The Body Thief (12 page)

“Yeah, that’s the way I see it, too. If it’s
going on, I won’t be surprised if the majority of the undertakers,
if not all of them, confirm Hannah Langdon’s story. But it doesn’t
hurt to gather additional evidence and get a clearer picture about
what we’re dealing with. The more information we’re armed with, the
more pressure we can bring on the hospital to cooperate.”

Rohan had used the time since Samantha and
Hannah attended the police station to get a clearer picture of the
organ and tissue donation process before bringing his boss up to
speed and he was surprised at what his research had revealed.
Worldwide, it seemed the majority of people simply didn’t put their
mind to organ and tissue donation and for those who did, most of
them didn’t favor the idea. The reasons were many and varied, but
Rohan understood them.

He glanced at Bryce. “Do you know the major
barriers to people wanting to donate organs and tissue on their
death?”

Bryce nodded. “Believe it or not, I do.
Chanel raised the topic not long after the triplets were born. I
must admit, I hadn’t given it any real thought before then. Chanel
told me decisions not to donate are often because of a lack of
understanding about brain death and how it’s determined, or because
of a general mistrust of doctors.”

Rohan grinned. “Considering your lovely
wife’s a doctor, it must have been tough for her to share
that.”

“Not at all. She understands better than
most why some people act with caution around the medical
profession. She says it’s mostly from ignorance and fear. Most of
us don’t have anything to do with hospitals and doctors and medical
stuff unless we’re sick or injured and it’s then that we’re at our
most vulnerable. Vulnerable people don’t trust easily. It’s just
the way it is.”

“True. I’ve never spent any time inside a
hospital unrelated to work. I’d probably be one of those freaking
out if I was unwell enough to be admitted. Until Samantha Wolfe
raised the issue of organ donation the other day, I hadn’t given it
any real thought.”

Bryce shot him a wry smile. “Like thousands
of other people.”

“I guess so. I’ve never been personally
touched by the issue; never known anyone who faced certain death
without a transplant. But I can see now how important it is to have
the conversation with loved ones. From what I’ve read, it’s so much
easier to deal with the issue of consent when everyone knows where
they stand, particularly if you’re the next of kin.”

The men climbed out of the squad car and met
on the pavement adjacent to the funeral home. The business was
conducted in a federation-style house squatting among similarly
ancient neighbors. A few streets over, the original buildings had
been replaced with newer structures, all sporting an excess of
style and glass, but modernization hadn’t yet made it this far.

There had been an attempt to keep up a
garden, and a scattering of small flowers grew beside
unenthusiastic patches of grass, but the building’s paintwork had
been recently refreshed and the heritage colors of heavy cream,
dark green and maroon contrasted nicely.

Rohan figured it wouldn’t matter what the
place looked like. To grieving relatives, struggling to deal with
the effort of arranging a funeral, any type of building more than
likely evoked nothing but dread—if noticed at all. He turned to
Bryce. “You ready?”

Bryce drew in a breath and squared his
shoulders. “Hey, it’s a funeral home. How bad can it be?”

Rohan smothered a grin and pushed open the
white picket gate that led up a concrete path to the front door.
The gate squeaked in protest.

“It mustn’t see a lot of use,” Bryce mused.
“Who could stand putting up with that kind of noise all day?”

“I can’t imagine a place like this is
overrun with eager staff and it’s not likely they’d receive many
repeat complaints from clients.”

Bryce offered a slight grin and then
followed Rohan up the two steps that ended at a porch. The
weathered boards creaked under their boots. An ancient doorbell was
situated beside the front door.

“Let’s see if this works,” Rohan murmured as
he pressed the button. He heard the sound of a bell echoing inside
the house. Stepping away, he waited with Bryce for the door to
open.

“How are Chanel and the girls, anyway?”
Rohan asked in an attempt to fill the silence.

This time, Bryce’s grin was unrestrained.
“They’re good. Chanel’s going crazy trying to juggle work and three
two-year-olds, but she insists she can do it all. I tell her she’s
mad. She should wait until the girls are at least in school before
resurrecting her career, but she loves being a doctor and doesn’t
want her skills to go rusty. It would drive me to drink if I was
trying to do even half of what she does.”

Rohan chuckled. “That’s why God made women
the mothers. They’re more naturally skilled at multi-tasking. It’s
a proven fact. Besides, work might provide some relief for her if
you have good child care.”

“Yes, we’re lucky in that regard and you
won’t get any argument from me about my wife’s ability to
multi-task,” Bryce replied, shaking his head ruefully. “I’ve seen
her in action.”

“She works at the Sydney Harbour Hospital,
doesn’t she?”

“Yep. She won’t hear a bad word said about
the place, despite what went on there a couple of years ago.”

Rohan frowned. “That must have been before
my time. I was still stationed out at Penrith. What happened?”

“I was the lead detective on the
investigation. It was how I met Chanel.” Bryce smiled at what was
obviously a fond memory.

“Forget that mushy crap. What happened?”

Bryce’s expression turned grim. “One of the
medical staff decided to play God. Doctor Leo Baker was murdering
patients indiscriminately using poison from castor beans. My
grandmother came very close to being one of his victims.”

At the mention of Leo Baker, Rohan’s foggy
memories of the event suddenly returned. “I remember seeing reports
in the media. He was a bigwig in the hospital. Right?”

“Yeah, it was a huge shock to everyone who
knew him, including Chanel.”

“She knew him?”

“She trained under him. She was the first
person to bring it to our attention. She turned up at the station
looking like she’d just stepped off a fashion shoot and told me one
of Sydney Harbour Hospital’s most respected surgeons was doing away
with his patients. What could I do?” Bryce grinned. “A girl who had
both looks and brains and boundless courage to boot. I had no
choice but to marry her.”

Rohan smiled. He’d met Chanel on a few
occasions at staff functions and found her charming and pretty and
smart. Bryce was lucky to have fallen in love with a girl who had
it all. Rohan wondered if he’d ever be so fortunate. That triggered
thoughts of his parents and the conversation he’d had with his dad
about his mother’s health and Rohan gave himself a mental reminder
to call his father again and get another update.

The sound of the door opening snagged his
attention and he focused on the short balding man who stood in the
doorway. A pair of thick black-rimmed spectacles, reminiscent of
something from the fifties, perched on the man’s bulbous, red nose.
Gray whiskers dotted his face.

“Can I help you?” The man’s voice was
scratchy, as if from lack of use. Bryce couldn’t help but think the
man probably didn’t engage in too much conversation during his
working hours.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Rohan Coleridge and
this is Detective Sergeant Bryce Sutcliffe. We’re making a few
enquiries about some of the bodies you’ve had through here the last
couple of months.”

The man frowned and his face clouded with
suspicion. “Detectives? Why would two detectives be interested in
what I do?”

“Are you Mr Forsyth?” Rohan asked, ignoring
the man’s question.

“Yes, I’m Melvin Forsyth.”

“So you’re the owner of Forsyth’s Funeral
Home?” Bryce asked.

“Yes, I inherited it from my father and his
father before him. We’ve been in the undertaking business for more
than one hundred years.”

Melvin thrust back his thin shoulders and
behind his thick glasses, his eyes gleamed with pride. Rohan
wondered what it would be like to grow up knowing you were destined
to spend your days working in a funeral home.

“Do you mind if we come inside and ask you a
few more questions?” Bryce asked.

Once again, the man looked reticent.
“Why?”

“We’re investigating a complaint,” Rohan
explained patiently. “We’d like to talk to you about whether you’ve
noticed anything strange about the bodies you’ve recently
embalmed.”

Melvin looked affronted. “Complaint? Who’s
made a complaint? I bet it was that big fat daughter of Eloisa
Jackson. That woman insisted on choosing the very cheapest coffin
for her mother and then had the hide to bargain me down on the
price! She accused me of stealing money from people when they were
at their most needy.

“
Humph!
” he scoffed. “From the size
of her, she’s never been needy in her life. I tell you what, I
wouldn’t want to be paying for
her
coffin. She’ll need one
custom made. There won’t be a coffin off the shelf that will fit
the likes of her!”

By now, the man was quite worked up. His
breath came faster and his cheeks were flushed. He looked more
alive than he had when he opened the door. Rohan hurried to
reassure him.

“It’s nothing like that, Mr Forsyth. The
complaint’s not about you. Do you mind if we come in so we can
discuss it in more detail?”

With a dramatic sigh, Melvin turned and
headed down a short corridor. To the right was a small waiting
room. It was gloomy with heavy red velvet drapes that covered the
floor-to-ceiling windows and blocked all but the tiniest glimmer of
light. At the end of the corridor, there was a closed door with a
“Staff Only—Do Not Enter” hand-printed note taped to its
surface.

“How long is this going to take?” Melvin
asked over his shoulder.

“Do you have someplace else to be?” Rohan
asked.

“No, but I’m working back here. I need to
finish what I’m doing. It’s not something I can start and then come
back to later. It’s why I took so long to answer the door. I was
hoping you’d give up and go away.”

Rohan nodded in understanding. “We’re happy
to talk while you work.” He threw a glance at Bryce who suddenly
paled. “Aren’t we Detective Sutcliffe?”

If looks could kill, Rohan would have died
on the spot, but then, to his credit, Bryce nodded. “Of course,
Detective Coleridge. No sense keeping Melvin from his work.”

“If that’s the case,” Melvin said, looking
relieved, “come on through. I have Molly Matthews hooked up to the
aspiration machine. It’s in the process of draining her gas and
fluids and it’s really something I need to oversee. I’d already
started it before you rang the doorbell.”

Bryce turned a paler shade of gray and even
Rohan took a breath and braced himself for what lay beyond. Melvin
opened the door, apparently oblivious to the discomfort and lack of
enthusiasm of the officers who followed in his wake.

“Here she is! Oh, good! It hasn’t finished
yet.”

Rohan and Bryce stepped into the
average-sized room where Melvin had entered ahead of them. The body
of an elderly woman lay naked on the steel table. Rohan expected
her skin to be bluish and purple, like it usually was in death, but
was surprised to find she looked more alive than dead.

“I’ve already injected the formaldehyde,”
Melvin explained, taking note of Rohan’s surprise. “It gives the
body color and a more lifelike appearance. It plumps out the
features and helps the body look less drawn. It’s worked magic on
Molly, don’t you think?” he grinned.

Rohan nodded in agreement. Though he hadn’t
seen Molly before the process, he’d seen his fair share of dead
bodies. He didn’t dare look at Bryce. “You’re good at your job,
Melvin. For a moment there, I wasn’t sure if Molly was still
alive.”

The man cackled in delight, as pleased as a
small child with a bagful of candy. “Detective, you are too
wicked!” He shook his head and then turned back to the body.

A trocar had been inserted just under the
ribs and helped drain Molly Matthews of her body fluids. The
aspiration machine continued to hum in the background. Melvin
squinted at the suction pump and tubing that led from the trocar to
a large sink and nodded in satisfaction.

“Almost done,” he murmured.

Bryce removed himself to the furthest part
of the room and stood leaning with his back against a counter, his
arms crossed over his chest. It looked like he was trying hard to
breathe through his mouth. Rohan could understand why. The stench
of formaldehyde and the indescribable smell of death permeated the
air and even Rohan struggled with it. Breathing as shallowly as he
could manage, he concentrated his attention on the funeral
director.

“Do you work on your own, Melvin?” he
asked.

“Yes, I do a lot of the time. I have a young
girl who comes in a few hours a day to assist me during our busier
weeks. Over winter, we always see a greater influx of bodies. The
cold weather. It’s hard on old bones.”

Rohan moved closer. From the corner of his
eye, he noticed Bryce also stepped forward—albeit reluctantly.

“Have you noticed anything unusual this
winter?” Rohan asked, taking a notepad and pen out of his shirt
pocket.

“Not that I can think of.”

“Nothing strange about the bodies coming
through?” Bryce added.

Melvin frowned and peered at him through his
thick lenses. “Strange? In what way?”

“What about bodies with donated organs and
tissues?” Rohan supplied, not wanting to lead the potential witness
more than was necessary. “Have you noticed an increase in the
number of them?”