Courting Death (7 page)

“Not to mention a few red lights.” I shuddered, recalling how close I’d cut it. “If it weren’t for my car…” I swallowed as I took in the wreckage.

The BMW was a twisted chunk of metal. A sharp pang cut through me. My father had given it to me when I’d landed my job as a prosecutor. Initially, I’d been angry at the gesture and had almost handed the keys back to him. After all, my parents had divorced when I was five and Nick Sterling had—for all intents and purposes—also divorced himself as my father.

Little heard from, rarely seen. Birthdays and Christmases often passed without a call, let alone a gift. Mom had gone to court several times over alimony and child support payments. Then after two years of strife, Dad had married his secretary, Debra, and all had changed.

I had to give my stepmother an
A+
in the conscientious department. Checks signed by her arrived on time. Dad called me every holiday and together they dropped off brightly wrapped gifts. Within short order, they had their own children, a boy and a girl. I’d even been invited to their house for family gatherings.

I’d kept such family occasions to a minimum, but Debra had dragged the whole brood to my law school graduation. She had been the one who made me see that Dad’s gift was his way of saying he was proud of me.

Now the Beemer was a total loss. I sighed and glanced up at Sam. Worry scoured lines in his face. I reached up and covered his hand.

“I’m fine, really. The car was a gift from my dad, that’s all. Now it’s toast.” I hitched my shoulders. Taking the hint, he released me.

I picked my way through the debris. Going around to the passenger side, I grabbed my bag and shook off the glass in a glittering spray. I emptied the glove compartment of the registration and a few CDs. Then I searched for anything else I should remove. Spotting the cell phone on the driver’s side floor, I picked it up and stuck it in my purse.

The car was beyond repair, no doubt. I took a deep breath, released it and stroked the headrest. “Thanks, girl, for keeping me safe. You were the best.”

Blinking back tears, I gave the seat one last pat. Sam stood a few feet away, his hands jammed into his jeans’ front pockets. “Ready to tell me what happened? I’ve got a unit responding to the Depp Funeral Home.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Detective?” One of the deputies standing at the rear of the ice cream truck gestured. “You might want to take a look at this.”

Sam gestured for me to stay where I was, but of course I didn’t. I followed to where more than a few deputies stood with a green cast to their coloring. Standing inside the truck, one held up a bag.

“What the hell?” Sam grabbed the edge of a door and vaulted inside. I pushed through the crowd until I had a clear view. The bag contained two dark red, slimy…

I swallowed. “Sam, those aren’t…”

“Cherry popsicles? No, Red.” His lips curled back in distaste as he motioned for the officer to return the bag to the cooler. “Looks to me what we have here are organs on ice.”

Sam placed his hand on the side of the chest. “Someone see if the truck’s engine can run. These units aren’t chilling and the whole lot is going to spoil.”

A young male deputy clapped his hand over his mouth, spun and rushed off. A gray-haired officer rolled his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.” He disappeared around the corner.

Sam straightened. “Someone call the medical examiner’s office and get their tails out here.”

I stood staring at the contents of the chests. “Sam, are those human?”

He gave me a curt nod. “I’m not the ME but they sure look like human remains to me.”

Claire’s baby. A wave of sickness slapped me, almost taking me down as my legs turned to jelly.

Cursing, Sam jumped down and wrapped his arms around me. His strength flowed into me, and gradually the trembling subsided.

“Honey.” He ran a gentling hand up and down my back. “They’re not that baby’s. From the size, we have a shipment of adult organs.”

“Shipment.” I lifted my head and stared into his glittering gaze. “From Hassenfeld’s reaction yesterday, I thought you were pulling his leg. You really believe someone’s harvesting human organs?”

“Yes.”

I gripped his upper arms. “We need to get to the funeral home.”

I studied Sam’s grim profile as he drove us away from the detention center. Our argument about going with him had been short but not sweet. My being a material witness to the active crime scene trumped his desire to pack me into a cab home. While we’d walked to his parked car, I’d called both the office and my insurance company.

“I thought you were on Homicide again.” For awhile he’d served with the special crimes unit and on an FBI task force.

He cast me a dark look. “I am. You and your partners manage to keep me pretty busy.”

I bit my lip. The sick running office joke was how high the body count could pile up during one of our cases—and how many Sam ended up with.

“But you didn’t seem surprised at all about what was found in those coolers…almost as if there’s an ongoing investigation.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Budget cuts, work force reduction. Units aren’t as clear cut anymore. I’m a cop, Red. Whatever case the captain needs me to work on, I’ll investigate.”

Tendons flexed in his hand as he tightened it on the steering wheel. “However, as of this morning, I’m officially no longer handling the suspicious death of the Whitman baby. That’s been reassigned.”

I didn’t know if the constant tightrope Sam and I walked in our relationship just slackened or pulled impossibly tight.

“Meaning you’re investigating the theft of the baby’s…” My voice trailed off.

She has a name, Nicole, even in death. You’d never let a jury forget it. Don’t start impersonalizing her now.

Sam shot me another glance as he pulled into the driveway of the Depp Funeral Home. “Yes.”

“Then you’ll be able to keep me apprised of the investigation’s progress.”

“No.”

“May I remind you that I represent the Whitmans?”

The corner of Sam’s mouth lifted. “Hard to forget when you remind me every hour on the hour.”

He parked next to a black-and-white unit and switched off the ignition. Yellow tape already cordoned off the rear of the building. Several uniformed officers stood guard.

Sam turned to face me and draped his arm along the back of the passenger seat. His fingertips grazed my neck. The adrenaline still swirling around in my system turned edgier.

“What little I can tell you, I will. But this investigation is larger than the Whitmans’ unfortunate situation.” Exhaustion lined his face.

I laced my fingers so I wouldn’t do anything so stupid as to reach up and try to stroke those lines away. “How large?”

“Depp’s murder could be our first break in an organization very efficient in the black market of organ harvesting. Up until now, they’ve relied on bribes, secrecy and the power of grief to secure organs and bones.”

“Since Rebecca’s body was mutilated during transport, at the hospital or at the funeral home, one or more of them have to be involved.”

Sam grinned. “Haven’t lost your prosecutorial instincts.” His fingers toyed with wisps of hair at my nape. My skin practically whimpered at his touch. Too much. I needed to focus. I twisted away and he let his hand drop.

“Here’s the play-by-play. Someone’s injured in an accident and taken to a hospital. The harvesters will find out if that person’s the right blood type for a client on their waiting list. Then suddenly the victim turns up with a missing organ or dead—often both. An immigrant working the fields and faced with crushing debt can sell a kidney for quick cash. A John Doe lying brain-dead in a hospital is a pipeline of organs for the doctors allowing to petition for transplantation rights.”

“But I thought an organ’s transplant viability is short-lived.”

He shrugged. “As they say, buyer beware. The FBI got the first whiff when three people who bought their organs online contracted the same rare disease and died. A widow who had begged her husband to wait for a donor saved the emails and came to the authorities after his death. Of course the trail was well-hidden, but the Feds suspect the center of operations is our fair and lovely county.”

An unmarked car drove up to where the uniforms waited. Sam’s partner Tony Galluci emerged and headed inside followed by the others.

Sam nodded. “There’s the search warrant.” He got out, circled around the car and opened my door.

I eyed the building as we approached. The roof jutted at a higher level over the garage. Funeral homes had long been permitted to perform tissue donations if the deceased’s family signed consent forms. I’d already checked with the Whitmans and they hadn’t. That didn’t mean the dead director hadn’t forged their signatures.

Tracing the same path I had earlier, we entered through the garage. I kept my gaze straight ahead as we passed where a small screen hid the cooler and its contents. An officer wearing a baffled expression stood in the doorway to the embalming room.

Sam paused. “What is it, Hernandez?”

The officer lifted his shoulder. “It’s the damndest thing, sir, but that table on the far side looks like it has a hydraulic base.”

“What?” Sam knelt down and studied the table. I crowded behind him. Instead of rollers, the last table rested on a tube similar to those in a car shop. As the familiar band began to tighten across my chest, I forced myself to breathe deeply.

But that insidious voice taunted,
How could you miss something so important again?

Sam pulled out a penlight, clicked it on and pointed the beam at the ceiling. The light skipped around before landing a rectangular outline in the ceiling. I’d missed that too but…

I gripped his shoulder. “Sam. When we were outside, I noticed that this section of the building is higher than the front although there are no windows.”

He rose and walked down the hallway, opening two other doors. At the third he paused. “Bingo.”

Since his broad shoulders blocked my view, I stood on tiptoe to see around him. Shelves lined the cramped supply room but in the corner stood a metal staircase rising to the ceiling. Sam glanced at me. “Good catch, Red, but you stay here while we check it out. Hernandez.” He motioned for the officer to follow him.

At the top of the stairs he pressed on a ceiling panel and moved it aside. The two men disappeared. Moments later I heard Sam’s distinct whistle. Spotting a box of latex gloves on a shelf, I popped it open and removed a pair. After snapping them on, I crept up the stairs. As soon as my head cleared the access space, a fetid odor rolled over me. While downstairs smelled of industrial strength bleach, up here the cloying smell of decaying flesh permeated the small chamber.

I retreated to the storage room, grabbed several surgical masks and put one on. I climbed up once more. Officer Hernandez, now wearing gloves like Sam, found a switch and flicked it. Powerful operating room lights came on, throwing a garish gleam on steel supply carts that held surgical saws and knives. A freezer and a refrigerator hummed in the corner alongside stacks of empty coolers. White plastic gallon jugs lined another wall. Silhouetted like ghostly fingers were white PVC pipes of various lengths sticking out of a large paint bucket.

The officer crossed to the bucket and rubbed his chin. “Why would they need PVC pipes up here?”

I swallowed the lump of horror that lodged in my throat. “They’re for bones.”

Sam and Hernandez swung around. “Christ, Nicole, I told you to stay put.”

I ignored him as I carefully made my way over to the stack of pipes, careful not to touch anything.

“I caught a television show on unusual crimes. There was an episode on an organ broker in Pennsylvania. In that case when there was an open casket viewing, a body snatcher would cut out the arm and leg bones, leaving the hands and feet intact, and then inserted the pipes in place so no one was the wiser.”

“Here.” I handed the officer a mask. “Best put this on.” I gave the remaining one to Sam, who slid it over his face.

“Shit.” Hernandez blanched. “Be right back, sir.” He staggered to the stairs and disappeared.

I would have loved to follow him, but in my years as a prosecutor, I had seen all manner of savagery. Dead was dead, right? These particular victims never knew what hideous atrocities had been committed against them.

I willed myself to look at the instruments crusted with unimaginable body waste. Plastic bags filled one bin and plastic food containers packed another. A stack of empty ice cream tubs sat on the floor. When I raised my head, Sam was studying me with an intent look. “You okay?”

I realized I’d been holding my breath and gestured. “This is a body chop shop, Sam. Bones, body tissue, maybe even eyes were harvested here, but…” Disappointment swirled with revulsion as I considered the little attic of horrors.

“I don’t think this operation was sophisticated enough for vital organ removal.”

Good news, bad news. I hadn’t found the source of Rebecca’s mutilation yet. Without a full autopsy the state would have a hard time proving without a reasonable doubt that Claire Whitman killed her baby. However, forensics-wise, I would have an equally tough time proving her innocence. It wouldn’t be the first time a person was tried and convicted on circumstantial evidence.

On the plus side, the media would be so busy having a hey-day over this ghoulish chamber that it might not pick up the story behind one sad little victim.

I crossed to the stairs. “I’ve seen enough. I’ll wait outside by the car.”

“I’ll take you home.” Sam followed behind me. Downstairs I couldn’t drag the gloves and mask off quickly enough, and dumped them in a garbage bin in the storage room. He stripped his off as well.

I drew in a deep breath but could still smell the death that clung to everything in the place.

“I’m fine. What abominations happened here need your immediate attention. You’ll need to update the search warrant.”

He scowled. “We already have a search warrant.”

Anger boiled inside me, so hot and intense that I knew it had been simmering for a long time. I stabbed my index finger into his chest.

“No, you don’t. You’re not screwing this investigation up by playing fast and loose with procedure like you did the Archer case. Tony probably got only a standard warrant for a possible homicide. Granted, your search of the premises led to the discovery of the attic so any evidence secured there could be safe from a challenge in court. However…”

I made to give him another jab, and he wrapped his hands around mine.

“Are you ever going to forgive me? It’s been over a year, Red. Mistakes happened. You know that. Especially in the heat of an investigation or trial…” His voice trailed off and chagrin flared in his gaze.

I pulled my hand free and wrapped my arms around my middle. “Yes, errors certainly do occur during a trial. And I wasn’t good enough to overcome them. My mistake let a monster walk.”

I tilted my head toward the ceiling. “There’s a new monster in town, and its victims were defenseless and could number in the thousands. Get a new search warrant for that room.”

Without waiting for his answer, I walked down the hallway and didn’t stop until I was outside and as far away in the parking lot as I could get. Finally, I allowed the sickness roiling around inside me to follow its natural course and puked my brains out.

At some point during the racking heaves I became aware of Sam rubbing my back, but I was too far gone to care that he was seeing me in such a vulnerable state. Gradually, the spasms lessened and then stopped.

“Here you go.” Sam offered me a folded red bandana and a bottle of water.

I opened the bottle, then swallowed and spit until the burning, acrid taste was gone from my mouth.

“Thanks.” I swiped the bandana across my face. “I’ll wash it and return it to you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Toss it. I bought it at the dollar store.” Cocking his head, he studied me. “You know, you don’t always have to be so strong. The whole world won’t crash and burn if you’re human.”

I crumpled the bandana. “Funny. Puking my guts out in front of you ranks right up there on my vulnerability chart.”

Sam placed his hands on my shoulders. “Nicole, don’t worry. I’ll get the warrant.”

I lifted a hand to cover his. “You have to stop this operation.”

“Come on, let me get you home so I can get back in there.”

As we returned to his car, I thought about a conversation I’d once had with Carling. On two occasions she had barely escaped death. She had described the sensation of being split in two.

Certainly enough had been written about near death experiences, the separation of body and soul and spirits caught on the physical plane. Did one need to be whole to leave this life? Could what happened here have left people in limbo?

With practiced skill I buried that disturbing thought. I had enough on my hands without worrying about the dead’s souls. All I could do was make sure justice was done for the living.