Robin Cook - Shock

"I think you're going to be committed to Walpole Prison," Deborah said. "Either that or a mental institution. That's the kind of committed that's involved here."

"I'm not robbing a bank," Joanna said. She unbuckled her belt and stepped out of her jeans. "I'm just getting some information about my progeny."

"I don't know what kind of offense impersonating a dead person is," Deborah said. "But I know unauthorized access into computer files is a felony."

"I'm aware of that," Joanna said. "Nonetheless I'm going to do it."

Joanna continued undressing. When she was done she pulled a nightgown over her head. She arranged it so it draped evenly. Then she hung up her clothes. Finally she looked back over at Deborah who was still standing in the doorway. Deborah had not responded to her last statement other than to eye her with a combination of exasperation and disbelief.

"Well…?" Joanna said, breaking the silence. "Are you just going to stand there or do you have more to say? If you do, out with it. Otherwise, I'm going to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day."

"All right," Deborah said with angry resolve. She lifted a hand and poked a finger at Joanna. "If you insist on this crazy, idiotic plan, then I'm going too."

"Excuse me?" Joanna blurted.

"I'm not letting you go out there and get in all sorts of trouble without me. After all, it was my idea to do the egg donation in the first place. You're not the only one with a problem with guilt, and I'd never be able to live with myself if something happened to you that I could have prevented."

"You don't have to come with me just to be my protector," Joanna said with color rising in her face.

Deborah closed her eyes and extended her hands palm down. "This is not an argument. The die has been cast. Obviously you're serious about this crusade, and now so am I." Deborah's eyes fluttered as if it had been difficult for her to open them.

Joanna came over and stared into her roommate's deep eyes. "Now I have to ask you if you are serious."

"I'm serious," Deborah said with a nod. "I'll get a job as well. With that huge lab out there, I'm sure they're as hungry for lab techs as they are for secretarial help."

"Then let's do it," Joanna said. She raised her hand with her fingers extended and high-fived with Deborah.

STILL HABITUATED TO ITALIAN time, the women found themselves awake early despite their exhaustion. Deborah was the first to get out of bed. Believing Joanna was still asleep, she tried to be quiet as she passed through the kitchen into the bathroom. The moment she flushed the toilet the connecting door to Joanna's bedroom opened.

"You look like something the cat dragged in,' Deborah said as she eyed her roommate.

"You've looked better yourself," Joanna said. "What time is it?" "Quarter past six, but my pituitary gland thinks it's noon." "Spare me the specifics," Joanna said. "All I know is that I had intended on sleeping late, yet I've been awake for at least an hour."

"Me too," Deborah said, "How about we go down to Charles Street for breakfast? I need coffee big time."

"Since the cupboard is bare we don't have much choice."

Three quarters of an hour later the women descended to the square and walked down Mt. Vernon Street to Charles. It was a fine spring morning with lots of bright flowers in the window boxes. Although there were few pedestrians until they got to Charles, the birds were out in full force. At the end of Charles Street fronting the Boston Common they found a Starbucks that was open. They went in and ordered cappuccinos and got some pastry as well. They carried their food over to a small marble table by the window. At first they ate and drank in silence.

"The coffee is good," Joanna said at length. "But I have to say it tasted better in Campo Santa Margherita."

"Isn't that the truth," Deborah agreed. "But it is reviving me."

"So you still want to go out to the Wingate Clinic and get jobs?" Joanna asked.

"Absolutely," Deborah said. "I'm psyched. But we'd better start brainstorming about specifics. How are we going to get names and Social Security numbers of dead people?"

"That's a good question," Joanna said. "While I was lying in bed this morning I was thinking about it. A few years ago I read about somebody doing it in a novel."

"How did he or she do it?"

"She had an in. She worked in a hospital and got the information from the hospital chart."

"What did she do with it?"

"It was a Medicare scam of some sort."

"Good grief!" Deborah commented. "That's interesting, but unfortunately it's not going to help us. That is, unless you were thinking of enlisting Carlton's help."

"I think we'd better leave Carlton out of this," Joanna said. "If he had an inkling of what we were up to, he'd probably turn us in to the FBI."

Deborah took another sip of her coffee. "I think we should break the problem into two parts. First we get the names. After we have the names we worry about getting the Social Security numbers and whatever else we need, like birth date and maybe even mother's maiden name."

"Getting names won't be a problem," Joanna said. "At least that came to me while I was lying in bed. All we have to do is head over to the library and look at the Globe's obituary pages."

"Good ideal" Deborah said. She sat forward eagerly. "Why didn't I think of that? It's perfect. The obituaries usually have ages if not birth dates. That will help picking out appropriate names since we should try to look for women about our age, as bizarre as that sounds."

"I know," Joanna said. "It's creepy. They also have to be women who have died relatively recently."

"Getting the Social Security number is going to be more difficult," Deborah said.

"Maybe I'll have to break down and ask Carlton for help," Joanna said. "The chances are, any woman our age who's passed away will have been a patient in a local hospital. If she'd been in the MGH, and if we could come up with some plausible reason why we want the Social Security number that won't make Carlton suspicious, maybe he'd help."

"That's a lot of ifs and maybes," Deborah commented.

"I suppose," Joanna agreed.

"I've got it," Deborah said. She slapped her palm against the tabletop. "A couple of years ago when my grandfather died, my grandmother had to get a death certificate to take his name off the deed to the house."

"How does that help us?"

"The death certificate is public information," Deborah said. She laughed at herself. "I can't believe I didn't think about this right off. The death certificate has the Social Security number."

"My gosh, that's perfect."

"Absolutely," Deborah said. "First we hit the library, then City Hall."

"Wait a second," Joanna said. She leaned forward conspiratorially. "We've got to make sure that the Social Security number hasn't been retired. Knowing government bureaucracy I'm sure it takes a while, but we have to be sure."

"You're absolutely right," Deborah said. "It would certainly blow our cover if we get out there to the Wingate and a background check turns up that one or both of us are dead." She laughed hollowly.

"I know what we can do," Joanna said. "After we go to City Hall, we stop at the Fleet Bank. We'll open up savings accounts with both names. As American citizens we'd have to supply the Social Security numbers, and they'll run a check on them straight off, so we'll know."

"Sounds good," Deborah said. "What time do you think the library opens?"

"My guess would be nine or ten," Joanna said. "But there's one other thing we should discuss. What about altering our appearances a bit more? I think our different hairstyles are quite effective and probably enough under the circumstances, but why not go a step further just to be sure."