But really, except for vague scientific interest, what would knowing the Virgin Mary’s mitochondrial DNA sequence mean, anyhow?”
“I’m not sure how to answer that. We might be able to trace her genealogy quite a ways back because we’d already be two thousand years back before we start. But more important, because mitochondrial DNA is inherited solely from the mother, with no recombination involved, you will be ultimately responsible for learning the mitochondrial DNA sequence of Jesus Christ.”
“Really!” Shawn repeated, suddenly awed.
“Really!” Sana echoed. “You would be included in that rarified group of scientists who have made extraordinary contributions to knowledge, probably more than any documents could provide.”
“My word,” Shawn said, visualizing the accolades.
“So, can I have your word we won’t open the ossuary until we get to New York? You’ll only have to wait a few days.”
“You have my word.”
Sana took in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. She was relieved. She was also a little embarrassed at her stooping so low as to manipulate Shawn with his own vanity. Yet she wasn’t embarrassed enough to admit to it. She was intent on maximizing the chances of isolating Mary’s DNA, because she, as the molecular biologist, rather than Shawn, as the archaeologist, would ultimately be credited with having deciphered Jesus Christ’s mitochondrial DNA sequence.
15
10:06 A.M., FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5, 2008
NEW YORK CITY
Well, there’s no question what killed him,” Jack said. He had just sliced open the heart of a sixty-two-year-old African-American male named Leonard Harris. A large, sausage-shaped blood clot completely filled the right atrium.
“Did that clot come from the legs?” Vinnie asked.
“We’ll just have to check that out,” Jack answered.
The autopsy room was in full swing, with all eight tables in use. Jack and Vinnie were already deep into their third case, while most of the other MEs were still doing their first.
Jack’s first case had been a teenager shot in Central Park. There was a question of whether it was a suicide or a homicide. Unfortunately, there had been a mistake made by the OCME medicolegal investigator, George Sullivan, who had been bullied by the detective in charge to rush his investigation. The result was that he’d forgotten to bag the victim’s hands, possibly causing a loss of critical evidence. Since the victim was the son of a politically connected lawyer, Calvin had been called in, ordering Jack on the case.
Jack’s other two cases were a bit more straightforward, but just. The second case was a drug overdose of a college freshman. But the third case, the one he was on, presented a surprise challenge. Jack was confident the cause of death was a pulmonary embolism, but the manner of death was not necessarily natural.
“Vinnie, my friend, do you know—” Jack began as he sliced open the rest of the heart, looking for more blood clots, particularly at the tricuspid and pulmonary valves.
“No!” Vinnie interrupted, without even letting Jack finish his sentence. “When you start a question by being nice to me, I know you have something on your mind that I want no part of.”
“Am I that bad?” Jack asked, as he moved up to the bifurcation of the pulmonary artery looking for more clots.
“You’re wicked bad!” Vinnie declared.
“Sorry you feel that way,” Jack said. “But let me finish my sentence. Do you know what is particularly special about this case?”
Vinnie looked down at the large, dark clot and then over at the flayed-open corpse, trying to come up with something humorous. When he couldn’t, he fell back on the truth: “No!” he said.
“This case is a perfect example of just how important the medicolegal investigators are in forensic pathology. Because Janice asked all the right questions, this case will be viewed in a different light. I would have been certain it was a natural death, but because she asked the wife if he’d been taking any medication, she learned something the ER
docs didn’t know: that he’d been taking an herbal remedy on his own, PC-SPES, made of Chinese herbs, which was supposed to be taken off the market but which is still available. Janice Googled the drug and learned that it was an FDA-unapproved medication that had often been contaminated with female hormones and was therefore associated with clotting problems and fatal pulmonary emboli.”
“So, the herbal remedy killed the man.”
“Possibly,” Jack said.
“Will you be able to prove it?”
“Perhaps. Let toxicology have a go at the samples we’ve taken and see if we can get some of the medication he’s been taking from the wife.”
“Hey, keep working!” Vinnie complained. Jack had stopped while he was talking.
“Do you take any herbal medicine, Vinnie?” Jack asked, going back to work.
“Sometimes. There’s a Chinese aphrodisiac called Tiger Stamina I use once in a while.
And occasionally my acupuncturist gives me something for some minor complaints I have.”
Jack stopped working and stared at his favorite mortuary tech.
“What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“As the saying goes, I knew you were dumb, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”
“Why? What are you talking about?”
“I had no idea you were a user of alternative medicine. Why?” Vinnie shrugged. “I guess because it’s natural.”
“Natural, my ass,” Jack said scornfully. “The worst poison known to man comes from a tree frog in South America. You cannot imagine how small an amount would be necessary to kill you, and it’s natural. Calling something natural is a meaningless marketing ploy.”
“All right, calm down! Maybe I like alternative medicine because it’s been in use for more than six thousand years. After all that time, they have to know what they’re doing.”
“You mean the wacky idea that somehow in the distant past people had more scientific wisdom than they do today? That’s both crazy and counterintuitive. Six thousand years ago people thought thunder was a bunch of gods moving around furniture.”
“All right,” Vinnie repeated, with a touch of irritation. “I like alternative medicine because it treats my whole body, not just my arm or spleen or whatever.”
“Ah!” Jack said, his voice rising and tinged with more scorn than when he spoke about the “natural” fable. “The holistic myth or the more-holistic-than-thou nonsense is just as crazy as everything else you’ve said. Regular medicine is a thousand times more holistic than alternative medicine. With conventional medicine, they’re even taking into account individual genetic profiles. How much more holistic can you be than that?”
“How about we get this autopsy over with,” Vinnie suggested. “And maybe you should stop yelling.”
Just as he had a few days ago in Ronald Newhouse’s office, Jack suddenly came to his senses. Again, he’d allowed his emotions to get the best of him. The room had gone silent, and everyone was staring at him. When he glanced down at his hands, he realized one hand was still grasping the heart and lungs he’d been examining while the other hand still held the butcher knife. As suddenly as the buzz of conversation stopped it now resumed.
“Wow!” Vinnie murmured. “You’re getting awfully touchy in your old age.”
“I’ve been looking into alternative medicine since our case of vertebral artery dissection on Monday, and I’ve become a touch emotional about what I’ve been learning.”
“A touch?” Vinnie questioned mockingly. “I’d say it’s over the top, but I tell you what I’ll do: I’ll give up on the acupuncture if it will make you feel better.”
“It would,” Jack said, “especially if you ditch the herbs as well.” Vinnie leaned toward Jack and squinted. “Are you pulling my leg now or what?” He wasn’t certain.
“Half and half,” Jack said. “Meanwhile, let’s knock out this autopsy.” They completed the pulmonary embolism case in near record time, too uncomfortable to talk. When they did finish, Jack said, “Sorry, my friend. I was definitely out of line.”
