by Crumb, Kit
“Not a chance. I’ll repel down to that row of trees, and work my way over to the car. If I need you to bring the jump kit, I’ll whistle. No whistle, no kit.”
Rye watched her progress then used the binoculars when she disappeared behind the row of pines and reappeared next to the car. Claire had barely looked in the window when she started waving and shouting for Rye to come down. She didn’t whistle.
The repel was easy and so was moving along the line of trees, as long as he maintained a grip on either a tree or its branches. When he reached the car, Rye was out of breath.
One look and he knew why they didn’t need the jump kit. Claire was braced against the angle of the slope using just one hand on the car to keep from slipping.
The car didn’t look like it had rolled. It was as though it had been driven to the spot next to the pines and parked. “Watch your step, the rock is crumbly and I’m not sure how stable the car is,” Claire said. She reached in the driver-side window and pulled the body off the steering wheel by its shirt collar. “Better take a look at this.”
Rye stepped and slid a few inches, then stepped again until he was just behind Claire, looking over her shoulder. The man behind the wheel looked like he’d just arrived: no bugs and just a few flies.
“What is it?” Rye said, looking through the window.
“Brace me up so I can use both hands,” she said.
Rye slid his feet around, clearing away the rocks in one spot until he stood on solid ground, then grabbed onto one of Claire’s belt loops with one hand and put the other against her lower back.
“Take a look.” Claire said, reaching into the car with her newly freed hand and lifting up the drivers’ shirtfront. “Far right side.”
After a moment of silence, she looked back at Rye. “Stomach not face,” she said.
“Oh yeah, shit, he’s been eviscerated. I’ve seen enough, let’s get back to the car and call the cops.”
* * *
Claire coiled up the rope and placed it back in the trunk while Rye called on his cell.
“Fifteen minutes,” Rye said, as he tossed the phone into the car.
The police arrived first, with a fire engine close behind. They grilled Rye and Claire about how they found the car—and the body. Any other time they would have stayed in order to fill out a report, but it was their day off and both were eager to get back home.
Claire left the winding turns of Hillsboro Drive behind, accelerating onto I-5 for the six-mile stretch that would take them to Medford, exit 29. They drove along in silence, both caught in their own thoughts about the little blue sports car and its driver.
Claire gave Rye a quick look as she sped up and changed into the fast lane.
“What’s up, and why were you looking at his face?”
Rye seemed pre-occupied. “I recognized him. He was on the other porn tape Phil showed after I took the first one.”
Claire turned her head just a bit to make sure Rye could see the face she was making. “Is that all guys do at bachelor parties, watch porn?”
Rye settled back into the bucket seat, straightening his legs and folding his arms across his chest. He sat up abruptly as they passed Exit 29. “You just passed our exit!”
“The guy worked at Medford General,” Claire said. “His I.D. was on the passenger seat. Doctor Frank Mason.”
Claire pulled into general parking. “Where do you think we should start?”
Rye hopped over the door and stretched. “For all we know the guy has his own practice with hospital privileges.”
Claire made a point of opening the door, stepping out and turning to close it. “So we need to determine if he’s staff, and if not, then pay a visit to his office.”
They headed straight for the elevator and the administrator’s office. When the elevator door opened, Rye turned to usher Claire in but she was gone. He spotted her down the hall and joined her there.
Facing them, staring back from a photo hanging on the wall, was a young man with a big smile, stethoscope around his neck, wearing a white smock. It was Doctor Frank Mason.
Rye smiled. “Staff surgeon.”
“May I help you?” someone asked.
Startled, Claire spun around even before Rye could respond. “We’re trying to locate the new surgeon but don’t see his picture on the wall of fame here.”
The nurse gestured at the wall as if she were selling it. “There have been no new additions to the surgical staff. Do you have a name? Maybe the doctor you’re looking for isn’t a surgeon.”
Rye stepped away from the wall and extended his hand to the nurse. “I’m Rye Anderson and this is my partner Claire. We own Mad Dash Ambulance. We brought in a DOA and were met by a doctor and now the body’s missing. He wasn’t wearing a name tag.”
The nurse lead them to an alcove with a small couch and one chair.
“What did he look like?
Claire spent the next five minutes describing the mystery doctor.
“That sounds like Doctor Simms,” the nurse said.
Claire and Rye exchanged looks.
Claire scooted forward sitting on the edge of the couch. “You know him?”
“Not exactly. I remember him because he came to the hospital and tried to recruit a surgical nurse and anesthesiologist. He met with each of us. Offered me better pay and full health. Said I’d work with a small staff at a private clinic.”
Claire smiled. “Sounds great. Why didn’t you accept the offer?”
The nurse fidgeted, uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. “It seemed too good to be true and I would have been assisting in organ donor transplants. I’m a surgical nurse; I’ve got no interest in cookie cutter surgery.”
Suddenly, the nurse looked at her watch. “So sorry, but I’m assisting with an appendectomy in thirty minutes and have to meet with the doctor in fifteen.” Standing, she turned and hurried down the hall.
Claire slouched back into the couch. “Well, now at least we’ve got a name and a positive ID.”
* * *
The sign on the door read Jeff Olden, Assistant Administrator. Rye raised his hand to knock, Claire grabbed his wrist. “Do you think this is really wise?”
Rye shook his hand free and walked her to one side. “Simms couldn’t have met with staff without permission from Olden. We need to find out if he got any takers. When we find this clinic, we’ll find Rusty.”
Claire shook her head. “I don’t think so. Rusty is probably long gone by now. We need to find out if Mason took Simms’s offer then changed his mind. He sure looked like an organ donor to me.”
Just then, the door opened and Jeff Olden emerged. “I wondered what all the whispering was. Why don’t you two come in?”
The office was dark, lit only by a desk lamp. The mahogany paneled walls matched the large desk and were covered with darkly framed certificates. Olden walked around behind the desk and slid his foot around until he found the dimmer switch. As the ceiling lights came up, the glass framed certificates twinkled a reflection.
“There, that’s better. Please have a seat. I assume you came by to check on the status of Rusty Kidding.” He looked first to Rye then Claire, hands folded and resting in the middle of the desk blotter.
“Not exactly.” Rye turned to defer to Claire but she nodded that he should continue. “We know who took the body.”
Olden sat up straighter. “Well, now we’re getting somewhere. Do you have a name?”
“Doctor Peter Simms.”
He sat even straighter and leaned forward. “That’s ridiculous.”
Rye matched his stare. “A surgical nurse confirmed Claire’s description of the man that took the DOA.”
Olden sat back refolding his hands over his stomach. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. Doctor Peter Simms owns his own clinic
and is in the business of giving critically ill individuals a second chance at life through the gift of donated organs.”
Claire stood up, placing both hands on the desk. “Wasn’t Frank Mason one of the surgeons recruited?”
Olden stood and walked around the desk, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t believe he was, but Doctor Mason was under investigation by the hospital board.”
She shook off his hand. “You’re aware that he’s dead, that he was eviscerated and that his liver is missing?”
Olden paused mid stride. “The police haven’t contacted us, but I do know he didn’t show up for his shift this morning…” he continued to the door. “I think you had better let the police do the investigating. Doctor Simms could in no way have anything to do with either the death of Frank Mason or the missing DOA.”
Claire took a step in Olden’s direction ready to argue her point, but stopped when he held up his hand. “This conversation is over.” He started to open the door. Then ignoring Claire, turned to face Rye. “You know, I feel I’ve been quite generous in not terminating your license.” He opened the door and standing like a statue until they left, quietly closed it behind them.
Claire whirled on Rye who shook his head, pointing down the hall. When they reached the elevator, the door was just opening, the car empty. When the bell rang and the door closed she slammed her fist against the brass rail.
“He didn’t even care that there might be a connection between Mason’s death and Simms’s occupation. And that remark at the door, what was that blackmail? Butt out or I’ll yank your license? And where the hell were you during all this?”
Rye leaned over and pressed the “G” button without saying a word, folded his arms and glared at her.
“OK, OK,” she said as she backed into the corner. “What do we do now?
Rye unfolded his arms. “I think we can forget any cooperation from the hospital. And I think if we find Simms’s clinic we’ll know what happened to the DOA and Mason.”
Claire was looking at the floor, nodding her head. The door to the elevator binged open. “What about the girl who asked you for help, and the fact that she and Mason were both on a porn tape? He’s dead and she may be well on her way to the organ factory.”
They walked in silence through a throng of people gathered around a man being wheel chaired through the entrance.
Rye reached the car first, taking a minute to stretch, twisting first one way then the other. “Finding Simms and the clinic will resolve everything,” he said, “and the girl who asked for help is the thread that will lead us there.”
Claire opened the door and climbed in. “Yeah, now all we have to do is get to her before Simms.”
Chapter Twenty Three
The slab of meat on the platter oozed blood. The man eyed it for a moment, then rotated the platter once before finally sinking his fork into it and cutting next to the bone.
“God, Paul, I don’t see how you can eat steak that raw. And what about mad cow disease?” Rye said.
Paul Casey chewed with a smile on his face then took a drink of his pale ale, swallowed and looked at Rye with a grin.
“First of all, this is a once-in-a-blue-moon meal, a celebration for having just collected on the biggest case of my career. As for mad cow, this is Harris Beef—open range, grass fed, the absolute best there is. Now, let’s get down to business. What’s on your mind?”
“Did you read about the four-car pileup on I-5 the other day?”
Paul chewed on a piece of steak and just nodded.
“Claire and I were dispatched, and in the middle of stitching one of the victims back together, this young woman grabs me by the arm, looks me in the eye and says, ‘Help me,’ then walks away. But when I go over to her van she doesn’t have a scratch on her, isn’t in shock and the guy she’s with whisks her off, but not before she slips a video tape into my jump kit.”
“Take a breath, Rye. Was Claire with you? And what’s a jump kit?” Paul asked, shoving another peace of steak into his mouth.
“Claire said she only vaguely remembers the woman, and a jump kit is the giant fishing tackle box that holds all the first aid items I might need while I’m away from the ambulance. Anyway, I’m at Phil Panther’s bachelor party, they start playing a couple of porn tapes—and she’s on one of them! And the tape she slipped into my jump kit is from a security camera focused on the back of a porn set.”
Rye paused to take a couple bites of his salad.
“OK, I’m starting to get the picture. Some buxom beauty gets caught up in a porn ring and she bats her baby blues at you asking for help and you melt. What’s a guy to do?”
Rye glared at Paul over the top of his mug of tea and took a sip to wash down his salad. “I don’t think you have the picture at all. This woman looked to be about eighteen or nineteen tops, and appeared to be anything but a hooker.”
Paul just shook his head. “Thousands of young women break into pornography every year; most are never heard from again, many become involved with drugs or prostitution. But I’ll get off my soapbox now. Unless next of kin files a missing person report, there is nothing for me to do.” Paul finished his statement by stuffing another peace of steak in his mouth.
“Sure, fine.” Rye paused for effect. “I understand what you’re saying, but here’s the kicker. Claire and I were coming back from Raven Reservoir and spotted a blue sports car in a ravine off of Hillsboro Drive, it looked new so we checked it out. The driver was one of the guys in the other porn tape at Phil’s party. Not only was he dead but he was eviscerated, someone had cut out his liver.” Rye sat back expectantly.
“I don’t know what to tell you. These people who do pornography are generally the scum of the earth. Occasionally, I’m sure some small town cheerleader gets tangled up with the wrong people, you know, promised instant fame and big money. Still, others like your guy in the car get the ugly end of the stick. Nothing to be done, nothing I can do. And definitely nothing you can do.” Paul pushed the platter toward the edge of the table, empty except for a bone.
Chapter Twenty Four
He felt her foot rub up and down his calf. In turn, he snaked a hand down until it found her buttocks. Claire was on her side.
Slowly he rolled on his side to spoon, his hand cupping her breast.
“You know Rye, this is a really good book and you’re distracting me,” she said, closing the book, her finger holding the place.
“How was I supposed to know that you were reading?” Rye asked, in a mock indignant tone.
“You didn’t notice the reading light?”
In answer, Rye dropped his hand from her breast and stuck a finger in her navel. Claire shrieked and rolled onto her stomach.
“Do you mind?” she said
“Just checking for navel fuzz.”
Claire laughed, put her book on the floor and rolled over onto her back. “So, I gather that you don’t want to read and you’re not sleepy, which means you must want to talk.”
That was not exactly what Rye had in mind, but he took her up on her offer anyway.
“I was just thinking about the girl on the tape and then finding that dead guy who was also on a porn tape by the same company. What if she comes up dead?” Rye said.
“I think Paul was right; there’s nothing you can do. Let it go. Take the tapes back to the Foxy Lady, they’re probably late by now, and forget the whole thing,” Claire said, leaning over and nibbling on Rye’s neck. “You learn any new moves from those tapes?”
“C’mon, Claire,” Rye said, pulling the covers up to his chin. It’s not just the circumstances of knowing two people who do porn, the girl actually asked me for help. That changes everything.”
Claire rolled away from Rye to lie on her back again. “OK, what would you like to do about it?”
“I
think the starting point for me is to track down the company that made the tape. I’m thinking of flying down to LA. to see what I can dig up.” Rye turned on his side to make sure he had Claire’s attention. “And if you’re up for it, I’d like you to track down the license number of that Dodge van; I know the fire department has it.”
“I can‘t really have you pulling this misdirected waif from the den of inequity all by yourself, can I? I’m in.” Claire rolled on her side to face Rye. “When was the last time you were in LA?”
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Twenty-five, thirty years. Not since college.”
“Sounds kind of like a long shot,” Claire said.
He rolled back on his side, facing her. “I planned on hitting a couple of the porn shops. I figure they could probably direct me.”
“That at least gives you a starting place, but you didn’t answer my question.”
Puzzled, Rye wasn’t sure what she was referring to. “OK I give, what was the question?”
“I was just curious to know if you learned any new moves from all this porn.”
Rye retained a stone face. “As a matter of fact yes, can you put either foot behind your head?”
“Oh, gross! I should have known better than to ask.”
Rye ducked under the covers and made a beeline for Claire’s right breast just as she started to roll onto her back. Wham! Her elbow met his right eye.
“Ouch! I’m blind!”
She rolled over to see what all the yelling was about.
Rye was gingerly feeling the tender tissue just under his eye. “Jesus, you elbowed me in the eye.”
“Oh honey, I’m sorry. Let me get some ice.” He enjoyed watching her nude figure throw the covers back, climb out of bed and walk through the door. But he forgot all about his eye when she returned with the ice.
“Take your hand away and let me see,” Claire said, looking at his eye first from one angle then from another.
Somehow, as she peered at his eye, the covers managed to get pulled down to his ankles. But Rye, fully distracted by her nude presence, didn’t seem to notice. Suddenly the ice slid from her hand into his lap. Claire yipped with laughter, as she bounced off the bed and ran from the room, leaving Rye moaning with the shock of something so cold in such a hot spot.