The Body Thief (5 page)

What kind of money are you talking?

Once again, he received a reply in
minutes.

To put it more plainly, for every five
pounds of disease-free human tissue you provide, we will pay you
the sum of $50,000 US dollars—deposited directly into your
nominated account. All you have to do is say the word. We’ll handle
pickup and transportation—the logistics.

Alistair’s eyes bugged out of his head.
Fifty grand?
For five pounds of tissue? How could they
afford to pay him that much? He had no idea there could be so much
money involved in the human tissue industry.
And, why would
he?
Trafficking in human body parts was illegal in Australia.
Even human tissue imported into Australia was regulated by the
government and closely scrutinized. There was no possibility a
company such as Biologistics could be established here.
Was it
possible to get away with such a thing in the US?

Becoming more and more curious, Alistair
conducted further research via the Internet. More than an hour
later, he’d discovered the trade in human tissue was not only
allowed in the US, but flourishing. Like Charles had stated, it was
illegal to buy and sell the tissue, but it appeared millions of
dollars were made by compensating those people supplying, storing
and processing it—and there appeared to be little, if no,
government scrutiny.

Though tissue banks were required to be
registered with the FDA, it meant no more than filling out a form
and waiting for an inspection. From what Alistair had read on the
Internet, at least thirty-five percent of active, registered US
tissue banks had never been inspected and of those that had been,
the FDA had yet to shut a single one down over concern about
illicit activities.

Could it really be that simple?
Human
tissue went to waste in Alistair’s hospital every single day. For a
long time, he’d mourned its loss, frustrated that nothing could be
done. Was this the answer he’d been searching for? Illegal or not,
the process ensured that any useable tissue would be recycled and
used again.

Like Charles Shillington had said, it meant
making the blind see, helping lame people walk… And that was only
the beginning. It might not help Alistair’s mom, but someone would
get the benefit. Many someones.
How could he not want to be part
of that?

And if he made a little—okay, a lot of
money—on the side, where was the harm in it? Desperate people got
the transplants they needed and he got to put his kids through
school with less financial strain than otherwise. It seemed like a
win-win situation.
Besides, it wasn’t like he
hadn’t already broken the law in the name of the greater
good.

The idea of harvesting organs in addition to
those they had consent to remove, struck him late one night when he
was suturing closed a legal donor’s chest. He’d silently bemoaned
the fact that so many useable organs were heading straight for the
grave and wondered what could be done about it. It was late May.
Winter had been fast closing in and with it came a naturally
occurring increase in the number of deaths. The timing couldn’t
have been more perfect. It was then that the idea formed into a
plan. By early July, he’d recruited Richard and had been acting on
it ever since.

When Samantha mentioned
she’d noticed the rise in the number of donor bodies, he’d almost
choked on his Diet Coke.
While most of the bodies he
illegally harvested from went to funeral homes and crematoriums
scattered around the inner city, a small number of them ended up in
the Glebe Morgue. He’d hoped that they’d slide by unnoticed; that
with the number of forensic pathologists on staff, the rise in
donor bodies wouldn’t cause anyone to become alarmed, but it
appeared he hadn’t been so lucky.

Either that, or Richard Davis hadn’t done as
he’d promised. The deputy coroner had assured Alistair at the
outset Richard would make certain the bodies Alistair handled would
personally be autopsied by him. That way, none of his staff would
be any the wiser. After Sam’s comment, it was now obvious that
hadn’t happened. The last thing he needed was to have his own
sister asking questions, or even thinking about it, at all.

If he accepted Biologistics’ offer, he’d be
forced to illegally harvest the tissues of many more patients in
the future. The company expected him to sign a contract and a quota
would be specified. Now that Samantha’s suspicions had been raised,
it would be safer to ignore the autopsy cases and concentrate his
efforts only on the bodies being sent directly to the funeral homes
and crematoriums. There was much less likelihood an undertaker
would put his mind to the fact that he was seeing way more bodies
with surgical scars than he had in the past—if he thought about it
at all. As well, there was no call for any paperwork to accompany
those bodies.

The more Alistair pondered it, the more it
seemed like a good idea. He’d have done it from the outset if
Richard hadn’t promised he’d look after him, in return for a small
fee and Alistair hadn’t taken him at his word. As far as Alistair
had been aware, the arrangement had worked and they’d both walked
away satisfied. Alistair had quietly and illegally set about
increasing the donor rates and Richard had endorsed them and
collected his money.

But for now, with Samantha possibly asking
questions, it was just too risky to continue to involve the city
morgue and its staff. He’d call Richard and tell him the deal was
over and hopefully that would be the end of it. The deputy coroner
might wonder about Alistair’s change of heart, but if Alistair
threw in a couple extra thousand in the final payoff to his friend,
it would hopefully do the trick and keep the man quiet. So far, the
deputy coroner had gotten more than ten thousand dollars out of
him—money Alistair’s family could have used. The man had no cause
for complaint.

* * *

“What do you mean, you’re quitting?” Richard
Davis demanded several hours later.

Alistair looked quickly around him at the
dozen or so patrons scattered around the dimly lit, inner city bar,
but thankfully, no one appeared to be listening to them. “Keep your
voice down!” he ordered in a harsh whisper. “We don’t want the
whole world to know.”

Richard glanced to his left and right and
then leaned closer over the small round table that separated them.
“I’m not ready for you to quit. I need that extra money. You can’t
get me involved in this and then, out of the blue, tell me you’ve
had enough. It isn’t fair. I won’t let you do it!”

Alistair stared at the man and saw the
weakness in his chin.
Why hadn’t Alistair remembered what a poor
excuse of a man the deputy coroner really was?
He bit down hard
on a sigh. It was too late for regrets.

“If you stop, I’ll go to the police.”

Richard’s words penetrated Alistair’s brain.
He tensed.
How the hell had he managed to get himself into this
situation?
He and Richard had gone through med school together.
They’d been good friends, almost inseparable until Alistair met
Nancy. Then love and life got in the way and the two friends had
drifted apart. Richard had gone into forensic medicine and Alistair
had become a surgeon.

Although they’d lost touch over the years,
when Alistair came upon the idea to harvest additional organs from
donor patients, Richard was one of the first people that came to
mind to become his accomplice. The deputy coroner’s father had died
from liver cancer when Richard was still a child. Richard knew
firsthand that a transplant might have saved his dad if a donor
liver had been available. He’d grown up a passionate supporter of
organ donation.

“You need me, Alistair, and you know it.
That’s the reason you came to me in the first place.”

Alistair’s jaw clenched. What Richard said
was true. When a deceased organ donor required an autopsy, the
senior doctor presiding over the death had to obtain the coroner’s,
or one of his deputies’ authorization prior to any organ harvesting
going ahead.

Of course, Alistair could have simply
bypassed the coronial cases and concentrated on those donors headed
directly for the funeral homes and crematoriums, but at the time it
seemed like such a waste of good organs to let even those few
donors go. Having a college buddy in the coroner’s office seemed
too good an opportunity to let slide. Knowing Richard’s attitude
toward organ donation was what cemented the matter.

But circumstances had changed. With
Samantha’s curiosity piqued, it had become too risky and Alistair
had hoped to shut down the morgue arm of their operation. But now,
Richard had dropped a bombshell.
Was he stupid enough to carry
out his threat and go to the police?

With a sigh, Alistair squeezed his eyes shut
for a few moments and ignored the pounding in his head. Opening his
eyes, he stared at Richard across the table and tried to gage the
other man’s sincerity. Richard refused to meet his gaze.

“I mean it, Alistair. If you stop harvesting
those extra organs and don’t continue to throw a little money my
way, I’ll go to the police and tell them everything.”

“Why would you do a silly thing like that?”
Alistair asked, working hard to keep his voice even. “It would
destroy both of us.”

“I don’t want to, but if you quit, you’ll
give me no choice. I need the money and… It makes me feel good
knowing more people are benefiting from our actions. You can’t stop
now. Besides, I’ll tell the police it was all your idea and that
you forced me to go along with it.”

“You’re bluffing. The police will hardly
believe a mere surgeon had the wherewithal to intimidate the deputy
state coroner.”

“Then I’ll tell them I knew nothing about
it. That you called, I authorized it, but you gave me false
information. I’ll tell them you told me the next of kin had
consented; that they were supportive of their loved ones’ wishes.
It will be your word against mine and if the police interview the
families…” A sly look came into Richard’s eyes and Alistair cursed
aloud.

He hadn’t thought of that.

Anger surged through him and he gave it its
head. “You listen to me, Richard and listen well. If I go down,
we’ll both go down. You’ll spend just as many years in a jail cell
as I will. Is that what you want?”

Richard lifted his glass of beer and drank
quickly. His schooner was half-empty by the time he set it back
down. “Of course not,” he replied, wiping the back of his hand
across his mouth. “But what other option do I have? Like I told
you, I need the money. I have a few…debts I need to pay.”

“So pay them. It can’t be that much. You
must earn a fortune in your job. You don’t have a wife or kids
draining every cent faster than you can earn it. What’s your
problem?”

A dark red flush started at the base of
Richard’s neck and worked its way across his cheeks. He lowered his
head in shame. Alistair gritted his teeth and braced himself
against what he might hear.

“I like to have a flutter on the horses and
the dogs once in a while. You know, a harmless bet here and there.
The problem is, they add up and the bookkeepers are at me to pay.”
Richard swung his head back and forth and Alistair was aghast to
notice there were tears in the other man’s eyes. “I can’t help it,
Alistair. It’s out of control and I don’t know what to do about
it.”

“How much do you owe?” Alistair asked
quietly, his anger slipping away.

“Sixty thousand.”

He reeled back against his chair in shock.
“Sixty
thousand
! How the hell could you have gambled away
that kind of money?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! It just
happened. I was shocked when they told me how much. But now they’re
threatening to break my arms and legs—or worse—if I don’t find the
money soon. That’s why you have to keep on doing it, Alistair.”

“Even if I do, you’re never going to make
that kind of money. What are you going to do?”

Like the wall of a dam had suddenly been
breached, Richard collapsed into a noisy bout of sobbing. Tears
streamed down his cheeks. Alistair looked around them, embarrassed,
but only one or two curious stares were thrown their way. Most
hotel patrons ignored them.

Alistair thought back to the time when
Richard had helped him with chemistry in college. It had been the
one subject Alistair had struggled to master. For Richard, it had
come easily. For hours and hours on end, he’d patiently walked
Alistair through the concepts. Without Richard, Alistair might
never have made it through. Alistair owed Richard his career. And
that was the truth.

With a sigh, Alistair reached into his back
pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief. Passing it over, he
urged the man to get ahold of himself. “Stop crying, Richard.
Nothing’s as bad as all that. I’ll think of something to do.”

Richard lifted his head. His eyes were red
and swollen, but hope flared briefly in their depths. “Really?
You’ll come up with a plan?”

Alistair nodded, knowing what he was going
to do. “Yes, I’ll come up with a plan. In fact, I might already
have one. Listen close. I recently received a very interesting
email…”

Rohan Coleridge took a moment to wipe the
sweat out of his eyes. It was nearing the end of a cold August, the
last month of winter, but he still managed to elevate his body
temperature with each swing of his arms.

“Whew!” he said, leaning on the ax so that
he could catch his breath. “This is hard work, Dad.”

His father chuckled and scratched at the
hank of white hair that hung over his eyes. “You’re going soft,
lad. It must be all that time you spend sitting on your ass.”

Rohan smiled and took the jibe in the spirit
it was intended. He didn’t need to be told how proud Bill Coleridge
was of his oldest son. Rohan only had to walk into his father’s den
and see the evidence of his career since he first entered the
police academy at the ripe old age of eighteen, to know how his
father felt.