adequately aware that she’d started on the wrong foot in his estimation when she’d been almost four minutes late on the first day, the vibrating phone, which could be heard faintly, was a potential disaster. She shoved her hand into her pocket to try to calm the insistent device, but she couldn’t. Unable to determine quickly enough the phone’s orientation, she couldn’t connect with the appropriate button.

Jennifer, along with Dr. Peyton, who was an elegant man with marquee good looks, and seven of Jennifer’s classmates who’d signed up for the same elective, was standing in the mausoleum stillness of the anesthesia supply room situated between operating rooms number eight and ten, discussing the coming month’s schedule. The eight-person group was to be divided into four pairs and assigned weeklong rotations in various surgical specialties, including anesthesia. To Jennifer’s chagrin, she and another student had been assigned to anesthesia. She felt that if she’d wanted anesthesia, she would have chosen it for the whole rotation. But because of the bumpy start she’d had from being late, she’d not complained.

“Is there something the young lady would like to share with the group in reference to her very apparent startle and her apparent need to bring her cell phone into the OR?” Dr. Peyton questioned, with a taunting tone and with what seemed to Jennifer an uncalled-for hint of sexism. She was tempted to give the man an appropriate response but thought better of it. Besides, the continuing vibration of the phone dominated her thoughts. She could not imagine who could be calling her unless it had something to do with her grandmother. Impulsively and despite everyone’s attention directed at her, she pulled the phone from her pocket, mainly to quiet it, but in the process glanced at the LCD screen. Instantly, she could see it was an international call, and having called the number so recently, she knew it was the Queen Victoria Hospital.