Body Harvest (3 page)

As the driverless car approached the area where Dmitri Backhouse and the other two victims had been abandoned, Troy glanced across at Lexi. ‘Are you asleep?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said, slowly opening her eyes. ‘I’m meditating. At least, I was.’

Troy knew perfectly well that outers did not sleep. Instead, they switched off for short regular periods. Teasing her, he said, ‘Meditating? That’s just a fancy word for thinking, isn’t it?’

‘No. It’s the opposite of thinking – and much deeper.
It’s a sort of mental drifting. A way of de-stressing. It stops impulsive reactions to emotional events – like crime. Afterwards, thoughts are much clearer. Much sharper.’ She looked at Troy and added, ‘You know what everyone does when their computer goes wrong?’

‘Turn it off and back on again?’

‘That’s what outers do up here.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘When our brains get cluttered, we turn them off and turn them back on again fifteen minutes later. Hey presto. Works every time – unless we’re interrupted.’

‘Well, we’re arriving. You’d have to snap out of it anyway.’

They left the car and walked first to the home of the witness who’d reported seeing the body they now called L4G#1. Her small rustic cottage lay near to the water treatment office, but out of its sight.

The woman who answered the knocker was in her fifties and she appeared to be in good health. Surprised that she should have visitors, she looked at the two young detectives and muttered, ‘Yes?’

Troy introduced himself and his partner. ‘We just wanted to ask you a few questions about your recent … find in the wood.’

Reluctantly, she stood to one side. Sighing, she said, ‘Come in.’

The living room was at the rear of the property and there were no trees to obscure the view over Langhorn Reservoir. Curiously old-fashioned, there was a large black wood-burner in one corner and a bulky television in another. Some ancient music was playing on an out-dated music system that Troy and Lexi hardly recognized. Modern technology had passed by Avril Smallcross.

She turned off the music and ushered them towards a sofa. ‘Sit,’ she said, almost as if talking to a pet dog.

Lexi remained on her feet but Troy perched on the edge of the leather couch. ‘Do you live here on your own?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘It must be lonely.’

‘The young and the old want different things out of life. Maybe you like the buzz of a city. I prefer peace and quiet.’

‘Do you work?’

‘Retired.’

Troy nodded. ‘You were out collecting wood.’

‘I walk a lot,’ Avril told him. ‘Keeps me fit. It’s a waste not to pick up wood for the stove while I’m at it.’

‘Have you ever seen people digging in the clearing?’

She frowned. ‘Not that I recall.’

Lexi said, ‘Did you go up close to the body?’

‘No. But close enough, thank you. What happened to the poor man?’

Troy didn’t want to go into details. ‘We’re still looking into it,’ he replied. ‘Did you recognize him? Have you seen him round here before?’

‘I didn’t exactly study him, but …’ Avril shook her head.

‘Have you ever worked in health or got involved in medical operations?’

‘No. What a strange question. Why?’

‘We were wondering if you’ve had anything to do with transplants.’

‘Oh, I see. You’re thinking of the clinic down the road. No. Never been there. Is it relevant?’

Troy shrugged. ‘Probably not.’ In truth, the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic was his main priority for the day.

‘You wouldn’t know by looking at me now,’ she said, ‘but I used to be a lifeboat pilot.’

‘Exciting,’ Lexi replied. ‘I always fancied being a pilot. Of anything fast. Anyway, have you got the shoes you were wearing when you found the body?’

‘Er … That’d be my walking boots. Yes.’

‘I need to take a photo of the tread.’

‘Why?’

‘There were shoeprints in the clearing. I need to eliminate yours,’ Lexi explained. ‘The rest might belong to whoever dumped the body.’

‘I see. Wait. I’ll get them.’

By the time they left Avril’s cottage, Lexi had several images of the soles of Avril’s walking boots on her life-logger and Troy had his thoughts about the woman who had stumbled across the primitive burial ground.

Together, Troy and Lexi retraced Avril’s route to the crime scene. There, Lexi retrieved her data logger, complete with its precious information on temperature. Encircled by police ribbon, the clearing was still guarded by officers and the search team was nearing the end of its hunt for a weapon and other clues.

The two detectives had decided to make for the transplant clinic on foot because a long waterside stroll would give them a better picture of the area.

While they walked, Troy said, ‘You looked … annoyed in the mortuary.’

‘Did I?’

‘Like someone or something was niggling you.’

‘Yes, well, I don’t like the idea of someone defiling bodies by removing this and that.’

‘You’re not squeamish or religious.’

‘You don’t have to be to know it’s wrong. It’s like slashing a great work of art.’ She paused before adding, ‘To me, our insides are just as beautiful as our outsides.’

Troy grimaced. ‘You get to see enough of them in this job.’

Sarcastically, Lexi replied, ‘I’m lucky like that.’

The rough path was almost straight, keeping parallel to the reservoir. At the water’s edge, there were a few wooden platforms for fishing but they were all rickety and vacant. The trees were mostly firs. Under a high green roof, the wood was bare and dark, even sinister. Tapering as it approached the end of the reservoir, it was also eerily quiet.

‘Transplants are different for outers, aren’t they?’ Troy said.

‘We don’t go in for different blood groups like you majors, if that’s what you mean. For us, it’s one type fits all. No need to match the donor and recipient. Any outer heart, liver or whatever will be okay for any other outer. Convenient.’

Abruptly, she halted.

Troy looked back at her and whispered, ‘What is it?’

‘There’s someone over there,’ Lexi said, pointing away from the water’s edge.

She was right. Troy could just make out a small log cabin, topped with a roof of bundled twigs. Outside it, a man was sitting at a crooked table, examining a piece of wood.

Lexi and Troy looked at each other. ‘Well?’ Lexi said. ‘Are we walkers who just happened to come this way or are we detectives? Official or unofficial?’

Troy knew it was his call. Lexi took care of the forensic side of the investigation. His strength was in dealing with people and questioning. He felt forced to make a quick decision because he knew Lexi did not like to be held back. ‘Er … Official but friendly. And curious.’

Lexi nodded.

Together they left the track and ambled towards the man and his shack. He wasn’t old. Perhaps nearing thirty. He was rough rather than dirty. He had long black hair but no beard. ‘Hi,’ Troy called out, noting the woodworking tools scattered around the table. A large axe and a fishing rod were propped against the side of the cabin.

The man smiled, showing startlingly white teeth. ‘Nice morning.’

‘I’m Troy. This is Lexi. For some reason, the powers-that-be made us detectives.’

‘Thought so,’ he said, putting down the piece of wood. ‘I’m not doing anything against the law.’

‘No problem. Do you live here?’

‘Yep,’ he answered, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Wearing shorts and a T-shirt, he didn’t seem to feel the chill breeze.

‘You’re one of the displaced.’

‘Never did like that label but …’ He shrugged.

‘Was it your choice?’ Troy asked.

‘They called me a maths genius, but I opted out. Yes, my choice. It’s a good life.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Huw.’

Troy didn’t push for a surname. He wanted to keep it informal. ‘Not exactly state-of-the-art living.’

Huw laughed. ‘Everyone owns too much stuff. You don’t need it. I’ve got shelter, a bed, clothes, wood to keep me warm in winter, plenty of food …’

Troy interrupted. ‘Where from?’

‘I grow it, catch it or just pick it up. Fish, squirrels, road-kill, vegetables. Lots. A hole in the ground’s my toilet. For water, I filter rain through sand. Easy.’

Troy grimaced. ‘You drink it?’

‘I filter it through sand
and
charcoal to make it drinkable.’ He waved a hand over his traditional tools. ‘Carving gives me trinkets to sell if I need
money for something nature doesn’t provide for free.’

Troy wondered if he’d found that mad, tree-felling, wood-carving murderer, but Huw came across as harmless. Even so, Lexi must have been thinking the same because she was examining the sharp tools lined up on the table, almost certainly checking for bloodstains.

‘What about company?’

‘It’s not necessary,’ Huw answered. ‘But I can go into the city if the mood takes me. Before I came here, I worked as a volunteer at a homeless centre. It was good. I might do it again if I move on.’

‘Do you ever see anyone around here?’ Troy asked.

‘Sometimes. Not a lot.’

‘A woman called Avril Smallcross who lives up there?’ Troy said, pointing in the general direction. ‘She walks, collects wood.’

‘I’ve seen her.’

‘Anyone else? Any visitors in the last few days or weeks?’

‘No one I took notice of.’

‘Have you seen anything weird going on between here and Avril’s house?’

‘This is sounding like an interrogation.’

‘Do you know what happened in the clearing back there?’

Huw shook his head. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

Troy turned to look the other way. ‘What do you know about the transplant clinic?’

‘Zero.’ He thumped his chest cheerfully. ‘I’ll make do with the heart that’s got me this far. It didn’t cost anything, either.’

Troy smiled. ‘Are you staying put? Not planning to move?’

‘I’ll still be here if you come back with some more questions,’ Huw replied. ‘But I don’t know how I can help – unless you decide to break loose. Give up crime and I could show you how to live the good life.’

Lexi and Troy continued their walk. In another twenty-five minutes, they arrived at the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic. Contrasting with Huw’s basic home, the private surgery was a large modern building with lots of gentle curves and glass. Outside was an attractive water feature with an impressive fountain. Troy guessed that it was supposed to be soothing. Inside, the floor was bare wood and the pastel walls were decorated with paintings and prints. The atmosphere was sheer luxury.

Troy and Lexi were ushered into a roomy office
belonging to the manager of the clinic. Behind an enormous desk, Gianna Humble stood up, walked round and greeted them. She sat in a comfy chair and waved them towards two leather seats. Clearly, she didn’t allow a desk to come between her and her clients. ‘You’re welcome,’ she said with a bright smile, ‘but … What can I do for you?’

Troy told her that they were investigating three deaths but didn’t mention the nearby burial site. He skipped the details, giving just enough information to suggest a link to medical transplants. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I hope you can help us in a few ways. Like, we want to know if one of the victims was a patient of yours and where your body parts come from.’

Gianna cut him short. ‘Let’s take it a step at a time. Our main business here is hearts, lungs, liver and kidneys, but we’ve also branched out into hands and faces …’

‘Faces?’

She nodded. ‘For those with facial tumours, or who’ve been disfigured by fire or animal attack.’

‘Where do you get them from? Not just faces. Everything.’

‘I couldn’t possibly discuss individual donors – the source of the tissue we use. I have to protect their anonymity. Besides, talking about this heart or that 
hand is tactless. The bereaved family and friends wouldn’t thank me for giving the impression that the remains of their loved ones are merely spare parts – or health products.’

‘Are they legal, though?’

‘Of course,’ Gianna replied. ‘But I’m afraid you’re right to imply there’s an illegal market. We would never have anything to do with it, though.’

Troy felt as if he was under some sort of test and his new partner was the silent examiner. He imagined Lexi assessing his verbal tussle with this slick and clever manager. ‘Is it … you know … quite common? Does it happen a lot?’

‘Desperate people will part with considerable sums of money so, yes, it’s out there. You see, the human body provides a rich and long harvest.’

‘What do you mean?’ Troy asked.

‘Think of what it offers and when. There are useful parts from before birth until after death. From female eggs – especially majors’ eggs – through to skin, hearts and kidneys as soon as the old owner no longer needs them. Some are more valuable than others. Of the common transplants, a lung costs the most. Then it’s heart, liver, kidney, cornea, and eggs in that order. On top of that, genetics enters into the reckoning. If a woman’s young and healthy, tall,
good-looking, athletic and musical, she’ll get a higher price for selling her eggs because that’s what the clients value most.’

‘You know a lot about it.’

Gianna’s eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘It’s my job to know – without getting personally involved in the illicit trade. You’re welcome to look around anywhere you like – apart from sterile treatment areas, of course – and check our records if you wish, with the exception of confidential files.’

On the surface, Gianna Humble gave the impression of being helpful and open, but Troy realized that she would reveal only a little. He guessed that the confidential files were the ones he most wanted to see. ‘We’d like a tour, for sure – and as much information on your clients and sources as you can give us – but first … These people whose body parts get harvested illegally. Who are they? Where do they come from?’

‘Mortuaries mainly, I believe,’ she answered. ‘Rumour has it that certain overseas prisoners are executed for their organs as well.’

‘What about people who’ve killed themselves?’