“Graham, this is what I can do,” Martineau said. “I will get you samples of Oraloxin to test on the culture plates against your resistant G.A.S.—”

“Fucking perfect!” Kilburn snapped. “I’ll bring the plates to my patient’s funeral to show her family!”

“I’m sorry, Graham,” Martineau said calmly. “It’s all we can offer.”

Kilburn slammed the receiver into the cradle without saying another word.

He dropped his head to his arms on the table. He took a few more deep breaths, summoning the courage to go tell Gurdev Singh that the last hope for his wife had just vanished.

But as he rose from the desk, an idea struck him. “Screw you, Luc,” he muttered under his breath. He grabbed for the phone and dialed the pager number from memory.

While he waited for his colleague and department head, Dr. Morgan Teal, to return the page, he considered the best approach. Though he would prefer to level with Teal, he doubted his by-the-book boss would agree to his request. And he only had one crack at this.

The phone rang, and Kilburn shot a hand out for it. “Morgan? It’s Graham.”

“Hello, Graham,” Teal said in his ever formal tone.

“Morgan, are you still running that oral anti—MRSA drug study?” Kilburn asked.

“It’s hardly mine, Graham. I’m merely the site investigator,” Teal said with a hint of pride. “But yes, it is ongoing.”

“Far as I’m concerned, it’s your study,” Kilburn fawned. “Listen, Morgan, I’ve got a good patient for the study downstairs in the ER. How do I go about enrolling him?”

“Graham, I’m confused,” Teal said. “You’re not on call this week for infectious diseases according to my schedule.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Kilburn said, his mind racing. He could feel a drop of sweat running down his arm. “This is actually an office patient. I just got his C-and-S results today. He has an MRSA-positive wound on his foot. Not too sick. I think he would be perfect for the study.”

“Sounds like a reasonable candidate,” Teal agreed. “Why don’t you give me his name?”

Shit, Kilburn thought, Why didn’t I think this through? “Let me just get that info for you.” He rattled some papers in front of him, buying time. “Okay, it’s a Gurdev Singh,” he said the first name that popped to mind. “He’s twenty years old. Diabetic foot ulcer on the left heel.” Then, in case Teal decided to check, he added: “He might not be registered in the computer yet, as I just sent him down to ER. You know how long that can take.”

“I certainly do,” Teal sighed.

“How do we enroll him in the study?”

“I’ll page our research assistant, Lori,” Teal said. “She will meet you in the ER and get you the application, consent form, and the drugs.”