Dr. Paul Sampson leaned back on his pillow and let his eyes run over an article in the newspaper. A sense of vindication and satisfaction seeped into his heart. No that’s wrong, he said to himself, putting the newspaper down. I’m still a man of healing, a man who tries to save lives. A few minutes passed before Paul picked the newspaper up and re-read the article. He kept his unseemly feelings at bay this time, but a rush of memories came in their place. Rather than suppress them, he closed his eyes and let them run their course.
****
The prosecuting attorney gave Paul a crocodile smile before he spoke. “Please describe this transference process to the jury, Dr. Sampson.”
Paul cleared his throat. “Through genetic engineering, my team was able to create a microbe that, when injected into the bloodstream of a cancer patient, had the ability to attract cancer cells to it and lead them out of the patient. In order for the process to work, however, the cancer cells had to have another body to invade — a host who would receive the cancer cells from the donor.”
“Why not just let the cancer cells flow out of the donor into a bottle or some other container, and then give the donor a standard blood transfusion?” the prosecutor continued.
“For reasons we’ve never been able to understand, the cancer cells will regenerate in the donor if they are just transferred to a receptacle or even a deceased host. The microbe can only do its job if the cancer cells are directed into another living body.”
The prosecutor put his hands behind his back and walked away from the witness stand. When he was only a foot or two from the jury box, he pivoted around and jabbed a finger toward Paul.
“But even when it goes into a living host, this so-called transference microbe doesn’t work all that well, does it doctor?”
Paul bristled but maintained his self-control. “It worked pretty well for the 85 people who’ve been cured by it.”
“Eighty-five, you say?”
“Yes.”
“And how many didn’t it cure?”
“You mean how many received the treatment and died.”
“Exactly.”
“At last count, 49.”
“Forty-nine.” The prosecutor squinted and drummed his fingers against the side of his cheek, apparently making a silent calculation. “That would mean your cure rate is about 63 percent.”
“Correct.”
“Of course, that assumes none of those 85 cured…” The prosecutor made quotation marks in the air after the word “cured” “…people have their cancer return and succumb to it in the future. That could happen, couldn’t it?”
“That’s always possible, but none have yet, and over half have gone 3 years cancer-free and 18 have –“
“Let’s talk about those people who receive the cancer,” the prosecutor interrupted. “The ones you call hosts.” The man flashed another crocodile smile toward Paul. “Can’t this so-called transference treatment save them from the cancer they receive from the donor?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Why?”
Paul let his head droop. “We’ve never been able to find that out either. For some reason, the donor’s cancer cells, once in the host’s body, cannot be further transferred into a second host. It’s as if the cancer cells can’t be fooled a second time.”
“Can’t you do anything for the hosts?” the prosecutor asked with an overly-dramatic shrug.
“Standard cancer treatments — radiation, chemotherapy — help some, but in the end…” Paul let his voice trail off, but the prosecutor was only too happy to finish his sentence.
“They die, right? And not that long after becoming hosts, am I correct?”
“We’ve had at least five hosts survive two years, and one almost made it to three.”
“Are any alive now?”
“I believe two are. Subject 125 became a host about 8 months ago, and is still alive.”
“And the other?”
Paul hesitated. “Subject 127 is also still alive, but I believe he is in hospice care.”
“Yes, he is. In fact…” The prosecutor snatched a paper off his desk and held it up to his eyes “…his medical team reports he’ll not likely live beyond the current month. Why is that, Dr. Sampson?”
“Subject 127 was… I mean… is a death-row inmate who volunteered to be a host. He’s not receiving any treatment beyond pain-killing drugs because…because…”
Once again, the prosecutor was quick to finish Paul’s sentence. “Because your transference procedure is this prisoner’s method of execution. For him, it’s the equivalent of a gas chamber or an electric chair.”
“But this prisoner’s execution will save someone’s life, too,” Paul fired back. “No electric chair or gas chamber ever did that.”
“You’re assuming, of course, that Subject 127’s donor is among the 63 percent who are cured by the cancer transference and not the 37 percent who die in spite of it.”
“That’s true, but at last report, her cancer appeared to be cured.”
The prosecutor waved a dismissive hand. “For the jury’s sake, let’s summarize everything you’ve said, Dr. Sampson. Through genetic engineering, you and your colleagues developed a microbe that has the ability to draw cancer cells out of one body, the donor, and transfer them into another body, the host. The process eliminates the cancer from the donor about 63 percent of the time, but leaves the host with a cancer that is far less likely to be cured or even controlled. In fact, the donor’s cancer is so deadly that it has been used in one or more instances as a method of execution. Am I correct, in all this?” The prosecutor folded his arms and cocked his head to one side, as if daring Paul to contradict him.
“You might add my research team and I never approved of having the state use our procedure as a means of execution.”
“I’m glad you mentioned the state, Dr. Sampson,” said the prosecutor, glowering. “Because the one fact I didn’t mention in my summary is the one that explains why you’re in this courtroom today.”
Paul knew what was coming next but also knew of no way to stop it.
“You understood that once the general assembly passed SB 9091, any further administration of your procedure to any patient would be illegal, didn’t you?”
“I knew it violated that particular law, yes.”
The prosecutor almost ran to the witness stand and thrust his finger so close to Paul’s face, he had to resist the urge to bite it. “Yet you continued to administer the procedure to no fewer than seven patients after the law took effect, is that right?”
“Yes, we had already come so far with these last few patients, given them the hope of a cure for their cancer, we thought it would be unfair, even cruel, to not follow through with the treatment.”
“You did this even though you knew it was wrong?”
Paul eyed the man coldly. “I knew it was illegal but didn’t think it was wrong.”
“So you fully admit to violating the law and directing your colleagues to do the same.”
“I do.”
“No more questions.”
****
Paul was about to read another article when a guard came by and tapped his club on the bars of Paul’s cell. “Lights out in three minutes, doc,” the guard said. “Just letting you know.”
“Thanks.”
Paul let the newspaper fall to the floor but not before scanning the article one more time.
Local Attorney Dies at 49
With his adoring family surrounding him, Fred Banner, age 49, died peacefully at his home last Friday after courageously battling liver cancer for several months. A long-time resident of Ridgeview, OH, Fred earned a B.A. from Southwestern Pennsylvania College and a J.D. from Yale Law School. After several years as a criminal defense lawyer with Baker, Smith, and Howell, he was elected as the county’s prosecuting attorney. In this position, he successfully prosecuted some of the state’s highest-profile cases, including Kraus v. Mathke and The State Medical Board vs. Sampson, et al.
A brilliant lawyer, Fred excelled at skewering hostile witnesses with pointed questions and shrewd reasoning. Such skill led the bar association to recognize him as one of the top 10 prosecuting attorneys in the state on three different occasions.
Fred is survived by his wife, Doris, his son Albert, and his brother James (Wilma) of Rochester, NY, as well as several cousins, nieces, and nephews.
In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations in Fred’s memory be made to the National Cancer Society.