Project Raphael (eBook)

1

“Oh, this is heavenly,” sighed the girl.

The young tech executive’s dreams were coming true. A beautiful girl reclined on the soft bench, letting her fingers run over the polished teak woodwork of the sailboat’s cockpit. The boat glided smoothly across San Francisco Bay. The only sounds were the gentle slapping of the water against the bow and a slight hum from the wind in the wires. It was late morning and sunny. Last night’s fog had burned off and the air was relatively warm. For San Francisco, that is. There was a gentle breeze, enough to propel the nine-meter single-masted sloop at a steady clip, but not so windy as to create any chop in the water.

The young executive looked admiringly at his date, noting the contours of her breasts as she lounged in the cockpit. Her cream-colored Irish wool sweater and designer jeans conformed perfectly to her body. This was their third date, a romantic sail on the bay. His plan was a morning sail to anchor off Angel Island for lunch, maybe a short hike ashore in the afternoon. Then back to the St. Francis Yacht Club for dinner with a view and, if things went as he hoped, back to his apartment for the night. A bottle of Dom Perignon chilled in the galley refrigerator along with half a wheel of brie. A fresh loaf of sourdough bread was stored in a cabinet. The sailboat was polished and prepped in the most seductive possible way. He felt himself getting aroused in anticipation of the entire day and night with this positively gorgeous creature.

He was sailing with just the mainsail because that was easiest for him to do alone. The objective was smooth and romantic, not fast and exciting. Three or four container ships rode high, anchored in the middle of the bay, awaiting loading at the docks in Oakland. A slow-moving Hyundai auto carrier was underway, heading west through the Golden Gate. An experienced sailor, he was certain that the waves from the auto carrier would be barely perceptible on the sailboat. He kept one hand on the wheel, but his eyes were fixed on the girl.

They didn’t see the object in the water in front of the sailboat, so both he and the girl were startled out of their reverie when the bow bumped into something.

“What was that?” asked the girl, looking into the water, “Did we hit something?”

He leaned over and looked along the portside. He caught sight of the body as the sailboat glided by.

“Holy shit,” he said.

She screamed.

Dr. Matt Harrison of the San Francisco Medical Examiner’s office groaned when Franklin Howard, the morgue attendant, called him. Harrison was tall and gangly with rimless glasses and light blue eyes that fascinated women. Fortunately for Matt, other men also found his eyes attractive.

“You’re up, Dr. Matt,” said the young black man, “Sorry, but you just caught a floater out of the bay.”

“Our side of the bay or the Oakland side?” asked Matt, hoping to avoid an unpleasant experience.

“Our side,” replied Franklin, “I’m setting up the autopsy table now.”

“How bad is the decomp?” asked Matt.

“Bring your clove sticks or a cigar,” advised Franklin.

Matt groaned again and reached into the top drawer of his desk. He removed two sticks of clove, which he would insert into his nostrils while he performed the autopsy. Bodies found floating in the bay were notorious for their stench in the autopsy room. All the medical examiners and morgue staff used either the clove sticks or smoked cigars during the autopsies of floaters. Without them, not even the most experienced morgue staff could stand the smell.

“Did we get x-rays?” asked Matt.

“Yes, sir. Up on the view boxes in the autopsy room,” said Franklin, “I had the techs shoot full body films before I put her on the table. Figured you might want a picture before you start taking things out.”

Matt stuck the clove sticks in his nose, then entered the autopsy room. A bloated and discolored body lay on the steel table, the head propped up on a plastic support. He averted his gaze to look at the x-rays displayed on the wall-mounted lighted view boxes.

“Well,” said Matt, “There appears to be plenty of air in the lungs, so the odds are we’re not looking at a drowning.”

Franklin nodded in agreement.

“Oh, hell,” said Matt, still looking at the images.

“What, Dr. Matt?” asked Franklin.

“It’s a kid,” said Matt.

Dr. Raymond Stuart was never totally comfortable in a tuxedo.

Stuart was fifty, with salt and pepper hair cut short, almost military style. Medium height, very physically fit. One might have thought him handsome in a rugged sort of way, if one was not bothered by the glass eye. Stuart’s right eye was a prosthetic, very well made and nearly a perfect match for the normal left one. The only obvious difference was that the right eye didn’t move. Stuart found the glass eye to be annoying. When he was alone or with close friends, he removed it and wore a black eye patch. For formal occasions or while working with patients, he inserted the glass orb and put up with the discomfort.

“Well, if it isn’t Ray Stuart,” said the Dean of the medical school, extending a hand, “Nice to see you this evening.”

Stuart smiled and shook the hand. It was the Dean, after all. Normally, the man wouldn’t remember that Stuart existed. But formal dinners were for formal phoniness. This was why, whenever possible, Stuart avoided large social gatherings.

“It’s all about the residents and their families,” Stuart said, “It’s their graduation dinner. I really love seeing these young doctors heading out into the world. Makes me feel good about the future of medicine.”

“You look pretty good in a tuxedo,” teased the Dean, “Tonight you look like a man who is Professor of both Orthopedics and Pediatrics.”

“I can’t say that it’s comfortable,” Stuart replied, “but this seems to be the required uniform for the country club. Not the sort of place I usually hang out. I’m here because of these young men and women as well as the wives, husbands, and partners who survived the ordeal of being married to doctors who work eighty hours a week. It’s often harder on them than the residents themselves.”

“Please enjoy yourself, Ray,” said the Dean, “Good to see you here. I’m sure it means a lot to the residents.”

“Thank you,” Stuart replied. He would enjoy honoring the graduating residents. The faculty, on the other hand, too often used this evening for excessive drinking and pompous self-promotion. He had little appetite for phoniness and vacuous chitchat.

“Ray Stuart, God it’s been a long time. You look pretty good, considering all that you’ve been through.”

Stuart took the outstretched hand of Dr. Wallace Godfrey. Godfrey had once been chairman of the division of plastic surgery at Sutro State, but had left the academic life a decade earlier to pursue a very lucrative private practice career. Godfrey was tall and strikingly handsome, black hair with just a touch of grey around the ears. His baby blue eyes were as clear as the sky on a summer day, radiating friendliness and inspiring confidence, important considerations to his wealthy patient clientele.

“Good evening, Wallace,” said Stuart, “You’re looking prosperous. Private practice agrees with you.”

While he and Godfrey worked very closely together for years, Stuart never really considered Godfrey to be a personal friend. There was a vanity about the plastic surgeon that prevented Stuart from being totally comfortable.

“Oh, yes, Ray, the nips and tucks and boob jobs more than pay the bills,” said Godfrey quietly, so that none of the other guests could overhear, “But my practice also allows me to pursue the one true love of my life.”

“Project Raphael,” said Stuart, “How’s that going?”

“Bigger and better than ever,” said Godfrey, “You wouldn’t recognize it. We run five medical missions each year into El Salvador and have recently started to schedule missions in Ecuador.”

“Still doing a lot of cleft palate surgery?” Stuart asked.

“Oh, much, much more,” Godfrey replied, “We actually have a full-time mission hospital and clinic in El Salvador.”

“Seriously? Did the government give it to Project Raphael? Do you share it with the health ministry?”

“No, we built it,” said Godfrey, “We don’t have to borrow space from the health ministry any more. We actually have our own staff there year-round, some American and some Salvadoran. We now have follow-up of surgical cases and great communication with the doctors in the US.”

“That should allow your teams to perform more complex procedures,” said Stuart, “if you have your own people there to take care of the patients post-operatively.”

“Not only can we take on bigger cases in El Salvador,” Godfrey continued, “but I’ve developed a network...