The Body Thief (13 page)

“Now that you mention it, there have been a
few more of those than normal. I hadn’t really given it much
thought, although I should have.” He laughed. “It gets me out of
here a little earlier if some of the organs are missing. Not as
much formaldehyde required and the aspiration process is quicker,
too.”

“How many have you seen this winter?” Rohan
asked.

Melvin paused a moment to think. “Maybe
seven or eight a week. Yes, now that I think about it, I’ve
probably had at least one a day for the past couple of months. And
they’ve been generous donors, too,” he added.

“Generous? What do you mean by that?” Rohan
asked.

“The usual donor body that comes through has
the standard surgical scar indicating the heart and lungs have been
removed, but the more recent ones appeared to have been cleared of
a whole lot more. The incisions have extended all the way through
to the lower abdomen, as if everything inside has been removed. I
can’t think of another reason for making such a long incision.”

It was exactly as Hannah Langdon had
described. Rohan made eye contact with Bryce and could tell his
partner was thinking much the same thing.

“What about other areas of the body? Have
you noticed anything unusual?” Rohan asked.

Melvin lifted a large bottle of fluid off a
nearby shelf and proceeded to inject it into the body on the table.
“I’m distributing the fluid between the thoracic and abdominal
cavities,” he explained, noticing Rohan’s curiosity. “I saturate
all the organs to eliminate any residual odors.”

Rohan nodded and well understood the reasons
why most people chose to go through life oblivious to what happened
to them after they died. Melvin’s work practices fell fairly and
squarely into that category. Still, if Rohan wanted to ask
questions, he had no choice but to listen to the undertaker’s
enthusiastic explanations. Keeping up his part by plastering an
interested expression on his face, Rohan steered the conversation
back to the investigation.

“How often do people donate other types of
tissue, such as skin or ligaments and tendons?” he asked.

“Not often at all, Detective. It’s a shame,
really. So much more could be put to use. I don’t think enough
people turn their mind to how much good donating their organs can
do. Of the small number who do, they usually restrict their
donation to the standard organs: heart, kidneys, liver and
lungs.”

“So, have you seen any recent bodies with
wounds that might indicate ligaments, tendons and the like could
have been harvested?” Rohan asked, needing to make sure.

“No, I don’t think so. Not in the last
little while, anyway. It would have been six or eight months ago
since I saw one that was missing skin.” He turned back to the body
on the table and removed the apparatus he’d used to insert the
cavity fluid into Molly Matthews. A moment later, he pulled a
container out of the cupboard that was filled with cotton wool.
Calmly and efficiently, he began packing the woman’s mouth and
nose.

Rohan looked across at Bryce and indicated
with a movement of his head that perhaps it was time to leave.
Bryce’s face flooded with relief. Rohan turned back to Melvin who
was now stitching the mouth of Molly Matthews closed.

“We’ll leave you to it, Melvin. We
appreciate your time,” Rohan said. Bryce lifted his hand in
farewell and both men turned and headed toward the door. Rohan had
just reached for the handle when the door opened. He almost
collided with the young girl who stood on the other side.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she gasped. “I didn’t
realize you were there.”

She looked like she was no more than
eighteen or nineteen. Her skin was scarred with severe acne, but
she had the bluest eyes Rohan had ever seen.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. We were on
our way out.”

“Oh, Jane, you’re here. That’s great,”
Melvin said, looking up from Molly Matthews. “I got an early start
on this one, but there are another four in the fridge. I’d
appreciate it if you could get started right away.”

“Of course,” Jane replied.

Rohan stepped back to allow the girl he
assumed was Forsyth’s assistant, into the room. She threw Rohan and
Bryce a look filled with curiosity.

“I take it these men aren’t making funeral
arrangements, Mr Forsyth, given that they’re back here.”

“You’re right, Jane,” Melvin replied, as he
squirted a dob of peach-scented shampoo into Molly’s wispy, white
hair. “These men are detectives. They’re making enquiries about the
bodies with donated organs we’ve had come through the funeral home
over the past few months.”

Jane nodded, but Rohan noticed a new tension
in her stance. “What did you tell them?” she asked, keeping her
gaze on her boss.

“I told them we’d had a greater number than
usual, but I haven’t really noticed anything else out of the
ordinary—and it’s winter, after all.”

Rohan watched Jane closely. She chewed on
her lip and looked both scared and uncertain all at once. He
wondered what had caused her curious reaction and instinctively
directed his next question to her.

“What about you, Jane? Have you noticed
anything unusual?”

For a second, she froze and then sighed
quietly, almost looking relieved. “It’s… It’s really weird that
you’re here. Only yesterday I was working on a woman who bore signs
that she’d donated some of her organs, but…there was more.”

“What do you mean?” Rohan asked.

She drew in a deep breath. “The woman was
missing a couple large areas of skin on her back and on the back of
her legs. She also had wounds across both wrists and ankles. It was
weird and awful and it stuck in my mind… It made me feel sick. I
wasn’t even sure I could come in today.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Melvin asked,
looking stricken.

“You were on the phone when I finished up
yesterday. I had an appointment in the city. I couldn’t wait
around.” She turned back to Rohan and Bryce.

“I’ve only worked here a few months, but
I’ve never seen anything like it. It was lucky the family requested
that she be buried in a pantsuit. I don’t know how I would have
concealed the incisions if they’d wanted her dressed in shorts and
a T-shirt.”

“Is the body still here?” Bryce asked
hopefully.

Melvin shook his head. “No, the funeral was
scheduled first thing this morning.”

“What do you think about the incisions,
Melvin?” Rohan asked.

“It’s more likely than not the wrist and
ankle wounds were the result of ligament and tendon removal. The
skin removal speaks for itself.”

Rohan digested the information and couldn’t
help but compare the similarities with the body Hannah Langdon had
spoken of earlier in the week. Another question occurred to
him.

“Which hospital have these donor bodies come
from?” he asked the funeral director. “Do you keep a record of such
things?”

“No, but there’s no need,” Melvin replied.
“We’re right down the street from the Sydney Harbour Hospital and
it’s the only hospital that services this area. Most people who
live around here, and end up in there, come here if they don’t make
it out alive. I call it near-ology, Detective. Most families choose
the funeral home closest to where they live. It’s convenient and
also a way of giving back to their community, you could say.”

“What about the nursing homes? There are a
few of them in this area,” Rohan said.

“Yes, and we get our fair share from those
establishments. In fact, they keep us even busier than the
hospital, but you asked about donor bodies. Nursing homes don’t go
in for organ and tissue harvesting. They’re neither qualified nor
equipped to handle it. The only people who have even any chance of
seeing their organs and tissue donated are those that die in a
major hospital, and even then it doesn’t always work out.”

Rohan and Bryce left the premises of the
fifth and final funeral home on Rohan’s list and climbed back into
the squad car. They’d been at it all day and both of them were
beyond fatigued. Rohan didn’t want to step inside another embalming
room for the rest of his life and he was sure Bryce felt the same.
Both were convinced they’d never get the smell out of their
clothes.

“So,” Bryce said, turning to tug on his
seatbelt, “what do you think?”

Rohan pursed his lips. “Most of the people
we’ve spoken to agree they’ve seen an increase in the number of
donor bodies and the majority of the bodies have come from the
Sydney Harbour Hospital.”

“Yeah, although given that the Sydney
Harbour Hospital is the closest major medical facility to our
funeral homes, it’s not exactly surprising, is it?”

“It’s a pity the hospital only supplies the
funeral parlors with the most basic of information. It would be
interesting to see if there’s a pattern with regard to the doctors
involved in the care of these people.”

“We should call Deborah Healy.”

Rohan quirked an eyebrow. “Who’s Deborah
Healy?”

“She’s one hell of a good-looking woman,
even though she must be close to fifty—and she runs a tight ship. I
admire her and I wouldn’t want her job for quids.”

“Which is?” Rohan continued to stare at
Bryce, waiting for his partner to get to the point.

“She’s the general manager of the Sydney
Harbour Hospital.”

Rohan was filled with eagerness and
anticipation. “I think we need to meet with Ms Healy and sit down
for a little chat.”

Bryce grinned. “You won’t get any argument
from me.”

* * *

Rohan and Bryce climbed the flight of stairs
that led to Deborah Healy’s office. Rohan had called ahead to
arrange an appointment. He’d half expected to be put off until the
morning, given that the day was almost done, but the general
manager had agreed to see them within the hour.

She’d enquired about the reason for their
visit and Rohan had told her. Her immediate expression of shock and
denial hadn’t surprised him. Until the recent Doctor Leo Baker
scandal, the Sydney Harbour Hospital had enjoyed an enviable
reputation as being among the most prestigious hospitals in the
country.

The executive suites were in an older part
of the hospital and still showed signs of the grandness and style
that had gone into the design of the building more than a century
and a half ago. Original stained glass windows were surrounded by
heavy wooden frames painted a forest green color. The late
afternoon sunlight that shone through them, fell softly onto the
polished wooden stairs beneath Rohan’s feet.

They reached the landing at the top. Having
been there before, Bryce gave directions and within a few moments
Rohan was knocking on the closed door. It was opened almost
immediately, and he was impressed by the general manager’s
punctuality. The middle-aged woman who greeted them was smartly
dressed in a woollen suit of navy-blue, threaded with gold. A silk
blouse in pale pink complemented the outfit.

“Good morning, I’m Detective Sergeant
Coleridge and this is my partner, Detective Sergeant Sutcliffe. Are
you Ms Healy?”

The woman chuckled. “Good heavens, no! I’m
Veronica Blackwell, her receptionist. I’ll let Ms Healy know you’re
here. Please, come in and take a seat.”

Rohan and Bryce entered the room. The
waiting area was small but tidy, with a dark leather sofa against
one wall. A spread of magazines was artfully arranged across the
glass top of a wooden coffee table.

“It looks just like it did the last time I
was here,” Bryce murmured. Rohan acknowledged his comment with a
nod.

“Ms Healy will be with you in a moment,”
Veronica advised. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or
tea?”

Rohan glanced at Bryce and answered for both
of them. “No, thanks. We’re fine.”

The woman nodded and returned to her seat
behind the counter. A moment later, a door to their left opened and
a tall, slender woman wearing a tailored, olive-green suit and
lemon-colored blouse strode into the waiting room. Without pause,
she came straight to where they were sitting and extended her
hand.

“Detective Coleridge, I’m Deborah
Healy.”

Rohan stood and shook the proffered hand.
The general manager turned her attention to Bryce.

“Detective Sutcliffe, it’s nice to see you
again. I trust Chanel and your children are well?”

“Yes, thank you. They’re fine.”

“Doctor Sutcliffe is one of the finest on
our team. We’re very pleased she decided to return to work after
the triplets were born, although I was a little surprised. It must
take some doing, trying to juggle everything.”

Bryce nodded in agreement. “Yes, it
certainly does.”

“Well, anyway, give my regards to your wife.
Shall we?”

She turned on one four-inch, black leather
heel and headed back the way she’d come. Rohan couldn’t help but
check out her shapely butt. She must have been edging fifty, but
she was trim and toned and had a pair of attractive,
stocking-encased legs that would put women half her age to
shame.

They followed her into a corner office that
overlooked the front entryway of the hospital, a floor below. The
room was airy and bright. Sunshine poured through the tall windows
that lined the wall behind her desk, flooding the room with natural
light. Potted plants that were not only real, but flourishing stood
along the window ledge. Rohan was relieved the place smelled
nothing like a hospital. He’d had enough of the stench of cleaning
fluid, formaldehyde and other undesirable odors to last him a
lifetime.

“Please, take a seat.”

Rohan turned. Three chairs stood opposite a
large wooden desk. He was surprised to discover one of them was
occupied. The general manager made the introductions.

“This is Doctor Alistair Wolfe. After you
told me you were enquiring about our organ and tissue donation
unit, I asked Doctor Wolfe to attend. He is the head of the Organ
Donation for Transplantation Unit. I hope you don’t mind?” She
directed the question to both Rohan and Bryce, but it was Rohan who
responded.