Body Harvest (5 page)

‘I’ve got a list of people with fishing licences for the Shepford area,’ Lexi reported. ‘But I’m told Langhorn Reservoir isn’t very popular. There are far better places, apparently.’

‘That fits. Our fishing fanatic, suicide chat room stalker and body part trader wouldn’t get disturbed by other people if it’s out of favour.’

‘He’s a fictional fishing fanatic, suicide chat room stalker and body part trader at the moment.’

‘I’m working on it.’ Grinning, Troy added, ‘I’m fishing as well. Casting about in a suicide forum.’

‘Caught anything?’

‘A few sympathetic posts. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m going to try again.’ He spoke as he typed. ‘
No one even notices me and what I do. I might as well not exist
.’

With a wicked expression, Lexi replied, ‘Very believable. It’s a cry that could come from any major.’

Spinning his chair round towards her, Troy ignored her comment. ‘So, how many people hold fishing licences around here?’

‘Too many. Hundreds. If one of them’s our killer, we need to filter out a lot of others first. I could use foot size, but we don’t have grounds for going round checking people’s shoes and treads. We’d be doing it on a wild hunch.’

‘And I suppose we don’t know for certain that the shoeprints belong to the bad guy.’ Troy hesitated and then said, ‘Is there a Huw on the list?’

‘No.’

‘That fits as well. He’s not the sort to bother with a licence. Are any of them Dr Something? Like a transplant surgeon?’

‘I thought you’d never ask. We’ve got two doctors who go fishing. Neither’s got anything to do with transplants, though. I’ve already checked. One’s a
doctor of physics and the other’s a retired baby specialist.’

Disappointed, Troy glanced at his computer screen and uttered a little cry. ‘Hey. Charon Angel’s online again. Remember? Coral said someone called Angel left her dad a message as well. Listen. “No one is worthless. Even if it seems that way. You have value.”’

Suddenly interested, Lexi said, ‘You should put,
I’m probably worth more dead than alive
.’

‘Let’s make a deal,’ Troy replied with a smile. ‘I won’t tell you how to analyse clues if you don’t tell me how to handle suspects.’

‘What’s wrong with what I said?’

‘It’s too obvious. If Charon’s running a scam for spare parts, he’s going to be suspicious. You’d make it sound like I’m setting a trap. We’ve got to be more …’

‘Crafty?’

‘Yes.’ As Troy typed, he said aloud,
‘Thanks, Charon. I’m tired of visitors just telling me not to do it. You put a different slant on it. But I feel like I’m dead already. All that remains is to make it official.’

‘Don’t rush into anything,
’ Charon Angel replied at once.

‘If I’ve made my mind up
,’ Troy typed, ‘
why not?
’

‘Because I might be able to help
,’ came the response.

‘What do you mean? What sort of help?’

‘I might be able to help you realize your value.’

Troy looked up at Lexi. ‘Tricky, isn’t it? He might be trying to persuade me I have a worthwhile life, or he might be working out how much cash he’s going to make after he’s helped me die.’

‘It’s your crazy language again,’ Lexi complained. ‘It’s down to how you interpret “realize your value”. How are you going to find out which he means?’

Troy hesitated. ‘I don’t want to ask to meet him. I want to see if
he
does that.’ Turning back to the keypad, he wrote,
‘I’ll think about it
.’

There was a delay of a few seconds before the reply appeared on screen.
‘Thinking before acting is wise. You can’t do it afterwards. I’ll look out for you on this site. If you come back, I’ll be here. Remember: there are always people who care – and who benefit from you.’

Turning away, Troy muttered, ‘He’s right. There’s probably a queue of transplant patients.’

‘Charon Angel must know that you – or anyone else – could just volunteer to be an organ donor,’ Lexi said. ‘Giving your bits and pieces for nothing.’

Troy nodded. ‘Not enough do, I suppose. That’s why there’s a black market. Anyway, if Charon’s in that game, he wouldn’t want me to give my heart or anything else away. Perhaps he’d persuade me the
money would come in useful for family or friends – or some cause I believe in. Then, after I’m gone, he’d run off with it.’ Troy twisted round and logged out of the chat room. ‘I want to play hard to get. I want him – or her – to sweat for a bit.’

‘Everything they’ve written could be innocent,’ Lexi said. ‘They might genuinely be worried about you.’

‘
They
?’

‘I know,’ Lexi said. ‘It’s not my fault, though. It’s the language again. If you don’t know whether someone’s a
he
or a
she
in English, a lot of people just say “they” instead. I do it myself sometimes. “They” can mean one person! Ridiculous. On top of that, it can mean just about anybody as well. When someone says, “They’ve arrested your best friend”, it means
us
: the police or detectives. But you’ve got to figure it out for yourself. “They say it’s going to rain” means weather forecasters.’ Frustrated, she shook her head.

‘It might mean old folk like my grandma, who says she can feel it in her bones.’

‘Quite. Not a clue.’

‘Anyway,’ said Troy, ‘I’m stopping for a bit because it gives us time to find out who the site administrator is.’

‘You’re hoping they’ll tell us who Charon Angel is.’

‘Exactly.’

They both began to check out databases and directories.

After half an hour of research, Lexi announced, ‘I told you I was the methodical one. The administrator’s called Sergio Treize, based in … Switzerland.’

‘Switzerland?’ Troy exclaimed. ‘Excellent. The world’s best chocolate. I’ll grab my skis.’

Lexi smiled. ‘Don’t bother. Our laws don’t stretch that far. If he doesn’t want to cooperate, he doesn’t have to.’

Tapping the computer screen, Troy said, ‘You’ve got enough info here for me to put in a video call. What time is it in Switzerland?’

‘I think they’re an hour ahead of us,’ Lexi answered.

‘That’s all right then.’

The first three attempts failed, but Troy got through to Sergio Treize at the fourth try. The outer’s head, shoulders and chest were displayed on Troy’s screen. In his thirties, he wore a sweatshirt with an abstract image and logo, prominent white-rimmed spectacles and he was bald. Oddly, he shook his head from side to side at least twice every minute, giving
the impression of trying to dislodge a fly from his cheek without using a hand. Troy assumed he had a nervous tic.

With his computer recording the video conversation, Troy introduced himself.

‘So,’ Sergio said in a French accent, ‘you’re a detective.’ His words and movements were not quite synchronized by the technology.

‘Yes. Investigating a possible assisted suicide.’

‘Is that a crime?’

‘Over here, yes.’ After a brief pause, Troy added, ‘As you’ll know.’

‘I’m aware of several overseas people using my services because they’ve got no local equivalents.’

‘I’m interested in the chat room.’

Sergio’s head gave another nervous shake. ‘It’s very comforting for those who need it.’

‘There’s a contributor called Charon Angel.’

‘Is there?’

‘Yes,’ Troy replied. ‘I need to know who he or she is.’

‘The site guarantees anonymity.’

‘No one deserves a guarantee if they take advantage of people at real low points.’

‘What makes you think …’ Sergio hesitated. Clearly, he’d forgotten the username.

‘Charon Angel.’

‘Yes. What makes you think Charon Angel has been abusing the site – and the people who visit it?’

‘I reckon he’s scouting for body parts.’

‘What?’ Sergio cried, visibly shocked.

‘For medical transplants,’ Troy explained.

‘I find that hard to believe.’ Sergio turned his head to the side and stroked his chin for a few seconds. ‘I’m looking at his contributions now. I can’t see anything definite. He’s either a perfectly good visitor – in which case you don’t need his name – or you’re right and he’ll have supplied a false name and details. Either way, it won’t help you to hand over his profile, so I’m ending this call.’

‘Just tell me. Is he in Switzerland, over here, or somewhere else?’

‘He’s in Switzerland.’

‘Thanks,’ Troy said. ‘Why don’t you keep an eye on what he does? If he posts anything suspicious, send me as much information as you can. All right?’

Sergio shrugged. ‘I’m a busy man, but I’ll monitor him. And, by that, I mean him or her.’

As soon as the image on the screen faded, Troy said to Lexi, ‘Who’s the best computer geek in Crime Central? I’ve got a hacking job I want doing.’

April showers had not yet arrived. Lying down on the dry ground beside the last line of trees, Lexi raised the binoculars to her eyes and focused on the left-hand side of the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic. Then she glanced down at the plan of the building that she’d unearthed and spread it out on the soil. ‘There’s no obvious basement,’ she whispered, ‘but there’s a whole wing Gianna Humble didn’t take us into.’

‘She never said she’d show us everything,’ Troy replied. ‘Maybe that’s where the clean rooms and
operating theatres are. No one but doctors and patients would be allowed in. And everyone would have to be scrubbed up.’

A private ambulance came to a halt at the front of the clinic. There was no siren, no panic. A couple of nurses opened the back doors and carefully extracted a patient on a stretcher. Wheeled legs unfolded automatically from underneath the carrier as it emerged from the vehicle, allowing a smooth and effortless transfer to the treatment centre.

Attached to a convenient tree trunk, Lexi’s tiny spy camera recorded all of the comings and goings at the main entrance.

Lexi nodded towards the new arrival and said, ‘That’s one thing I’ve come for.’

Troy looked puzzled. ‘The patient, ambulance, or the trolley?’

‘I think it’s called a gurney. Saying
trolley
makes it sound like supermarket shopping. Anyway, I need to get my hands on one before we go.’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll see.’

‘Are we going to the back to set up another camera?’

‘Yeah,’ she answered. ‘Keep low so no one sees us.’

They stayed out of view of the clinic until they
were at the edge of the wood opposite the rear entrance. Lexi fixed her second miniature camera to a branch, giving her a clear view of the area where body parts were delivered.

‘That’s done,’ she announced as she crouched down next to her partner. ‘It’ll be interesting to see what arrives in the next few days. Let’s go back round to the front. I want to check out what you call a trolley.’

‘Okay.’

When they reached the spot where Lexi had attached the first spy camera, they squatted down again. After a while, a nurse came out of the clinic, pushing the gurney. She left it near the ambulance and went back in through the automatic door.

Seeing an opportunity, Lexi began to scramble to her feet.

Troy’s arm shot out. He grabbed the sleeve of her jacket and yanked her back down.

‘What …?’ she said in an urgent whisper.

‘Look.’

A man wearing a suit and a peaked cap had appeared outside the clinic.

‘So?’ said Lexi. ‘It doesn’t matter who sees me now. I’m not going to break in or anything. I’m just going to measure a gurney.’

‘I saw him here yesterday,’ Troy told her as he watched the well-built man walk towards a cab. ‘Don’t you think it’s weird to be that smart and top it off with a baseball cap?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but probably not illegal. Shall I get onto the fashion police and see what they think?’

Troy smiled wryly. ‘No. I want to find out who he is.’

Lexi nodded towards the camera. ‘You’ll have his picture to help.’

Pointing at the cab, Troy said, ‘That’s even better.’ He checked the exact time on his life-logger.

Standing up and brushing the dirt from her sleeves and trouser legs, Lexi said, ‘I’ve got a job to do.’

From the edge of the wood, Troy watched Lexi while he spoke into his phone. ‘Travel? Yes. I’ve just watched a middle-aged man take a cab from the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic. At fifteen twenty-seven precisely. Can you trace it? I want his name and where he’s going. Thanks.’

When Lexi bent down and measured the width of gurney wheels and the distance between them, Troy realized what was on his partner’s mind. He nodded his approval.

When she returned, she said, ‘The wheels are fifty-four centimetres apart. That’s two more than the
tracks in the field by the bodies. So that’s that. Our guy didn’t use a gurney from here.’

‘Not if they’re all the same.’

‘I bet they are – so they all fit the equipment in the ambulance and inside the hospital. I’m after some other type of cart. It might not have anything to do with health and hospitals. The transplant trade isn’t the only explanation for our dead bodies.’

Troy hadn’t forgotten that a peculiar and cruel operation might lie behind the death of the female major with an outer heart. But he couldn’t make sense of it. He understood the need for transplants. He could even believe that mistakes might happen. But he couldn’t work out the motive behind a deliberate biological mix-up. ‘Why would anyone put outer organs in majors? Or the other way round?’

Lexi shivered violently. ‘Maybe it was an experiment to make a sort of outer-major hybrid.’

‘What?’ Troy exclaimed.

‘I know. It’s not natural. It’s … No. Horrible thought.’

Troy shook his head, dismissing the idea. ‘Are you done here?’

‘For now,’ she answered. ‘Let’s go and leave the cameras to do their job.’

As they walked towards the car, Crime Central’s
Travel Section called Troy. ‘The man you’re after, his name is Dylan Farthing and he’s on his way home.’

‘Which is … where?’

‘Shepford third quarter. Fifteen Ennis Street.’

‘Great. Thanks.’

In the car, Troy said, ‘Fifteen Ennis Street, Shepford,’ and the onboard computer took control of the journey.

Lexi shook her head. ‘You’re going after him, why? Because he looks shady?’

‘Because I’m curious. And he’s got the muscles you’d need to lug dead bodies around.’

‘I’ll get the handcuffs ready – in case we come across any other body-builders,’ said Lexi. ‘They’re into killing people and mutilating their bodies.’

Ignoring her sarcasm, Troy replied, ‘You can check his shoe size.’