Sweet Smell of Sucrets

by Renee Pawlish

  “Everyone’s gone. The two patients both walked out to their cars. If they’d had an invasive surgery like organ donation and transplant, wouldn’t they need to be on stretchers?”

  “Well, yes and no,” Willie said. “If it was kidney surgery, they’d want the patients up and walking around as soon as possible. It helps with the buildup of gas in the system.”

  “Huh. Who would’ve thought?” I stifled a yawn.

  “But that’s way too soon to have them crawling into cars and leaving the hospital,” she said. “Now what? Are you coming home? You must be worn out.”

  “No, I’m going to confront Hugh Ryerson about this whole thing.”

  “Right after the surgery, if that’s what really happened?” She was thinking like a nurse, caring for the patient. Admirable, but at the moment I wasn’t concerned about the patients. I wanted to know once and for all what was going on.

  “Now’s the time to confront them, when they’re vulnerable.”

  “Ah, and they may be more likely to talk,” she said.

  “Yep.” I grinned. She was a quick study. “I’ll be home after that.”

  “Sounds good,” she said. “Now that I’m awake, I think I’ll go for a run.”

  I apologized again for waking her.

  “It’s okay. I’ll see you soon. Reed?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know I say be careful a lot, but…be careful. I love you, Reed. You can be impulsive and these people might be dangerous.”

  “I will, and I love you, too.”

  After I hung up, I thought about what she’d said. I was reckless at times and it had gotten me into trouble. I needed to use caution when approaching Hugh Ryerson, especially because he was a big dude who could easily crush me if he wanted to.

  With that thought rolling around in my head, I drove away from Doctor McKenzie’s office.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Orange, yellow and purple streaked the eastern horizon as the sun came up, and traffic was almost non-existent as I headed north on Downing. I suddenly realized that I needed to use a restroom, so I stopped at a 7-Eleven and used the facilities, then got a cup of coffee. It didn’t match Willie’s, but the caffeine jolt hit the spot. On my way to Ryerson’s house, I thought through a plan. I’d found that if you act like you know what you’re doing, people don’t question it, so I was going to impersonate the law and scare the Ryersons. It had worked before, and I hoped it would be successful again.

  Hugh Ryerson lived near Five Points, an area not far from Doctor McKenzie’s office. Five Points got its name because four streets, Washington, Welton, 26th Street, and 27th Avenue all intersect. Many years ago, the diverse neighborhood had been home to governors, aristocrats, and well-known business people. However, when I was growing up in Denver, it had not been a safe neighborhood, with lots of crime and gang activity. In recent years Five Points had experienced a revival as more people saw the older houses as desirable. I turned on 30th and soon arrived on Arapahoe Street, a section of town where, unfortunately, the area’s transformation had not yet arrived. Houses showed wear, needing paint and updates.

  I turned onto 31st and saw the beat-up silver Hyundai sedan parked in front of a rundown apartment building. I found a spot down the street and pulled to the curb. This early in the morning on a Saturday, no one was about. I pulled off my black knit cap and tossed it on the passenger seat, ran a hand through my hair, then got out and crossed the street. Somewhere on the next block a dog barked. As I climbed the steps to the second floor, an old Chevy truck rumbled by.

  I walked quietly to Apartment 204 and stood in front of the door and listened. The faint sounds of a TV show filtered out, but nothing else. I stood straight and tall, feet spread apart, looking as imposing as I possibly could. Then I rapped my knuckles sharply on the door. Something thumped and curtains in a large window to the left of the door parted and then swung back into place. After a few more moments, the door opened.

  The big man gazed at me warily. “Yes?”

  “Hugh Ryerson?” I fixed him with a hard glare that must’ve looked even worse with the dark bruises under my eyes.

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Detective McPherson.” I used the lead cop from the excellent film noir, Laura. I flashed him a cheap badge that I’d bought on the internet before my first case and always carried in my wallet. In the state of Colorado, one didn’t have to be licensed to be a private investigator, but I’d found having a badge sometimes came in handy.

  His face turned white. He started to talk, but his voice came out in a squeak. He cleared his throat and began again. “What can I do for you?”

  “You were at Doctor McKenzie’s office late last night and again this morning.”

  His big body swayed and he almost fell over. “How did you know?”

  I waved a hand dismissively. “I’m afraid you’re in a lot of trouble.”

  “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s too late for that.” I remained stern.

  He leaned forward and for a brief moment I thought he was going to hit me. But he glanced around and then pushed the door open. “I don’t want anyone to hear.” He jerked his head, indicating I should come inside.

  I stepped past him into a small living room filled with a well-worn couch, a reclining chair and an old TV sitting on plastic crates. A small lamp in the corner did little to light the room.

  “Have a seat.” He pointed at the recliner.

  I sat on the edge of it. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed heavily as he lowered his bulk onto the couch.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “It was my idea,” he began. “I saw something on 60 Minutes a few years ago about people selling their organs for money, but I never gave it a second thought until recently. We – my wife and I – we’ve been struggling for a long time. Losing jobs, can’t pay the bills, the debt keeps piling up. I didn’t see an end in sight and I was getting desperate. Then I read something online about a girl who needed a kidney and I remembered about the 60 Minutes episode, and I thought that might be the answer. My wife and I discussed it. At first she was against it, but then she lost her job and we had to move here. I was going to sell one of my kidneys, but she said it would be better if she did it because I can get day-labor jobs – construction and stuff – that she can’t.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t want her to go through it, but she insisted.”

  “How much did they pay you?”

  “Forty thousand.”

  I nodded, keeping a straight face. It was a lot of money, but then how does one value one of their organs?

  “How’d you find Doctor McKenzie?” I asked.

  “I Googled organ harvesting. It took some searching but I found some places in China and India that said they’d buy organs. I knew it was risky but we contacted one of them. Nothing happened for a while, and then we got a call from a guy who talked with a thick accent, Chinese if I had to guess. He said he could put me in touch with someone here in the states. My wife and I talked it over and decided to go for it. We figured that was better than trying to go to overseas. Have you heard about some of those outfits?” He shivered. “Scary.”

  “So this guy, this stranger, brokered the deal?”

  He shrugged.

  “Did he charge you anything?”

  He shook his head. “I think the group on this end paid him for the referrals.”

  I leaned forward. “What happened next?”

  “There were a series of emails and some prescreening forms.” He used air quotes when he said “prescreening forms”. “My wife had to get some tests done and we sent the results back. It must’ve satisfied them because they scheduled a face-to-face meeting.”

  “Just like that? Weren’t you worried that they might be the cops or feds?” I asked.

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  I raised my eyebrows. “But?”

  “We needed the money.”

  �
��So you met with the doc?”

  He shook his head. “No, it was a big guy with short dark hair.”

  Gus, I thought. “And he put you in touch with Doctor McKenzie.”

  “Yes.”

  “Again, how did you know it wasn’t a setup?”

  “It got way too elaborate,” he said. “Why make us go through all the tests and screening, and set up a doctor’s office, only to arrest us?”

  “The crime has to be committed before you can be charged with anything.”

  He went a shade whiter. That thought clearly hadn’t occurred to him. “We needed the money,” he repeated.

  “So you met with this guy.” I paused. “Did he give you a name?”

  He shook his head.

  “And,” I continued. “You had these conversations about selling your wife’s kidney just as casual as can be?”

  “No, it was all in code. The first contact, the Chinese guy, said to ask about the ‘exchange program’. That’s always how it was talked about. And we only said ‘kidney’ once. After that it was the ‘item’.”

  “And then?”

  “That guy called the other day and said they needed the item, and they told us when. I was instructed to drop my wife off in back of the doctor’s office and…” He shrugged. “It went from there.”

  “And nothing made you suspicious?”

  He shook his head, then stopped. “I did think I saw a guy following us a couple of times.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, brown eyes. And he had a big nose.”

  He described Noel Farrell. So Farrell had figured this out. But what had he wanted with me?

  “What?” Hugh asked. “Was that your partner or something?” He lowered his head. “Oh man, were we stupid.” Then he met my gaze again. “You’re going to bust Doctor McKenzie? And what happens to us?”

  “The next step –”

  His eyes widened slightly.

  “What?” I said.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a reflection on the TV screen, a form raising something up. I instinctively leaped up and to my right as a baseball bat hit the back of the chair. I whirled around. The tiny woman I’d seen in the alley raised the bat again, but she was weak and the bat barely made it to waist-level before I snatched it out of her hands. I then became aware of Hugh yelling at her.

  “Annie! What are you doing?”

  He rushed to her and she collapsed in his arms. They sank to the floor.

  “You’re going to pull out the stitches,” he said, tears in his eyes. He lifted her shirt and I saw a long bandage strip on her abdomen, similar to what Trevor Welch had.

  “You can’t tell him all this,” she said, then moaned.

  “He knows all about it,” Hugh said. “He’s a cop.”

  She shook her head. “No, you idiot. A cop would’ve read us our rights and taken us to a station. This guy’s digging for information.”

  Hugh stared up at me. “Is that true?”

  “I am a detective,” I said. “But I’m not a cop.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  I hesitated. “I’m investigating a murder.”

  “I’m sorry, but…please, don’t turn us in,” she murmured.

  I stared down at her. “I can’t guarantee that.”

  “Get out,” Hugh snarled.

  I’d gotten all I was going to, so I wisely left before he could come after me. Ah, Willie would be proud of me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Doctor McKenzie, Gus and whoever else had quite an organization, I thought, as I headed back to the Subaru. And they must be making a mint, especially McKenzie. Cal had wondered about the doc’s big mansion and how he was paying for it. Now I knew. And it was time to pay the doc a surprise visit. If he was as tired as I was, maybe I’d catch him off guard, and I’d get some answers about why Noel Farrell was killed with my gun. I started the Subaru and soon arrived at 6th Avenue and Elm Street, where Doctor McKenzie lived. His house was huge, taking up what used to be a couple of lots. It was two stories, with a stone exterior, lots of large windows and a four-car garage.

  I parked in front of his house, walked up a long driveway and onto a porch made of red flagstone. I rang the bell and waited, then rang again. Nothing. I peeked through a rectangular window to the left of the door but saw no movement inside. Then I remembered that McKenzie said he had to check on someone before he came home. I walked back to the car, disappointed. I had really hoped to catch him off guard, as I had with Hugh Ryerson, and get him talking. I briefly considered waiting for McKenzie to return, but worried that I’d fall asleep in the car, so I drove home.

  “Hey you,” Willie greeted me when I walked through the door a while later. “You look exhausted.”

  “I feel exhausted.”

  She was lying on the couch in sweats, reading a book. Her running shoes lay on the floor nearby.

  “Good run?” I asked.

  “Uh-huh. What’d you find out?”

  “Doctor McKenzie is definitely in the illegal organ business, and I think Noel Farrell had it figured out.” I told her about my conversation with Hugh Ryerson. “I still don’t know why Farrell wanted to talk to me, but I’ll bet he was killed because he was going to blow the lid off this illegal business of McKenzie’s. I still don’t know how to find Gus, and I need to find who he’s working for and get proof that he killed Farrell.” I yawned and stretched. “But my head feels tingly and I can’t think straight right now.”

  She hopped up, came over and gave me a hug. “How about you take a shower and I’ll bring you breakfast in bed? Then you can crash for a while.”

  “That’s very sweet of you to offer.”

  We kissed and then I plodded down the hall to the bedroom. I stripped, took a long hot shower and when I came out, Willie was sitting on her side of the bed, holding a plate of eggs and toast.

  “This okay?” she asked.

  “It’s great,” I said. I sat on the edge of the bed and took the plate from her. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was, and I wolfed it down.

  She took the plate from me. “You want anything else?”

  I shook my head as I crawled under the covers. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

  She smiled. “Get some rest.”

  I was asleep before she’d closed the door.

  ***

  “Reed, wake up.” Someone shook me.

  “I just went to sleep,” I mumbled.

  “Reed, hon, it’s Cal,” Willie said. “He says he knows who owns U.S. International Realty and that you’d want to know.”

  My eyes flew open and I bolted upright. She held out my cell phone.

  “I’ve got to get ready for work,” she whispered.

  I nodded as I took the phone. “Cal,” I said. I started to rub my eyes, then winced. I blinked hard a few times, then glanced at the alarm clock. Noon. Four hours of sleep. Ugh.

  “Sorry to wake you but I thought you’d want to know that U.S. International Realty is owned by Frederick Unger. He lives in south Denver.”

  “Hold on.” I grabbed pen and paper from the nightstand and wrote down the address. “Good work, thanks.” I checked the address again. “Unger lives near Doctor McKenzie,” I mumbled. “Coincidence?”

  “Huh?” Cal said.

  “Nothing, just trying to figure this all out.”

  “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Go get the bad guy. But Reed?”

  “Yeah?”

  “These guys already beat you up.”

  “You don’t have to remind me.”

  “You want some help? I can go with you.”

  Cal was offering to leave his house to help me? That was huge.

  “No, I’ll go visit Unger now, but I’ll call you after I talk to him. If you don’t hear from me in a couple of hours, send the cavalry.”

  “Got it,” he said.

  I dres
sed in black jeans, dress shirt and loafers, told Willie where I was going, and rushed out the door, sure I was getting close to figuring out this case.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, I was ringing the bell at Unger’s house.

  “Frederick Unger?” I asked when the door opened.

  “Yes?” He was short and stocky, with curly brown hair and thick eyebrows.

  “I’m Frank Hardy,” I said. As a kid, I’d been a huge fan of The Hardy Boys and I used the detective patriarch, Franklin, as my pseudonym. I flashed my cheap badge.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid there is. A vehicle registered in your company’s name has been used in a crime.”

  “A crime?” A bewildered look crossed his face. Then he backed up. “Please, come in.”

  I followed him into a foyer and we went to the left through an arched doorway into a posh living room decorated with a leather couch, a loveseat, an ornately carved coffee table and expensive-looking paintings on the walls. A gas fireplace kept the room pleasantly warm.

  “Have a seat,” he said.

  He sat on the loveseat and I started to sit on the couch, then thought about Annie and her baseball bat, so I sat at an angle on the arm of the couch where I could still see into the hallway.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “What car?”

  “A black SUV registered to U.S. International Realty was used this last week in a crime.”

  “A black SUV? I don’t own an SUV, let alone a black one.” He brushed dog hair off his black slacks as he talked.

  I tried not to show my surprise. I gave him the license plate number.

  He shook his head. “We don’t have any SUVs.”

  I searched his face but he didn’t appear to be lying.

  “I followed the car after someone drove it away from a burglary,” I said, thinking that might spur something.

  “I don’t know anything about that. Wait.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll bet my partner owns it.”

  “Your partner?”

  “Yes. Evan Strickland. He’s the other part of U.S. International Realty. Unger and Strickland, see? Only he’s more of a silent partner, the one with the financial backing.”