Mrs. Boulder, I'm your friend, and I was John's friend. And as your friend and as a good lawyer, which I am, I'm going to give you some excellent professional advice. And by the way, I'm going to charge you for it, so you'd better listen to me. To bring a malpractice suit against the Robler Clinic or Dr. Demmet is a waste of your time and your money and your emotions. I won't let you do it because you can't win."

"What about an autopsy?"

"We can get one."

"Well, won't that prove our case?"

"It will probably prove Robler's case."

"The coroners are part of the club, too? Is that what you're saying?"

"It's not what I'm saying. They're not. But doctors, like everyone else, learn to cover themselves properly. If they say heart failure was the cause of death, then that's just what the coroner is going to find. A medical career is worth more than a million dollars. Doctors don't risk that lightly. Now, I will do something else. If you promise not to pursue this, Mrs. Boulder, I'll forget the bill for this appointment. I'm sorry. I grieve with you, and if there were some way we could bring John back, even on the longest chance, or make amends for his death, I would go with you on this thing despite the odds. But there's nothing we can do. I'm sorry."

"We'll see," said Mrs. Boulder, who was not thanking people for their services anymore.

Her letters were answered politely, giving the impression that the correspondents had looked into the matter. But when she reread them and analyzed each sentence carefully, she realized that all the authorities had said was how wonderful the profession of medicine was and how thorough doctors were in their concern.

And there she finally let the matter drop. The only time she ever saw Dr. Demmet's name again was in the sports pages when he won the low gross in the Fair Oaks Scotch Foursome winter tournament.