The Body Mafia (4 page)

“And you do only tissue? What about organs? If these people are being given to you, why not take their heart and other organs?”

He laughed, wittingly insulting me. “Oh, Sergeant! Come on! You can’t be
that
ignorant concerning organ transplantation, can you? Do you realize there are over ninety thousand people waiting for an organ transplant? And only roughly twenty thousand transplants are performed each year. Every day, sixteen to seventeen people die waiting for an organ. Every day! Don’t you think if we could just pull a heart from a homeless man who’s been dead for three days, that the numbers I cited would be obsolete? Need a liver? Go on down to the county morgue! There’s a construction worker that fell off a high-rise last week—take his!” he mocked.

I bit my tongue. “Why don’t you enlighten me, Doctor, since I’m so ignorant, on how harvesting organs works?”

He looked at his watch. “Our time is coming to an end, so I’ll make this brief and use an example. Essentially, if you have an organ donor that was just involved in a fatal car crash and is flatlining in the emergency room, the staff will keep him on life support. They’ll take his eyes out right there, if that’s the organ needed, throw ‘em in a nice little cooler, and hand them over to LifeFlight, who flies them to where they need to go. With organs, time is the key. Once the body dies, the organs die and very quickly become unsuitable for transplant. Tissue—things like skin, bones, and heart valves—is different. There’s a wider window of opportunity with tissue. You have more time. It’s pretty simple, but you get the gist.”

“It sounds like a very lucrative business,” I said flatly.

“Let me put it this way: a man once put his kidney up for auction on the Internet, and the bid was up to five million dollars before it was shut down by the Web site.” He stood up.

“One more question, Doctor. How long have you been employed by LifeTech, and what is the last procedure you performed in Mansfield?”

“I have been employed by them for five years, and the last procedure I performed was back in March. It was a dental removal from an inmate who hanged himself in his cell. He was thirty-five.”

“Was he at Mansfield or Richland Correctional?”

“Mansfield—maximum security. I believe his name was Richert Saldivar.”

He walked to the door and opened it. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but that’s all the time I have for today.”

“Did you speak with Dr. Schmidt?”

“Yes, I did, and he has a full schedule today and
couldn’t meet with you. I’m sure if you contact his office you can make an appointment. And before you ask, Dr. Schmidt hasn’t performed a tissue removal in Mansfield for well over a year.”

I thanked Dr. Esposito, ignored his wife as I walked out, and sat in my car, thoroughly troubled by the interview. He had controlled it, undeniably. He had told me exactly what
he
wanted me to know and nothing else. The county coroner confirmed the suicide of the inmate in March when I phoned him, so basically, I had zero on Dr. Esposito. Throwing my cell phone on the passenger seat, I was shocked to see him walk out of the front of the office building and get into a sleek, black sports car parked near the front. Apparently, he didn’t have an appointment after all. Without thinking, I slowly turned my car around and began to follow him.

“Do you have everything ready to go?”

“It’s set for Friday. After that, it should be smooth sailing, Sal.”

“Good. What about her?”

“Only what I told you today. She’s nothing to worry about, especially after Friday. Also, the quarterly shipment is in.”

“Make your plane reservations, first class. You deserve it.”

The man smiled—even though he had to go to the Philippines. He hated the Philippines, especially that dirty, retarded messenger boy. What did they call him? Tao-Kek? Something like that. It didn’t matter. One of these days, Tao-whatever-the-fuck would die. He would take pleasure in snapping the little fucker’s neck. The man couldn’t believe how the boy smiled at him when he gave him the list,
as if they were old chums. Never again. He would make it look like an accident, and no one would think any differently or, quite frankly, give a shit. Certainly, the boy’s boss wouldn’t care. He could find another boy in the street within five minutes.

He had to be in the Philippines within twenty-four hours to ensure the quality of the shipment—his third trip in less than two weeks. With the new, larger order, the man was getting tired of traveling. Nonetheless, he needed to get back to the states quickly. There was the other matter that needed to be taken care of.

Dr. Esposito gave me no reason to be skeptical. Everything he’d said was factual, and his only downfall was a pompous attitude. In spite of this, my suspicion began to grow. Driving onto the interstate, he was unmistakably headed toward the city. Fifteen minutes later, we were pulling into the Warehouse District, a thriving area downtown made up of nightclubs, restaurants, offices, and storage facilities.

He pulled into a three-story parking lot that was adjacent to a large warehouse. I furiously looked everywhere for some sort of business name or corporation, but found none. The only thing to do was jot down the name of the restaurant across the street; this would at least give me a landmark. Cleveland Police could tell me later what they had listed for the warehouse. I waited at the side of the building for an hour before submitting to my hunger pangs and taking a front window seat at the restaurant.

It was another hour and a half before I realized I needed to go. Dr. Esposito, it seemed, did not intend to leave any time soon. On my way home, Cleveland Police informed me they had the warehouse listed under
“LifeTech Industries Storage Facility.” There was no reason for LifeTech to maintain a storage warehouse that was so large. I mean, really, how much room could pieces of skin take up?

Arriving in Mansfield, I stopped at the office to see if I could catch Coop or Naomi before they left for the day. Naomi was in the parking lot, ready to leave. Rolling my window down, I pulled up next to her and told her about my interview.

“I know you thought he was an asshole, CeeCee, but he sounds pretty solid.”

“Sounds like it, huh? I don’t care. Something’s not right with him, and something’s not right with that warehouse.” I started chewing on my lip. “I think I’ll call one of my contacts at Cleveland PD tomorrow and see if one of them will sit on it for a while.”

“Unless you have something more concrete, I don’t know if they will or not. Listen, I gotta get going. Coop and I are going down to my parents’ for dinner.” She tapped the side of my car and walked away.

I was thinking about whom to contact in Cleveland when my attention was drawn to the vending-machine supply truck that had just pulled in the lot. There was something ominously familiar about the driver that I couldn’t put my finger on. He looked normal, whistling loudly as he unloaded the truck. When he went inside the building, I silently berated myself for being paranoid and headed home.

It was getting late, so it wasn’t a surprise to see Michael’s car parked in front of the house. I realized I hadn’t talked to him all day. He had dinner waiting for me, with two lit candles on the table.

“Wow! What’s the occasion?” I tossed my coat and keys on a nearby stool.

“You and me together, and alone.” He smiled, but for an instant I saw something flicker in his eyes.

“That sounds wonderful! I know what’s for dessert.” I pulled him close to me by grabbing his belt buckle. “But what’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite: basil and shrimp pesto, Caesar salad, French bread, and tiramisu for dessert…
one
of the desserts! I also managed to get my hands on the best bottle of Pinot Noir in town.” He pulled me into a tight embrace, one that lingered just enough to make me suspicious.

“All right, mister.” I pulled away. “You better tell me what’s going on! Let me guess. You mistakenly drank a glass of water laced with LSD, and since you were out of your rational mind, you cheated on me with one of the Cleveland Browns cheerleaders,” I quipped, although I was a little scared of the answer.

He tilted his head back, laughing. “Oh, how your mind works. Baby, you put all of those girls to shame. Even the strongest LSD wouldn’t make me be unfaithful to you. C’mon, let’s eat.”

We managed to get through dinner before we wound up in the bedroom. Frankly, I wasn’t sure I’d get through the salad. The girls were back with us tomorrow, so we needed to utilize our time together. Lying in bed, our bodies intertwined, I remembered how fortunate I was.

“Why I deserve any of this, I’ll never understand,” I said softly.

“What do you mean by that?” Michael propped himself up on an elbow.

“You. The girls. Sean. All of this.” I waved my hands around. “I look back at things I’ve done in the
past and keep wondering when they’re going to catch up with me.”

“Cee.” Michael turned my face toward his. “I’ve been thinking. When Selina and Isabelle come back, why don’t you take them to Florida for a couple of weeks? I estimate, by the time you get back, I’ll have this case wrapped up and things will be normal again. Most important, I think you need the break.”

“As wonderful as it sounds, I’m in the middle of two homicides.” I groaned.

Michael sat up. “So what? You have fifteen detectives under you who are more than capable of handling it! Why do you have to be in the middle of every goddamn case? Don’t you think that there are more important things in life? Like me and the kids?” He was angry.

I was stunned. “Do you want to tell me where the hell
that
came from?” I sat up, too. “Because right now, I feel like I was attacked without warning.”

He put his face in his hands. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just wish sometimes that you could put your job aside for a while. I think that taking the girls down to Siesta Key would be a wonderful way for you to unwind and spend some time with them. You could take Sean, too.”

“Honey, they’re all in school.” I was confused. “Maybe you should tell me what this is really about. What happened to Aruba?”

He sighed and took a while before answering. “It’s probably guilt. I feel guilty because I haven’t been spending enough time with you guys lately, and I guess, if I knew you were down there having fun, it would ease my conscience a little.”

I locked my narrowed eyes on his. “I’m sorry, but since when do
you
feel guilty about work? Since when do you think I put my job above my family?” I was angry now, and incredulous.

“I don’t. Just forget I said anything.” He did his best to put on a smile.

“No, I won’t forget it. You brought it up—now I want a better explanation! This
guilt
bullshit isn’t going to cut it. If I didn’t know any better, I might think you wanted the kids and me away from here for a more suitable reason, like our safety. Is there something I need to know, Michael?”

“No, Cee, there’s not. I was telling you the truth.” He embraced me again. “God, I just love you so much! Do you know that?” He pulled away and looked at me with such intensity that it sent a barrage of chills through my body.

“Yes, Michael. I do,” I whispered, and felt both mystified and frightened.

“Just don’t ever forget that.”

After we made love for the second time, we decided to venture back to the kitchen to clean up the remnants of our romantic dinner. While I was rinsing off plates, Naomi called.

“I thought you might want to know this. John Kruse was last seen at the unemployment office by one of the clerks.”

“And?”

“Not much. He was in line, and she saw him walking out the door behind some guy. She could only see the back of him and said he had on a black coat. Not a highly trained observer, the clerk.”

“Obviously. But that doesn’t really mean anything. She doesn’t know if he was with the guy, right? He
could’ve just got tired of waiting for ten hours and left, probably right behind another customer.” I smiled as I watched Michael load the dishwasher.

“True, true. She’s coming in tomorrow for a formal, probably three-word statement, but I thought you’d want to know just the same.”

“Of course. Thanks for the info.”

It was another fifteen minutes before Michael and I were finished with the dinner dishes. Michael was a wonderful cook, but a messy one. We went into the living room where he put a couple of logs into the fireplace. I stood and looked out the window for a minute before relaxing on the sofa.

“How come you parked on the street?” I had noticed his car again.

He looked perplexed. “Oh,” he finally remembered, “when I got home, the delivery guy was here and blocked the goddamn driveway. I meant to just park there for minute while I signed for the package.” He prodded the logs with a poker, trying to get the fire going.

“What was the package?”

“Toner for the fax. I’m going to run out and pull the car into the garage before some idiot rips out my stereo.”

“It’s not like we live in crime central, hon. I think it’ll be all right for one night.” I didn’t want him to leave me for a second.

“My short absence shall make your heart grow fonder.” He kissed me gently. “Keep the sofa warm.”

I heard him grab his keys before opening the garage door. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and smiled. Michael was, and had been since I’d known him, therapy for me. He was a man I loved like no
other man. Hearing the fire crackle interrupted my thoughts. I stood up with the intention of closing the fireplace screen but was thrown against the wall beside me.

All I could hear was an explosion and glass breaking, and I felt the air being sucked out of the room. My ears felt like they, too, had exploded. It took a few moments to realize what exactly had happened.

It was only when I crawled to the large hole in the wall, where the windows used to be, that I saw that Michael’s car was engulfed in flames.

The past had finally caught up with me.

I didn’t realize that I was screaming, or that I might be on fire, until someone pulled me out the front door by my arms. Several of my neighbors had heard the explosion. Everything happened so fast. My screams drowned out all of the voices around me asking if I was okay. Feeling no pain, at least no
physical
pain, I pushed the numerous arms away and flipped over onto my stomach to crawl on my hands and knees toward Michael’s fiery car.

Please, God! Let him be okay!
my head screamed. At least I think it was my head, but the words may have escaped my lips nonetheless; it didn’t matter. My head felt foggy, like things weren’t real. As the heat of the flames began to burn my face the closer I got, it became all too real. The arms grabbed me again to prevent me from going any farther, and there was no pushing them away this time.

“CeeCee, no! It’s too hot!” It was my neighbor, Dave McDonald. “Listen to me! Are the kids in the house? CeeCee, please!”

I shook my head back and forth while listening to the sounds of the wailing sirens, growing closer.

“At—at Eric’s!” The only words I could manage.

My eyes were locked on the fiery remnants of the car, looking for anything that would indicate Michael got out in time. I scanned the yard around me, hoping the force of the blast had thrown him far enough away, but I saw nothing. Maybe he was somewhere looking for me. Maybe he thought I was hurt, too. With Dave’s burly arms still locked around me, I began screaming his name.

“Michael! Michaaael!”

My voice, hoarse by now, sounded so foreign to me I didn’t even recognize it as my own.

“Michaaaael!”

Hearing no response, I began screaming again and felt Dave’s arms tighten up their grip. Time was nonexistent. Things seemed to catapult into fast-forward, and when I looked back at the car, the firemen were putting out the last of the flames, steam rising from the burned-out and blackened shell.

Feeling the arms around me relax, I pushed them away and attempted to stand up. My legs shook and wobbled but were sturdy enough to get me to the car. When I saw one of the firemen look into the opening of the driver’s side, I knew I should stop. He looked at the coworker standing next to him and began to shake his head in disbelief. Then they all looked at me. Their faces said it all:
You don’t want to see this.
There were other people around, but I saw none of them. I heard nothing but silence.

Everyone watched as I made it to the passenger side of the car. The smell of gasoline and burning plastic would have been overwhelming to anyone else, but I was oblivious to it. Focusing on the pool of black, bubbling plastic, formerly the bumper, that lay on the ground, I tried to will myself not to look inside
the car, but it was no use. With my body shaking and my breaths short and quick, I leaned toward the hole in the passenger side, just enough so that I had a clear view of the blackened, charred remains of the body that sat in the driver’s seat. My tongue felt thick, and the bile began to rise in my throat. The sight was too much for my mind to absorb at that moment. It was almost as if my brain kept deflecting the image in an attempt to make it disappear, my mind screaming,
I don’t want it! Take it away!

Unfortunately, the image won. As it sank in and was absorbed, the foreign voice rose again with its horrific screams. It was soon after that I found myself mercifully succumbing to darkness.

I don’t know how long I was out—maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. When I opened my eyes, I was in my bedroom, and an emergency medical technician was zipping up his bag on the floor next to my bed. My father, the sheriff, and two men in suits stood around me. I bolted upright, my heart racing, and grief ripped through me like a torrential downpour.

“Michael! Where’s Michael?” I knew, but I wanted someone to tell me it had been a dream.

“Cee, baby…” My father, his voice quiet and hesitating, sat next to me on the bed and took my hand. The frown lines on his face made him look like he’d aged ten years.

“Oh God! Nooo!” My chest heaved forward and the reality of my irrevocable loss kicked in.

My father held me tightly to his chest while I screamed, cried, gagged, and hyperventilated. I kept praying over and over that I was having a nightmare. I remembered when I was young, I’d had nightmares that were so real, no one could ever convince me that
I had been asleep. I was silently begging someone to tell me that was the case now.

But no one did, and I didn’t wake up with Michael next to me. Michael was dead, and the thought of never seeing him again was too much to bear. For one of the first times in my life, I didn’t think I would be able to survive the blow. Of all the unfortunate and deadly situations I had found myself in, ones where I knew that no matter what, I would go on, this topped them all. Only when I heard my father soothingly whisper the names of my two daughters did I begin to get it together.

“Cee, honey, I know this is hard, but you have Selina and Isabelle to think about. You have to be strong for them. They need you,” he said softly, while still holding me tight.

Sitting still and trying to take deep breaths in between sobs, I visualized their faces, and Sean’s. Sean, who was the spitting image of his father and the light of his life, would be forever devastated. Even Selina and Isabelle had grown to love their stepfather in a way that would take them both to the brink. My father was right. Those three children needed me more than ever right now, and I had to be strong for them. But at that moment, they weren’t here, and I would allow myself to grieve.

I hadn’t noticed when Naomi and Coop walked in, or when Naomi went and got a cold washcloth, until she gently placed it on my face. Looking up, I saw her own eyes were red and puffy, tears streaming down her cheeks. We were all such close friends, the four of us. We had been through so much together. I knew this was hard for them as well. She knelt down beside the bed.

“CeeCee, I’m so sorry,” she whispered between sniffles.

I could only nod and wipe my face with the soothing cloth. My head was pounding from the mother of all migraines, and my eyes were so swollen I could barely see. I continued taking deep breaths as my father left the room, while everyone else stood in silence, the pity in their eyes bearing down on me. When my father came back, it dawned on me he was in uniform. He must’ve heard the call go out over the police scanner and rushed right over. He handed me a small glass with brown liquid in it.

“What is it?” I asked groggily.

“Straight whiskey. Drink it—it’ll help you calm down.”

I’d once had a very bad experience with whiskey, and even as I smelled it, the nausea in my stomach churned like an out-of-control washing machine. However, after a couple small sips, my body began to relax, if ever so slightly. Laying my head back on my pillow and looking up at the ceiling for a moment, I realized the two unfamiliar men in suits were still in the room, their faces somber.

“Who are you?” My voice was almost inaudible.

The tall, elderly man in the dark navy blue suit stepped forward. He looked to be in his late sixties and had thinning gray hair and glasses. His face was as somber as everyone else’s, but I noticed he had kind eyes.

“Mrs. Hagerman. I’m Supervising Agent Alan Keane, with the FBI.” He spoke slowly. “I am—was—Michael’s supervisor from Washington, DC.”

My body subconsciously flinched when he called me Mrs. Hagerman, and it almost convulsed when
he said Michael’s name. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes before continuing.

“Mrs. Hagerman, CeeCee, I am so sorry about your loss. I’ve been in Cleveland working with…with Michael on a very important case. I was on my way down to see him when this happened.”

“Did you know this was going to happen?” I asked, almost accusing.

“When you’re up to it, we’ll talk. In the meantime, I have my best crime-scene specialists on their way down to process the…the scene. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

He and the other man, who I assumed was an agent, left the room. I was too tired and too grief stricken to protest or ask any more questions right now. Not that any of this was hard to figure out. Michael had been investigating the Mafia, and now he had been killed by a car bomb. It wasn’t difficult to understand. Coping would be an entirely different issue.

Redirecting my attention to the red and blue lights that were reflecting off my bedroom window, I instinctively started to get up.

“CeeCee, you don’t need to look outside. Its best you don’t. They’re still processing everything right now. Eric’s outside. Do you want me to go get him?” my father asked.

I nodded. The sheriff, L. Richard Stephens, who had remained silent throughout, began to follow my father out of the room. He was a close friend of my father, so I’d known him since I was a child. He stopped and said a few words.

“CeeCee, I’m sorry, but I’m glad you’re not hurt—physically. You let me know if you need something.
Okay, kiddo?” He had a sympathetic smile but sadness in his eyes.

“Thank you, Sheriff.”

Naomi and I were the only ones left in the room now. Coop had left earlier to assist the FBI with witness statements and anything else he could, no doubt. He was close friends with Michael, and his face showed that he was hurting. My head continued to throb, which prompted me to ask Naomi if she would get me some aspirin.

“Of course, where are they?”

“Inside the medicine cabinet, in the bathroom.”

While Naomi was out of the room, rifling for my pain reliever, Eric came in. He was on duty, wearing his uniform, like my father. Although Eric and Michael had never got along, he wore a pained expression, surely anticipating our daughters’ upcoming grief. He sat down on the bed next to me, where my father previously had sat, and took my hand.

“CeeCee, I’m so sorry.”

My tears began to well up again. “Eric…the girls. Can you keep them one more night? I don’t—I don’t know how I’m gonna be able to tell them!” I began to sob.

He stayed silent, but nodded. Although we had been through a lot together over the last several years, one fact held true—our love for our little girls. Any parent wanted to protect their child from pain, sadness, and heartache. This was one time we couldn’t.

“I think it would be best if we told them together, Cee. They’ll need us both.” He paused. “I think I’ll just tell them you had to go out of town until the day after tomorrow. We’ll tell them when I bring them over. Don’t worry. You know I’ll be here to help you
and the girls through this.” He leaned over and gave me a tight squeeze.

Naomi stood in the doorway of the bathroom until Eric left. Thankful for the aspirin, I found myself thinking of Sean.

“Naomi, Vanessa’s supposed to drop Sean off in the morning—it’s our scheduled weekend. Could you call her for me and tell her? I think it’s best that she be the one to tell Sean.”

“Sure, CeeCee. I’m gonna stay here tonight. I don’t think you should be by yourself. Eric said outside, earlier, that he would get ahold of your mom and brother.” She paused. “Do you know if the FBI is going to notify Michael’s parents?”

For whatever reason, this thought reopened my floodgates. I began to sob uncontrollably again, begging for anyone that would listen to put me out of my misery. I desperately wanted Michael. I wanted to hold him, see him, feel his body against mine, smell his cologne, and look into his eyes. I thought of him, burned beyond recognition just outside the window of the bedroom we shared, and I couldn’t take it anymore. Bringing my hands up to my head, I began to scream as loud as possible. I wanted to die, and was so hysterical that my father and Eric had to hold me down while the EMTs shot me with a sedative after Naomi called them. It took less than two minutes for the darkness to overcome me again.

“It’s done, Sal.”

“Done? I thought we weren’t ready for two more days?”

“Cleveland got to him first, Sal. Blew him up in his own driveway.”

Salvatore smiled. For the first time, he felt like sending
Cleveland a bottle of champagne. Not only had they taken care of a major problem, but also they’d taken the heat off Youngstown. Fools. Regardless, the FBI would now focus all of their attention on the agent’s murder, instead of on them. It couldn’t have worked out better.

“So, our glorious Agent Michael Hagerman is no more, eh? Fantastic.” He paused. “What about his wife? Did they get her, too? I think I’d have to make a personal phone call offering my thanks for that one.”

“No, sir, but she’ll no longer be a problem. My source tells me that she’s pretty much done upstairs, had to be sedated—the whole lot. I suspect that she’ll be too overcome with grief to function from here on out.”

“Just as long as she doesn’t get ‘overcome’ with revenge.” He thought while he chewed his bottom lip. “I still want our eye on her—you hear? We still don’t know what he’s told her about us.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If that Irish bitch makes one move that looks like she’s on our ass…take care of her.”