Free Blindsight by Robin Cook Page A

prepared to sacrifice integrity and ethics for the sake of politics." "I don't think that was what Dr. Washington was asking you to do," Lou said. Laurie felt her face flush. "It wasn't? I'm sorry, but I think it was." "I don't mean to tell you your business," Lou said, "but my take was that Dr. Washington wants you to emphasize any potential natural cause of death you find. The rest can be left to interpretation. For some reason it makes a difference in this case. It's the real world versus the world of make-believe." "Well, you seem pretty blase about fudging the details," Laurie said. "In Pathology we're supposed to be dealing with the truth."

"Come on," Lou said. "What is the truth? There are shades of gray in most everything in life, so why not
in death? My line of work happens to be justice. It's an ideal. I pursue it. But if you don't think politics sometimes plays a lead role in how justice is applied, you're kidding yourself. There's always a gap between law and justice. Welcome to the real world." "Well, I don't like it one bit," Laurie said. All this was reminding her of the concerns about compromise she'd had when she'd arrived a half hour earlier. "You don't have to like it," Lou said. "Not many do." Laurie flipped open the file on Duncan Andrews. She leafed through the papers until she came to the investigator's report. After reading for a few moments, she looked up at Lou. "I'm beginning to get the big picture," she said. "The deceased was some kind of financial whiz kid, a senior vice president of an investment banking firm at only thirty-five. And on top of that there is a note here that says his father is running for the U.S. Senate."
"Can't get much more political than that," Lou said. Laurie nodded, then read more of the investigator's report. When she got to the section noting who had identified the deceased at the scene, she found a name, Sara Wetherbee. In the space left to describe the witness's relationship to the deceased, the investigator had scrawled: "girlfriend." Laurie shook her head. Discovering a loved one dead from drugs carried an ugly resonance for her. In a flash her thoughts drifted back seventeen years to when she was fifteen, a freshman at Langley School. She could remember the bright sunny day as if it had been yesterday. It was midfall, crisp and clear, and the trees in Central Park had been a blaze of color. She'd walked past the Metropolitan with its banners snapping in the gusty wind. She'd turned left on Eighty-fourth Street and entered her parents' massive apartment building on the west side of Park Avenue. "I'm home!" Laurie called as she tossed her bookbag onto the foyer table. There was no answer. All she could hear was the traffic on Park peppered by the inevitable bleat of taxi horns. "Anybody home?" Laurie called and heard her voice echo through the halls. Surprised to find the apartment empty, Laurie pushed through the door from the butler's pantry into the kitchen. Even Holly, their maid, was nowhere to be seen. But then Laurie remembered that it was Friday, Holly's day off. "Shelly!" Laurie yelled. Her older brother was home from his freshman year at college for the long Columbus Day weekend. Laurie expected to find him either in the kitchen or the den. She looked in the den; no one was there, but the TV was on with the sound turned off. For a moment Laurie looked at the silent antics of a daytime game show. She thought it odd that the TV had been left on. Thinking that someone might still be home, she resumed her tour of the apartment. For some reason the silent rooms filled her with apprehension. She began to move faster, sensing a secret urgency.
Pausing in front of Shelly's bedroom door, Laurie hesitated. Then she knocked. When there was no answer, she knocked again. When there was still no answer, she tried the door. It was unlocked. She pushed open the door and stepped into the room. In front of her on the floor was her brother, Shelly. His face was as white as