Free Life and Limb by Elsebeth Egholm Page B

and, as always, Kempinski was the first to represent the voice of reason – insofar as that was possible. His colleague Torben Smidt was the opposite. He enjoyed stirring things up.
    â€˜Assuming that a kidney is a good tissue match for several patients, who should receive it?’
    This discussion had followed in the wake of the arrival of the Special Patient in a prison van accompanied by two police officers who sat on either side of his bed.
    The question was essentially hypothetical as a computer usually determined which of the patients on the waiting list would be the most suitable recipient. It was rare for major humanitarian or ethical considerations to apply, because if two potential recipients were equally suitable and of the same sex, age and build, it was the length of time they had been waiting that would decide the outcome. The only exception was children, who always took priority.
    â€˜Take an unemployed immigrant, the Special Patient from East Jutland State Prison and an ordinary tax-burdened Dane with a steady job. Which one gets the kidney?’
    Torben Smidt had shot him a provocative look.
    â€˜It’s our choice,’ he had stressed. ‘It’s up to us. To you.’
    In truth, the question was impossible to answer.
    â€˜The fact that one is an immigrant, the other a convicted killer and the latter a pillar of society is irrelevant,’ Kempinski had argued. ‘The question is: who is the most suitable recipient for this particular kidney?’
    â€˜But what if they’re equally suitable? Or equally unsuitable?’
    â€˜But that’s impossible.’
    â€˜But what if …’
    And so they continued to chase each other through the labyrinths of ethical dilemmas.
    â€˜I suppose you would have to draw lots,’ Kempinski eventually said, sighing at length.
    Smidt had looked disappointed.
    â€˜Isn’t that a cop-out? Don’t you think we should face the issue head-on and be prepared to prioritise?’
    â€˜We can only prioritise on the basis of medical considerations. It’s not our job to make wide-reaching social decisions on the basis that those who have contributed most to society should be the first in line,’ he’d said.
    Smidt had shaken his head.
    â€˜No, by all means, why don’t we leave it to chance?’
    â€˜It’s the fairest way.’
    â€˜Not in terms of outcome.’
    Perhaps it had been the tone in Smidt’s voice – for once Kempinski was overcome by genuine concern.
    â€˜I sympathise, I do. But this kind of thinking is a slippery slope.’
    Smidt had got up from the canteen table with his usual mischievous smile playing on his lips.
    â€˜That may well be. But one day we’ll have to face that decision. Or a personal dilemma of a similar nature. When that happens it’ll be interesting to see if theory and practice turn out to be one and the same.’
    Kempinski pushed the issue aside as he approached the side ward to which the Special Patient had been allocated. He tapped on the door lightly and pushed it open. Peter Boutrup was lying in bed, looking weak. His shoulder-length blond hair stuck to his scalp and his otherwise muscular body had shrunk since Kempinski had last seen him. Boutrup’s skin and overall appearance seemed dulled. Only his blue–green eyes shone with a rare intensity and a not-entirely-friendly smile curled at one corner of his mouth.
    â€˜Good afternoon, Peter. How are you?’
    The eyes met his. The lips started to form the words that came out like dubbed speech in delayed time.
    â€˜How am I, do you think?’
    Kempinski pulled up a chair and sat down. Once again he had to bow to the man’s contempt for death, which radiated from him as it had done right from the start.
    â€˜And you haven’t remembered a relative who may want to donate a kidney to you?’
    The man’s lips drew over his teeth in a parody of a smile.
    â€˜Now