The Body Mafia (2 page)

As each year of my career passed, with each homicide, I consistently found myself saying, “This is it, this is the last one. After this I’m transferring to the traffic division.” But I kept plugging away in Major Crimes. Once, after I had investigated a serial child murderer, I went so far as to fill out a transfer form and give it to Naomi. She wadded it up right in front of me, threw it in the garbage, and told me to get back to work.

Walking into the crime scene, I gave the officer in charge of the log my name and rank. The body was a good twenty-five feet away from the entrance. The closer I got, the more I felt my stomach flip. I don’t
care how many homicides a cop has gone to; if he’s human, he’ll always react.

Daniel Huber was lying on his back, his face appearing to look directly up at the sky. His eyes were open, and he was completely naked. What drew my attention was the part of his body that was opened up—his right side. Of course, there was also the stump at the end of his left arm where his hand used to be. Whoever had filleted him almost cut him in half. I immediately noticed the lack of blood—not a drop. A cut like his would have bled out a sizeable amount, but the ground was dry. I waited until Coop was finished talking to the garbage man before I waved him over.

“Certainly not the prettiest I’ve seen.” I nodded at the body. “Explain to me how, out of that mess, you could tell his liver was missing.”

“One of the first uniforms on the scene was a female who had completed her first year of nursing school before she decided to go to the police academy, Carla Reynolds. Have you heard of her?”

I shook my head.

“Anyway, she told me her opinion when they called. The coroner confirmed it. He doesn’t know if anything else is missing, but he said definitely the liver.”

“Witnesses?” I looked around at citizens that had gathered in the alley outside of the tape.

“Please. Here in THZ? You know better than that. I’ve got uniforms knocking on doors trying to get statements, but the majority of people won’t even open them.” The lines in his face deepened. “Basically, the garbage truck pulled up behind the
building, and there was the body. They didn’t pass anyone or see any cars. This is going to be one of those ‘most difficult’ cases, I think.”

“I think you’re right, Coop.”

The next several hours were spent knocking on doors, taking statements, talking to the officers who were first on the scene—including Carla Reynolds—and taking photographs for our own file. Once the autopsy was performed on Daniel Huber, we would know more. Unfortunately, that would take several days, if not a week. The crime lab didn’t recover much: cigarette butts next to the body that could’ve come from anyone and several of the full garbage bags, to name the most important.

Daniel Huber, according to the coroner, had been dead for at least four days. An important bit of information the coroner told me was that whoever removed the liver had pretty decent medical experience—they had to, or they’d have risked damaging the organ. The downside is that we were dealing with a secondary crime scene, merely a “body dump,” the site of the actual murder still unknown. Hence the lack of blood.

Once I finished at the crime scene, I went home and slept for a couple of hours. Michael was already gone, and the girls stayed at Eric’s, since they were supposed to go there today anyway. I had a slight theory about Daniel Huber’s murder when I got to the office the next morning, and relayed it to Coop.

“Do you think it’s possible that someone has a family member dying and is desperate for an organ donor? So desperate that he or she would take one from a homeless person?”

“I guess it’s possible,” Coop said, mulling my theory over. “But that doesn’t explain the hand. It’s not
like a left hand is a hot commodity on the donor list.”

“I know, but I think we should still try and obtain a list of local people on the waiting list for organs. There can’t be
that
many, and we’ll have to check out their family members. The coroner said the killer absolutely had to have medical experience. This would narrow down the list considerably.”

“You could be right.” He thought for a moment. “How ‘bout this? You type up all of the statements and get the file in order, and I’ll start making phone calls to get ahold of the list.”

“Works for me.” I knew Coop hated paperwork.

It took me two hours to get the file in order. I went home afterward, deciding I had done enough for the day. Not to mention, I missed Michael horribly. As luck would have it, he was home. Predictably, he was in his office working his “mystery case.” I stood in the doorway for several seconds before he even noticed me. He looked up from his file with surprise.

“Oh! Hi, honey.” He got up from his desk and started my way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even know you were there.” He kissed my cheek.

“I can see that.” I gave him a tight squeeze. “Still working the secret case, are you?”

“Yeah. Cee, honey, I know I’ve been distracted, and I’m sorry. Hopefully, this will all be over soon.”

“I hope so, too. Why don’t you join me for a glass of wine while I watch the news? I’ll make dinner in a little bit. You could use the break. Please?” I stuck out my bottom lip like a small child.

He grinned broadly. “Okay, you suckered me into it, even though you know how much I hate the news.”

Michael brought in two glasses of wine just as I
was getting comfortable on the couch, and turned on the television. The newscaster was repeating a news clip that made Michael stop dead in his tracks.

“Cleveland businessman Niccolo Filaci was brutally murdered in his South Euclid home just over an hour ago. Details are sketchy, as police are still on the scene. Co-owner of several construction companies in the area, Mr. Filaci has long been suspected of having ties to the Mafia. An anonymous source at the FBI would not confirm or deny the allegations…”

I looked at Michael and saw his face had gone completely white. He set the glasses of wine down on the coffee table just before his office phone started ringing loudly. I wanted some answers.

“Michael, you need to tell me what is going on,” I demanded, standing.

“Let me get my phone.” He waved me off and headed back toward his office.

I followed him but stopped as he closed the door in my face. Pressing my ear against it, I tried to listen to his conversation to no avail; it was completely muffled. I was starting to worry. His reaction to the newscast answered at least one of my questions. When he finally opened the door, I confirmed what I already knew.

“You’re investigating the Mafia, aren’t you?”

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, and quietly answered, “Yes, I am.”

“Please, Michael, tell me, what’s going on? I saw your face during the broadcast. I’m worried. Who is Niccolo Filaci?”

He reached out and gently stroked a piece of my hair. “I’m sorry, Cee, but I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” I was floored.
“Michael! We’ve never kept secrets from each other. You
have
to tell me what’s going on!”

He took me by the hand and led me to the small love seat that sat beside the window in his office. After we both sat down, he pulled me to his chest and embraced me.

“Look, I know something like this is difficult for you. God knows you flip out if you’re not in on everything, but please, trust me, Cee. It’s nothing to worry about. When the time is right I’ll talk to you about it.”

I was a little angry and pulled away. “What? Don’t you trust me? I mean, my God, you act like I’m gonna go post what you tell me on the department bulletin board!”

“That’s not it…You just don’t understand. Please, trust
me.
Have I ever lied to you?”

“No.”

“All right then…Let’s go have that glass of wine.”

“It’s done.”

The large man with thinning gray hair sat behind his impressive cherry desk, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands. The news that his employee had just delivered was well received. Niccolo had gotten what he deserved. How dare a Filaci try to cut in on his money!

“Did he suffer?” the man behind the desk asked.

“Greatly, sir.”

“Did you give him the message?”

“Word for word.”

The man behind the desk clapped his hands together and let out a loud whoop. He would reward this particular employee with a large bonus. Now that his cash flow was greater than ever, he could afford to. He further suppressed
his excitement as his employee took a seat in a chair by the wall.
He is certainly an intimidating fellow
, the man behind the desk thought of his employee. He could only imagine the fear that had run through Niccolo Filaci’s body at the last moment—the moment when he knew he was going to die.

“Well done, Frank. Well done. There will be a large bonus for you at the end of the week. Now, on to further business.” The man behind the desk sat up straight in his chair. “You said earlier you told the Filipinos we were okay with the new order?”

The man in the chair against the wall nodded.

“Good. Now, what about the agent? He’s bringing entirely too much heat.”

The man in the chair smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m working on it.”

I was thinking about Michael’s reaction to the news again the next morning at work. The night before, while trying to sleep, I kept trying to pinpoint what it was about Michael’s expression that concerned me. Now, sitting here, I realized it was fear, an emotion I’d rarely seen my husband display. My concern growing at an alarming rate, I tried to call him several times, but only reached his voice mail.

“Some lady called this morning. I guess she saw Daniel Huber at the welfare clothing store about five or six days ago.” Coop had walked into my office and taken a seat, a fact I was oblivious to, but welcomed nonetheless.

“So?”

“Sooo, that would be the only, and last, confirmed sighting. That would put the coroner’s estimated time of death right on the nose…or liver.” He chuckled at his own gag.

“Cute. How are you coming on the organ recipient list?” I reached over and grabbed my mug of hot coffee.

“So far there are only five. Hey, you have any more java?”

I nodded toward the small, newly purchased coffeepot I kept on a table by my desk. “I thought there
would be more than that. I keep hearing how people are dying before they can get an organ donor. It sounds like there are thousands.”

“That very well may be, but here in good ol’ Mansfield, Ohio, it appears there are only five. I’m still waiting to hear from the kidney-dialysis center, so it may go up a bit.” He slowly poured the coffee into a spare mug I had, being careful not to spill it. “Cream and sugar?”

“In the drawer. Now all we have to do is find out if any of those people are in the medical field or have relatives who are. This is going to be a lot of work, Coop. We’re going to have to interview the doctors and nurses to find out if there’s any family members that have been highly agitated over not getting an organ donor. We also have to interview Daniel Huber’s family. They may know who his drug connections were. This could also be a case where he pissed one of them off, and it’s a simple torture murder.”

Coop shook his head. “Forget it. We already contacted his local family. They don’t want anything to do with him, and they have nothing to say to us. As a matter of fact, they’re refusing to claim the body.” He sat back down.

“Can they do that?”

“Yup. We can’t even donate the poor guy to the colleges, since he’s missing parts.”

How very sad
, I thought.
No wonder the guy was so messed up. I’m sure Daniel Huber’s drug problems somehow stemmed from the coldhearted family he grew up in.

It was apparent, with all the interviews we would have to do, that this case was going to be lengthy. While Coop sat and slurped his coffee, another thought came to mind.

“You’re married to the boss. Why don’t you get her to assign two other detectives for the recipient-list part? If they could go out and interview the families, doctors, nurses, and whoever, that would free us up to get to the meat of the case.”

He mulled over my proposal. “That could work. I just overheard Sinclair tell Naomi he was on the low side of cases. He and that new detective, uh, I keep forgetting his name…”

“Justin Brown.”

“Right, he and Justin Brown could do it. It’d give the new kid some experience in interviewing.” Coop stood up. “I’ll be back in a flash. Keep the coffee hot while I go run this by the old lady.”

Coop was going to have a tough time convincing Naomi to go along. The other detectives had already picked up our extra cases on top of their own so we could work on this. But he’d have a better chance than I would. Sleeping with the boss every night clearly had its upside.

While waiting for Coop, I started to brew another pot of coffee. I had just poured the water when my desk phone rang. I grabbed it, hoping it was Michael.

“Sergeant Gallagher.”

“Sergeant? This is Steven Snyder, Director of the Quinn-Herstin Funeral Home over on Marion Avenue. We’re the large white and brick house that—”

“I’m familiar with it, Mr. Snyder. What can I do for you?” I sighed with disappointment.

“I just spoke with the coroner, and he told me to call you. He said you were the final say—”

“The final say on what?” Interrupting again, I couldn’t imagine what he wanted. Plus, I was starting to get irritated.

“Well, on the Huber body, on when it can be released, and if we can have it.”

I was slightly taken aback. “You want Daniel Huber’s body? Why?”

At first I thought he was going to tell me they were donating their services, since no one had claimed Daniel’s body. But then I wondered…If that was true, how did
he
know that? Before I could answer, Coop appeared in my doorway. Waving him in, I pointed at the phone and made a face. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say “What?” Motioning for him to sit down, I replied to Steven Snyder.

“Mr. Snyder, as I’m sure you well know, only family members of the deceased have the right to the body and its arrangements.”

“So you’ve finally found a relative who is willing to claim him then?”

“Mr. Snyder, I’m very busy this morning and I’m not in the mood for games. I certainly don’t mean any disrespect, but I think it’s time you got directly to your point.” Curiosity had now overwhelmed me.

“I’m truly sorry, Sergeant, of course. You see, Quinn-Herstin supplies a tissue-donor corporation, LifeTech Industries, with space. We rent to them for a substantial fee per month. Part of our contract is to acquire, if we can, tissue donations to the company. We do that through local homeless people that are unclaimed. Once the donor is acquired, the company takes the necessary tissue for transferal, and Quinn-Herstin then provides a proper burial for the donor, including the casket and plot.” He laughed slightly. “I know it sounds like an awful thing, Sergeant, but really, if we didn’t take them, they’d wind up cremated
and thrown in a field somewhere. It really is quite tasteful.”

“It certainly doesn’t sound quite ethical, if not illegal!” I was shocked and thoroughly repulsed. I had no idea this kind of company did business in our city.

“It’s quite ethical, Sergeant, and very legal. Let me put it this way. Next time you go to Akron Children’s Hospital, walk down to the burn unit and look at the small children who are missing over half of their skin. When the doctors do skin grafts on them, where do you think the skin comes from? Let’s say you have a close family member who is in dire need of a heart valve. Where would they get it? Sergeant, this type of corporation saves lives, and I am certainly not ashamed to be a part of it,” he said defiantly.

“It sounds just great, Mr. Snyder,” I said with an extensive amount of sarcasm. “My biggest question is how you knew that Daniel Huber was homeless and that no one claimed the body.”

“We have our name registered with the local homeless shelters, county welfare department, and so on. We read the obituaries every day, of course. We’re funeral directors—why wouldn’t we? When we see an obituary where it reads the deceased lived at ‘address unknown,’ we start checking into it further. When I called the coroner, he confirmed the body had not been claimed, but said you were the only one with the authority to release it. That is the point of my call, Sergeant.”

For the first time in my life, I was almost speechless. It took me a few seconds to come up with an answer.

“Mr. Snyder, the autopsy on the body is not completed, which I’m sure the coroner informed you. Secondly, I will not allow you, or anyone, to claim the body for medical purposes until I confirm that business is legitimate and legal. I’m assuming LifeTech Industries maintains a license with the state Department of Health?”

“Of course.”

“Is your funeral home a type of subpost, or whatever you call it? I’m sure it is not their main location.”

“No, ma’am, it’s not. They contract with homes throughout the state. Their main facilities are in Cleveland.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Snyder. I’ll leave it like this: I’ll do some checking into LifeTech—and
you
—as well as making more attempts to contact any living relatives of Daniel Huber. I will only sign his body over to LifeTech after that is all completed, after I’ve determined that there are no living relatives, that the body is officially unclaimed,
and
I have a court document signed by a common-pleas-court judge ordering me to do so.”

“Sergeant, I have
never
had to go through court proceedings to claim a body. Most people are more than happy to—”

“There’s always a first time, Mr. Snyder. Tell me, who does the actual tissue removal for LifeTech in this area? Local doctors?”

He was silent for a brief moment. “Sergeant, I’m sorry, I’ve just had someone walk into my office. I’ll be in touch.”

He promptly hung up, giving me the impression that he didn’t want to answer any questions about the doctors. Coop, who had miraculously stayed silent
through the entire conversation, was ready to explode.

“For Christ’s sake, what was
that
all about?” he barked.

“
That
was probably one of the nastiest things I’ve ever heard of.” I shivered. “Eew.”

Then I filled Coop in on the details.

“You’ve got to be shitting me? You mean they take pieces and parts of dead people and ship them all over the country?”

“Yup.”

“Ugh. That
is
nasty. Nooo thanks. I’m keeping all my shit when I’m dead. My luck, they’d hack off my dick and send it to some poor soul whose wife caught him fucking around and whacked his off before feeding it to the family dog.” He unconsciously, I think, placed his hands over his groin.

“Don’t worry, Coop. From what Naomi says, I don’t think they make needles small enough to sew on what you have. Superglue, maybe.”

His face turned red. “Is that right? Well I’ll show you a needle small…” He stood up and started to unbutton his pants, just as Naomi appeared at the door.

Laughing uncontrollably, I yelled to her, waving my hands. “Naomi! Please! Tell him not to unleash Godzilla!”

“What the hell is going on?” She looked horrified.

Before Coop could lash into her, I intervened. “Coop…settle down, big boy, I was joking. Trust me, Naomi said you’re no less than Tarzan himself.”

Naomi caught on and began laughing, too. Coop, realizing for the millionth time in his life that he had been the butt of another joke, calmed down and
reclaimed his seat. We filled Naomi in on LifeTech Industries. Her reaction was more forgiving than ours.

“I know you guys think the concept is gross and all, but places like that really do help people. I had an uncle who received a dental implant from a corporation like LifeTech.”

“It
is
gross,” I said. “I just don’t know how I could cope, waking up each day knowing I had a dead guy’s bicuspid in my mouth.”

“Would you rather be toothless?” she asked.

“I guess you’re right.” I looked at Coop and raised my eyebrows. “Well? How’d we fare on getting the other detectives?”

“You can have ‘em. Coop said he’d watch five straight days of sports channels if I didn’t agree.” She glared at him. He smiled.

“Fabulous. Coop, if you want to pass the list along to get them started, I’m going over to Quinn-Herstin. I’d like to speak to Steven Snyder personally.”

I grabbed my briefcase and keys and tried Michael again before heading to the funeral home. He still wasn’t answering his phone. More than dismayed, I called the office. I knew he was never actually in the office, but I presumed I could at least get an answer from his secretary on his whereabouts. All she would tell me is that he was working “in the field” today, as if I didn’t already know that.

“He’s close, Sal.”

“How close?” the man behind the desk, Sal, asked.

“Close enough that we may have a problem.”

This angered Sal. He didn’t need or want another snag. Things had been going too well. The money was flowing, and he wouldn’t stand for a goddamn agent fucking it all
up. He turned his chair away from his number-one man and faced the wall.

“I thought you said there was nothing that could lead him to us?”

“I didn’t think so, but according to Tommy, he saw him pokin’ around the warehouse this morning, asking a lot of the right questions.”

“Do you think it’s a leak?”

“No, boss, I don’t think so. He’s smart, but I don’t think he can put something together that isn’t there. Unless he makes shit up—but I think he’s too clean for that. The problem is we need to keep a constant eye on him, and that distracts us from other things. Yeah, he’s close, but if you ask me if he’ll come all the way, I’ll have to say no. But it’s still a problem.”

Sal turned around and faced the man again. “You’re goddamn right it’s a problem! As for the agent being clean, think again! If you look back into his past, you’ll see not everything is clean. And you’re forgetting who he’s married to! If that bitch starts poking around, we’re gonna have more than a ‘problem’!”

The man nodded and stayed silent. He knew better than to infuriate the boss even more than he already had. Sometimes the boss took out his frustrations on the person standing right in front him, the bearer of the bad news. He needed to shine some light, so to speak, in the boss’s eyes.

“There’s no reason for her to poke around. She’s local. She’s not even suspicious, so there’s no worry there, Sal. As for the agent, like I said before, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

Sal glared at him. “You just make sure someone’s keeping an eye on her, regardless.”

There wasn’t a funeral going on when I pulled into Quinn-Herstin, something I had worried about. This
would hopefully give me Steven Snyder’s undivided attention. He wasn’t hard to find. When I walked in, I immediately noticed a small, thin runt of man with thinning hair and glasses. He was setting flowers on a stand, looking just like he had sounded on the phone.

“Steven Snyder?”

The man looked up from his flowers and turned around, his small mouth forming an artificial welcoming smile. I saw it as aggravation that he had been interrupted.