Lady Justice and the Organ Traders

by Robert Thornhill

  The woman turned and gave her the finger.

  “Merry kiss-my-ass to you too!” she muttered.

  I hurried up to her and was about to remind her of rule #8 when I heard Ox in my ear piece.

  “Walt, they just hit your dad and Bernice! I’m on my way.”

  I looked at the far end of the store. Bernice was pelting the perp with cookies and Dad had a death grip on the kettle, but he was no match for the younger guy in the ski mask.

  One punch to the jaw and Dad was on the ground.

  The perp threw the kettle in the van and jumped in after it just as Ox came roaring through the lot with lights flashing and siren blaring.

  The van accelerated and I could see that once it had passed us, the driver would have a clear path to the street, resulting in another high speed chase.

  Then I noticed that one of the store employees had just retrieved a long string of shopping carts from the parking lot and was laboriously pushing them back to the store.

  I grabbed Willie and we sprinted to the carts, pushing the stock boy aside.

  “Push!” I said, leaning into the carts.

  Willie fell in beside me and together we had enough ‘umph’ to push the carts into the path of the oncoming van.

  The driver, seeing thirty carts blocking his escape route, slammed on the brakes. I saw him look back, but Ox was closing fast.

  Realizing that the van was going nowhere, the perps bailed out. They stopped for a moment to assess their situation.

  They were blocked in front by the carts, in the rear by Ox, and I had drawn my weapon, blocking the aisle away from the store.

  “Police!” I barked. “On the ground and put your hands behind your heads!”

  One of them dropped to his knees immediately, but the other one, seeing no one but an old woman blocking his way into the store, decided that he was going to make a run for it.

  Big mistake!

  By the time he had reached the entrance, Mary had grabbed her bat and was standing her ground.

  I saw her swing, I heard the ‘crack’ as the bat connected with the perp’s knee and I heard his bloodcurdling scream as he hit the ground.

  “Merry Christmas, asshole!” Mary said, glaring at the fallen perp.

  Once again, with help from my golden aged posse, Lady Justice had prevailed.

  CHAPTER 5

  With the bell-ringer burglars behind bars, I was hoping that we could get back to our regular routine, but it wasn’t to be.

  We were patrolling Independence Avenue on Kansas City’s East Side when the call came in.

  “Car 54, proceed to the homeless camp under the Chouteau Bridge. A body has been reported there.”

  Ox keyed the mike, “Copy that!”

  With the economy in the tank, the ranks of Kansas City’s homeless population was on the rise. Camps had been springing up all over town. Falling back on the ‘everybody has to be somewhere’ philosophy, these camps were pretty much ignored unless nearby residents complained about the trash and unsanitary conditions. When complaints reached a certain level, the Public Works Department and the cops were dispatched to clear the camp and make sure the occupants moved on. ‘Moving on’ simply meant that a new camp would spring up in another part of the city.

  We turned onto the access road that led to a grassy area under the bridge. Makeshift shelters crafted with cardboard and wooden pallets dotted the landscape. Occupants of the camp were huddled around 55 gallon drums belching smoke and flames. They looked with apprehension at our cruiser, probably wondering if we were about to uproot them --- again.

  It wasn’t a big surprise to see the rag-tag men and women dressed in thrift store hand-me-downs, but I was shocked to see dozens of frightened children clinging to their parents.

  I was about to bring this to Ox’s attention when we spotted a young man who was obviously not part of the indigenous population waving his arms.

  When we approached, he flashed his press credentials. “I’m Bob Woodall with the Kansas City Star,” he said extending his hand. “I came out this morning to do a feature story on the homeless population and I found that,” he said, pointing to a body partly concealed by some bushes.

  We approached the body.

  “Did you touch anything?” I asked.

  “Absolutely not! I found him just like you see him and called 911.”

  The man was Caucasian and appeared to be in his late seventies or early eighties. Like most of the camp’s residents, he was scruffy and unshaven.

  “The guy’s not wearing a coat,” Ox observed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone close by helped themselves.” He took a closer look. “I think I’ve seen this guy somewhere before, but I just can’t place it. Does he look familiar to you?”

  I had to admit that he did not.

  “There are no obvious signs of trauma,” I said. “No blood, no bruises. Could be he died of natural causes or exposure.”

  “I’ll call it in,” Ox said.

  We interviewed the camp’s residents that would talk to us while we waited for the M.E. and ambulance to arrive. Naturally, no one had seen a thing. A few of them did mention that the man was a newcomer that they hadn’t seen before.

  The M.E. confirmed our hypothesis that the man hadn’t met with foul play. There was no I.D. on the body, so the corpse would be transported to the morgue as a homeless John Doe.

  The M.E. and ambulance were long gone and we were wrapping up the scene when Ox blurted, “I got it!”

  “Got what?”

  “I know where I’ve seen that guy --- on TV --- last night! It was on the news. Authorities had issued a ‘Silver Alert.’ The old man was suffering from dementia and wandered away from a nursing home. Let me think ---- Roscoe something --- Roscoe Hawkins! That’s it! I remembered the Roscoe because it’s the same name as that little town on the Osage River.”

  “Let’s call it in. Maybe the family can meet us at the morgue and we can wrap this thing up.”

  When we arrived at the morgue, Dr. Grimm and a forty-something man were waiting for us.

  “Walt, Ox, this is John Hawkins. Mr. Hawkins, Officers Wilson and Williams discovered your father’s body this morning and recognized him from the Silver Alert.”

  “So sorry about your father,” I said, extending my hand.

  “Thank you. I figured this would happen someday. This isn’t the first time he’s wandered off.”

  “Are you ready to view the body?” Dr. Grimm asked.

  Hawkins nodded and we headed to the storage vaults.

  After reviewing a checklist, Grimm pulled open one of the sub-zero storage vaults.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Hawkins said, peering at the body. “This is not my father!”

  Ox looked at the body. “He’s right. This isn’t the man we found this morning.”

  “Must be some mistake,” Grimm muttered, looking at his chart again. “No, this is definitely where Mr. Hawkins is supposed to be. Let’s go check with the technician that signed him in.”

  Grimm led us to another room where a man wearing one of those plexi glass masks was peeling scorched clothing from a burn victim.

  “Wally,” Grimm said, “we need to talk to you about the homeless man that came in this morning.”

  Even through the plexi glass, we could see the fear that registered on his face. He looked furtively around the room, probably assessing his chances of escape, but we were blocking the only path out of the room.

  The fear turned to resignation. He laid down his scalpel and folded his arms. “I want a lawyer.”

  The captain, Ox and I were watching through the one-way mirror as Detective Derek Blaylock interviewed Wally Burton in the presence of his lawyer.

  “I want a deal!” Wally said, defensively.

  “Depends on what you have to offer,” Blaylock replied. “Let’s start with what happened to Roscoe Hawkins body.”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Didn’t the ambulance bring him t
o the morgue?”

  “Nope!”

  The captain interrupted, sending a message to Blaylock’s earpiece. “Derek, this has all the earmarks of a tissue theft operation. Offer immunity if his information leads to an arrest of the people running this thing.”

  Blaylock relayed the offer and the attorney nodded.

  Wally took a deep breath. “All I know is this --- I get a text that a body is coming in and that I’m to replace it with one of our burners.”

  “Burners! What’s a burner?”

  “When a John Doe comes in, we keep them on ice for a while just in case somebody comes for them --- like this Hawkins guy. If nobody shows up, we cremate them and hold onto the ashes a while longer. We’ve always got burners in the cooler, so when I get one of these texts, I just re-label the burner to match up with the stiff that’s supposed to be coming in. No one knows the difference.”

  “So what’s in this for you?” Blaylock asked.

  Wally looked at his attorney who nodded his head. “A thousand bucks. Every time I do this, I find an envelope under my car seat with the cash.”

  “What are they doing with the bodies?”

  “I already told you. I don’t have a clue.”

  “Which ambulance drivers are involved?”

  “Again, no idea. I never see them. All I get is the text. That’s all I know!”

  The captain shook his head. “First the guy in the car with the missing kidney and now a missing corpse. This is way bigger than we thought. We’re going to need some help.”

  At squad meeting a few days later, I was surprised to see Agent Blackburn from the FBI. I had worked with Blackburn on several cases and we had developed a mutual respect for one another.

  The captain introduced Blackburn to the squad. “Recent developments point to the possibility that a ring trafficking human organs and tissues has set up shop in Kansas City. This is not just a local or even a national problem, it is a world-wide problem that the FBI has been battling for years. Please give Agent Blackburn your full attention.”

  “Thank you, Captain. After reviewing your cases, it appears that what we have is a beast with two heads. One head involves the transplanting of vital organs from living donors and the other involves harvesting tissues from cadavers. The legal aspect of these transactions is governed by the FDA.

  “Unfortunately, the demand for organs and tissues far outweighs the supply and that makes fertile ground for black marketers. Let’s talk about organs first. The kidney is the organ most commonly transplanted. Thousands of people with renal failure are on a waiting list. Unfortunately, many of them die every year because the supply does not meet the demand. Advocates say that legalizing and regulating the sale of organs would solve this problem, but at this time the only country in the world that allows the sale of body parts is Iran.

  “Where there is demand, someone will find a way to meet the need. An excellent example can be found during the prohibition years. When alcohol was illegal, bootleggers stepped in to wet the country’s whistles. Likewise, bootleggers of organs and tissues are springing up all over the world.

  “A kidney may go as low as $1,200.00 in some undeveloped countries or as high as $150,000 here in the U.S. The unfortunate Mr. Grubbs most likely was recruited for his kidney and offered a handsome sum. If the operation had been a success or if his body had been fully consumed in the fire, we may never have known it had taken place. When it’s successful, it’s a victimless crime. The donor is happy with his cash and the recipient is thrilled with his new lease on life --- but it’s still illegal.

  “Body snatching is a completely different story. The disappearance of Roscoe Hawkins’ body is a perfect example. A whole body, parted out, can be worth up to $150,000.00. Tendons can be used to repair torn ACL’s, veins can be used in heart bypass operations, bone can be turned into plates and screws and skin is sold by the square inch. All told, it amounts to over a billion dollars a year worldwide.

  “Bootleggers have come up with ingenious but grotesque ways to harvest their body parts. Funeral homes have proven to be particularly susceptible. Once a loved one is transported from the home or hospital, families never see the body again until it’s in the casket at the service and then it’s only shown from the waist up. Most of us don’t go poking around on grandpa’s body, but one little boy did. While the parents were busy at a family night service, little Johnny pried open grandpa’s eyelids only to find the eyes missing. His screams brought the family running. A closer examination revealed that the man’s corneas had been harvested as well as all the skin and bone from the waist down. His legs had been replaced with PVC pipe. Apparently, the funeral home had been in cahoots with a bootlegger for years.

  “So here’s where we stand. It would appear that this is not just a fly-by-night operation. These guys are pros and have insulated their operation every step of the way. Our guy at the morgue was a total dead end. He had never meet anyone else in the operation and the texts he received were from an untraceable burner cell phone.

  “Most likely, we’ll never get a complaint from a living organ donor. We just lucked out on this one because the fire department was close by. All of you need to keep your eyes and ears open, follow up with every corpse that you encounter and most important, take a closer look at anything that seems suspicious.

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  After we were dismissed, Officer Dooley, the precinct wise guy, ambled up to Ox.

  “I’ll bet you’re proud.”

  “Why is that?” Ox asked, bewildered.

  “Because if skin is sold by the square inch, you’re worth about twice as much as the rest of us.”

  “Bite me, Dooley,” Ox replied, punching him in the arm.

  We were heading for our cruiser when the captain hailed us. “Walt, Ox, in my office please.”

  When we entered, Agent Blackburn extended his hand, “Good to see you both again. I’ll get right to the point. Walt, are you claustrophobic?”

  The question took me by surprise. “Uhhh, not that I’m aware of. Why is that important?”

  Blackburn and the captain exchanged glances. “We may have a job for you.”

  I was halfway expecting something like that. Ox and I aren’t regularly called to the captain’s office unless there’s something to be done that nobody else wants to do.

  “Exactly what did you have in mind that relates to whether or not I’m claustrophobic?” I asked, apprehensively.

  “As you know, the technician at the morgue was a dead end. We don’t have any idea how many ambulance drivers are involved in the scheme or where they transport the bodies. Wally Burton has agreed to cooperate with us in the investigation for a reduced sentence, so we are keeping him at the morgue hoping that he will be contacted again for another body switch.”

  “And if he is?”

  “Then we will put a plan into motion that will, at the very least, identify one of the ambulance drivers involved in the operation. We will put a tracking device on the body and follow the driver to his drop-off location.”

  “So you’re going to be waiting for another homeless guy to kick the bucket to put your plan in motion?”

  “See, that’s the problem. We might get a body next week, but it might be six weeks or even six months. We need to get on this thing right now. That’s why we were hoping that you would help us out.”

  Suddenly it hit me. They needed a corpse and I was it!

  The fact that I was the oldest cop in the department had made me the go-to guy for some very questionable assignments. I was a john in a prostitution sting because I looked ‘old and needy,’ and a poor soul on his deathbed when we were after a new Dr. Death practicing euthanasia because I was the closest thing they had to a cadaver. Now, it seemed, they actually wanted me to be a cadaver! **

  Blackburn could see that I was putting two and two together. “It’s really quite simple. We’ll stage a crime scene and make a call for an ambulance to pick up the body of a homeless man.<
br />
  If Wally Burton gets the text, that’s where you come in. We’ll put you in a body bag wearing a tracking device --- that’s why I asked about the claustrophobia. You’ll be strapped on a gurney and loaded into the ambulance. We’ll simply track you to the drop-off location. The whole thing shouldn’t take more than a half hour. What do you say?”

  ************************************

  ** Lady Justice and Dr. Death

  http://amzn.to/H20Erx

  I glanced at Ox. The big guy was biting his lip trying not to giggle.

  “Won’t the driver check to see if I’m really dead?”

  “Nope, the M.E. will be there. Why would he have any reason to doubt?”

  Blackburn could see that I was struggling with the idea.

  “Look, Walt. You saw Leroy Grubbs body, cut and burned. No telling how many more there have been that we just don’t know about. This is our chance to put these creeps out of business, but we need your help.”

  Blackburn had played the sympathy card and it had worked. I didn’t know Leroy that well, but he was one of my tenants. This was personal.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “What’s next?”

  “Well, it will take several days to get you ready ---.”

  “Ready? What do you mean ‘ready?’”

  “Look at you, all shaved, hair combed and dapper. You certainly don’t look like a homeless guy right now. You’ll probably need three or four days without shaving or bathing to look the part. You get grubby and we’ll get you some soiled clothing from the Salvation Army. You have to be convincing in case the driver sneaks a peek.”

  Swell! The last time I played a homeless guy, Maggie made me sleep on the couch and I was forbidden to come within six feet of her, let alone touch her.

  I should get extra pay for loss of consortium!

  As I suspected, Maggie invoked the ‘no touch’ rule. Her initial response was much like Ox’s. She tried hard not to laugh, but without much success. Frankly, I was overjoyed with her response. Several of my recent undercover escapades had come close to actually making me a corpse and Maggie was becoming less tolerant of the assignments for which I was being ‘volunteered.’ **