As she left the darkened clinic, Jeanette looked for any signs that someone had entered while she'd been in the billing office. No one had come in, not even the cleaning crew. Just like the past five nights, no one had bothered her or even commented on her late evenings.

Yet she had a right to be cautious. Purposefully, she hadn't shared what she was doing with the staff -- not even the doctors. Maybe it was because even early on in her review of the patient files, she had instinctively known that something was terribly wrong. Yes, Dr. Rutherford had admitted he hadn't a clue about the office. And Jeanette had wanted to believe him -- until tonight when she'd found that he had lied to her about the origin of the corneal tissue, found that too many patients had been billed for commercial tissue.

Damn, she couldn't believe that a doctor of his stature would willingly commit a fraud on the patients in his care. Point of fact, she only had circumstantial evidence. As far as she knew, Dr. Rutherford didn't order tissue. He didn't do the billing. So, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was only telling her what others had told him. Maybe Walter Monnier and Alex Randolph, two men she believed capable of much fouler deeds than fraud, had lied to him and had given orders behind Rutherford's back. She could easily imagine them sharing in any profits of an illegal scheme.

So, she would continue to investigate until she knew for a certainty who the miscreants were.

She had the patient billing data. The next step would be to track down Stu Thomas and the Eye Bank Board Member and his friends, whom she'd overheard at the annual conference. If they connected Dr. Rutherford to the knowing usage of the commercial tissue, then she would have absolute proof that Dr. Rutherford lied, that the project was violating its charter and medical protocol by over-charging project patients. If they didn't, then she would take it to Dr. Rutherford and let him find the culprits harming his project.

'And if Rutherford's lying, Bootsie -- what you gonna do?'

She didn't have a clue.

CHAPTER NINE.

"Momma, do I have to go to school?"

Jeanette closed her eyes and mouthed a silent prayer for patience before turning to her daughter. "Yes. Sister Mary Cecille and the other nuns would miss you terribly if you didn't show up. Not to mention your team mates. You don't want to miss the volleyball match, do you?"

Brigitte shot her a look that only could originate with an eight-year-old feeling for her independence. Jeanette couldn't recall if she'd given her dear departed mother this kind of grief, but vowed to confess such a sin to the priest, just as a precautionary matter. Although the look on Brigitte's face strongly reminded her more of Paul in one of his digging-in-his-heels moods.

"Mother."

The emphasis in drawing out the syllables warned Jeanette that her daughter was getting ready to step over the fairly flexible line of parental tolerance she'd created since Paul had died. Being both a mom and a dad was hard work.

"Yes?" Jeanette hoped the tone and the lifted eyebrow would be enough warning.

"I don't see why I have to go to school so that I can play volleyball. After all, it's a travel team and isn't even a part of the school. Besides, Angie stayed home last week and she still played volleyball that day."

The unuttered 'so there', conveyed by an abrupt nod, caused dark curls to fly about her daughter's shoulders.

Biting her lips so she wouldn't laugh, Jeanette trotted out one of her mother's favorite comebacks. "Well, you aren't Angie, and I'm not Angie's mom." 'Thank the Lord'. "In this household, in order to play in after-school sports, we go to school." Sensing imminent whining on the horizon, Jeanette held up her finger. "And, if I keep getting this kind of grief from you, you will still go to school, have to confess to Sister Mary Cecille about your behavior, and tell the coach you are grounded for the next week. Is that understood, young lady?"

Sniffing loudly, Brigitte whimpered a "Yes, Momma," and turned to pick up her backpack from the floor where she had thrown it just prior to her minor rebellion.

God, why did she feel so mean? Being both good and bad cop was the pits.

A chagrined Brigitte got out of the car in front of the school.

"Honey, look at me," Jeanette called out before her daughter could scurry away.

The little girl turned around, her face carefully blank, her eyes looking at a point past Jeanette's shoulder.

"I love you, Little Bits. I'll be here at 4:30 to drive you and the other girls to the match. Okay?"

A loud sniff and a short nod was all the answer she got before one of Brigitte's classmates yelled at her, "Hurry up Brigitte! Sister Florence is handing out warm cinnamon rolls."

Brigitte brightened up, then turned to run after the others. Hesitating, she turned back and yelled, "Love you, too, Momma. See you later, alligator." Then she was off.

"After a while, crocodile," whispered Jeanette. Suddenly, it wasn't so bad being a parent.

Sally Parker wasn't having a good day.

First, her car broke down on the causeway. She had to leave it on a narrow layby and accept a ride from someone who recognized her from the hospital. At least, she wasn't late. The cost of getting the car towed and fixed would mean macaroni and cheese out of a box for weeks.

The second omen of a bad day getting worse was running into Alex Randolph. He ignored her completely, as if it was all her fault that she carried his child. She didn't break the condom. Heck, she hadn't even bought the condoms -- he had. She also seemed to remember him participating quite enthusiastically in the sexual act that had created the life within her. He could deny it all he liked. He was the father and she would make him support the child. She didn't make enough money to take care of herself, let alone a baby. And the abortion he offered to pay for was out. She was a good Catholic girl. She may have gotten pregnant out of wedlock, but she wasn't going to compound it by killing her unborn child.

And finally, the 'piece de resistance' of an arguably all-around corker of a day was the fact that she'd been lying to her supervisor, Jeanette, ever since the lady started. Sally moaned under her breath. Even confession after Saturday evening mass hadn't made her feel better. Father Xavier advised her to wrestle with her conscience and ask God for guidance in correcting the problem. All weekend Sally had wrestled and prayed. Which was why she stood outside her supervisor's door.

"Shit." Sally was sure God would forgive her one little swear word; after all it wasn't blasphemous. Knocking on the door, she waited, hoping Jeanette was busy, or better yet not even there.

"Come in."

Sally pulled open the door, then entered, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Sally. Good morning."

Jeanette's face lit up, which made Sally feel lower than a cottonmouth, if that was possible. "Mrs. LaFleur, I..." Well heck, where should she start? The beginning? Or since her supervisor came on board? She hadn't lied to anybody prior to that. The others didn't have a clue about what was going on, but Sally had known and kept her mouth shut. She needed the job. Silly fool that she was, she thought Alex Randolph was going to marry her and take her away from all this. By keeping quiet, she was helping him make more money. Greed, one of the worst sins.

"Sally, please sit down -- and call me Jeanette."

Sally sat on the edge of the chair in front of the desk. Concentrating on her hands, she noted chips in her fingernail polish. Damn, she'd let herself go to wrack and ruin over this. Curling the offending tips into her hands, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head, "The patient files we've been organizing -- they're not all there."

"What's not all there?"

"The patient records are not all there." 'Well, that was clear as delta dirt, Sally. Be specific.' "Drs Rutherford and Randolph told me to shred certain patient files after..."

This was lots harder than she thought it would be. Sally was certain there was a law she'd violated somewhere, but wasn't certain what it could be. Would she go to jail? What about her baby? She touched her still flat abdomen. She wanted to bawl out loud. What had she done?

"After what, Sally? After the grafts failed, maybe?"

Sally heard no surprise in Jeanette's voice at all.

"You knew?"

"I figured it out this morning."

Jeanette held out a printout. Sally reached for it and saw two highlighted

columns: one for patients billed and one for patients who had follow-up

records -- the numbers didn't match.

Tears running down her cheeks, Sally laid the printout on the desk. "I'm sorry.

I know it doesn't make it right, but I was just following orders. I..."

"It's not your fault. Now what are we going to do about it?"

"Uh, I, uh, well, I don't know, ma'am. What do you think we should do? I mean, this could shut down the project, and I need this job. I'm pregnant."

"Randolph's?"

Sally winced at the acid in Jeanette's voice. She hadn't thought the highly

educated and totally nice woman sitting across the desk had that kind of vitriol in her.

"Yes."

"Bastard," hissed Jeanette. "Does he know?"

"Uh-huh."

"Is he going to do right by you?"

"No. He offered to pay for an abortion." A look of horror crossed the other woman's face. Sally hurried to reassure. "I told him absolutely not. I'm having this baby. And he will support it, if I have to take him to court."

"Good."

"Jeanette? Ma'am? What are we going to do?"

"'We' aren't going to do anything. You are going to go about your business

as usual with one exception. You will make sure that from now on I get all patient records on every single patient who undergoes the Epi procedure. I will gather the evidence needed to prove that things are rotten in the Epi Study."

"Yes, ma'am." Sally shivered, then crossed herself. Something walked across

her grave. "Be careful, really careful. There's a lot of money involved. One night in a bar, I overheard Alex tell one of his old medical school buddies about the deal he had with Dr. Rutherford."

"Don't worry about me. I'm tougher than I look. Just take care of yourself and that baby, you hear? I'm not doubting you, Sally. But I need to get it clear in my mind. Are you positive Dr. Rutherford knows what's going on with the missing files?"

"Yes, ma'am." Sally sat up straighter in the chair and held the other woman's eyes. "I swear on my unborn baby's life and that of Jesus Christ, our Lord, Dr. Rutherford knows all about this. I heard Dr. Randolph tell several of his friends all about the money they are making. They all laughed about it."

"Thank you, Sally. I was afraid of this. I didn't want to believe it and made all sorts of excuses for why Dr. Rutherford didn't seem to know about the irregularities in his research project. Your coming here today has helped me immensely. I know what I have to do."

Sally thought a few prayers for her boss's safety at this evening's mass might not be out of place.

Jeanette locked the printout and the CD in her briefcase. No way was she leaving this evidence at the office for anybody to stumble across.

With all her fine words to Sally, Jeanette still wasn't sure how she was going to bring the irregularities in the Epi Study out into the harsh light of justice.

'Irregularities, Bootsie? Try fraud. What they are doing is illegal. It could and probably has caused harm -- and not just financial harm, either.'

Rubbing her fingers through her hair, she massaged her aching head. Tension. Sally's words proved that Rutherford was dirty. Jeanette was a mass of nerves. After all, this was a well-respected physician with connections she was taking on. It would be her word -- and Sally's -- against his and Dr. Randolph's. She needed more evidence, physical evidence, not just numbers and speculation.

'Remember? You were going to call that sales rep and the Eye Bank. So, do it!'

Jeanette found the business card for Stu Thomas.

"Silver River Pharmaceuticals, how may I direct your call?"

"Stu Thomas in Sales, please."

Silence reigned for a few seconds. "Hold please."

Then elevator music, the orchestrated version of the Beatles greatest hits, played for what seemed like minutes. Half way through "All You Need Is Love," a deep voice said, "This is Eric Matthews, Vice-President of SRP. To whom am I speaking, please?"

A Vice-President of SRP? A tiny voice in her head, aided and abetted by her gut, told her to lie. "This is Angela McCormick. I need to speak to Stu Thomas about some tissue."

"McCormick? What hospital are you with?"

"A private clinic. Why can't I speak to Stu?"

"Mr. Thomas is no longer with our company."

Jeanette thanked the intuitive organs which had told her to lie. Something wasn't right. She felt it. Heard it in Matthews' voice.