by Chris Taylor
“Oh, boy!” Hannah shrieked, with laughter in her eyes. “What did you say?”
“What could I say? He’d aged twenty years and had put on thirty pounds since it had been taken—if it was even him at all. I seriously have my doubts on that score.”
“You poor thing!” Hannah sympathized. “What did you do?”
“There was nothing I could do! We met outside the restaurant. He’d reserved a table. It was a nice restaurant, too. I could hardly turn tail and run when I saw him, despite the fact he looked old enough to be my father.”
“So you stayed and had dinner?”
“Yes, although I went straight to the main meal, declined dessert and coffee and got the hell out of there as quickly as I could.”
Hannah giggled. “Did he ask if he could see you again?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no!” Hannah laughed, throwing her hands up in the air.
Sam screwed up a napkin and threw it at her. “You’re making fun of a very traumatic experience. Have some sympathy for your best friend.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah responded, looking anything but. “So, does this mean you’re staying away from online dating sites?”
Sam closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “It’s all right for you. You’re young and beautiful and sexy. You could have any man you choose! I’m thirty-four, not so beautiful and definitely not sexy. It’s not so easy for me. I want to fall in love and get married and be a mother to a handful of children. I’ve dreamed of it since I was a little girl.”
Hannah’s expression softened. “For a start, you’re not old. Thirties are the new twenties, haven’t you heard? Nobody finds the love of their life in their twenties anymore. We’re all too busy with our careers and climbing the corporate ladder. Girls and guys who marry in their twenties are so yesterday.” She rolled her eyes and Sam couldn’t help but grin.
Hannah continued in a no-nonsense tone. “What’s more, what do you mean, you’re not sexy? You’re gorgeous! All that dark, wavy hair and big brown eyes and your skin—it’s flawless. I’d die to have skin like that. Well, maybe not die, but you know what I mean. I only have to be out in the sun for ten minutes and my nose turns pink. You look like you have a tan all year round and I know it doesn’t come from a bottle. Give yourself a break, Sam. Take a moment and look at yourself and see what everyone else does.”
“Then why haven’t I found my prince charming yet?” she asked, unable to keep the whine from her voice.
“Have patience, honey. He’s out there, I’m sure of it. Maybe you’re trying too hard?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, stop putting so much effort into online boyfriends and go out and live your life. In the real world. With real men who you can tell even from a distance whether they’re going to appeal. It’s old fashioned, but guess what? It’s worked for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years! Give it a go, girl! What do you have to lose?”
Sam stared at her friend for a long moment and slowly nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been so busy it feels like all I ever do is get up, go to work and come home again. I can’t expect to find someone like that. It’s time I brought back a little balance in my life. We could go dancing or even to a live show. Or maybe even just to one of those hip city bars we talked about, where the professionals like to hang out.”
Hannah beamed. “Exactly! Now you’re getting into the spirit!”
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course! What are best friends for?”
The girls fell into another companionable silence, each lost in their thoughts. Sam picked up her beer and took another drink. Hannah chewed on another slice of pizza. When they were finished, Sam collected the leftovers and tossed them into the trash. Hannah rinsed the plates and left them to dry.
“Would you like another beer?” Sam asked.
“Thanks, it would be nice.”
“It might even be warm enough outside to sit on the balcony.”
With drinks in hand, the girls headed to the sliding door that connected the living room to a small balcony. A light breeze greeted them, but the air temperature wasn’t cold.
“It feels like spring already,” Hannah smiled.
“Yes. Soon we’ll be complaining it’s too hot!”
Hannah merely smiled again and took another sip from her beer. Sam sat in a deck chair and Hannah took a seat opposite. For a moment, the girls enjoyed the silence until Hannah let out a heavy sigh.
“My, that sounds ominous,” Sam teased.
“Maybe it is.”
Sam straightened in her chair, a little alarmed at the solemn expression on her friend’s face. “Don’t tell me Aaron is giving you grief again? Sorry, I should have asked earlier how things were. When will that man face the fact that the two of you are over and you’re never going back?”
“No, it’s not Aaron. I haven’t heard from him in weeks, thank God. I think he’s finally gotten the message we’re through.”
“Then why do you look so troubled?”
Hannah stared at her and then sat forward in her chair. Her shoulders slumped on another heavy sigh.
A sense of foreboding crept through Sam’s veins. “Hannah… You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“You know when we were talking about the increase in the number of bodies coming in with missing organs?”
Sam grimaced. “Donated organs. They’re not exactly missing. I assume someone knows where they are.” She attempted a smile at her joke, but it fell flat. Hannah’s expression remained serious.
“I don’t receive any paperwork, except the patient’s personal details and the name of the hospital that sends them. I only assume the organs and tissues have been donated because, what else would have happened to them?”
Sam frowned. She stared hard at Hannah and her pulse picked up its pace. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not sure, but yesterday I had a body that was missing nearly everything.”
“What do you mean, everything?”
Hannah spread her arms out wide, sloshing her beer. “Everything.”
Sam shook her head in confusion. “Like, all of the organs?”
“I couldn’t tell just by looking at the suture lines which organs were gone, but from the position and length of the incisions, I’m guessing most of them had been removed. On top of that, there were no tendons or ligaments; both corneas and sclera were missing; even a large piece of skin. I didn’t immediately realize the skin had been removed too, because it had been taken from the deceased’s back. It wasn’t until I’d turned the body over to clean it that I saw the fresh wound.” She shook her head. “It was awful. I think there’s something weird going on.”
Sam stared at her in shock, her heart now thumping double time. She could barely believe what she was hearing. Never in her years as a doctor and pathologist had she heard of people donating their ligaments and tendons, or even pieces of skin. Though it was possible to reuse that type of tissue, most people weren’t aware of that and didn’t pay them any heed. She thought back to Natalie Piccoli and the missing consent form and unease trickled like icy water down her spine.
“I’m thinking about going to the police.”
Hannah’s quiet words jerked Sam out of her troubled thoughts. “The police?”
“Yes. I’ve got a bad feeling. This patient was eighty-six. Who gives consent for that kind of carnage on behalf of someone who’s eighty-six? Something’s not right.”
“I agree. Have you spoken to Max?” Sam asked, referring to Hannah’s boss and the owner of the funeral home.
“Yes, but he barely listened. He doesn’t care and he doesn’t want to get involved, particularly if it might affect his business. A body’s a body as far as Max’s concerned. ‘There’s no bringing them back, so why worry about how they went out?’ That’s Max’s motto.”
“Empathetic right to the very end, isn’t he?”
“Yep, that’s Max,” Hannah responded, her voice
dry. She took another mouthful of beer and looked out across the city. Thousands of twinkling lights from distant houses and shop fronts lit up the night. She turned back to Sam. “How about you? Have you noticed anything strange lately?”
Sam frowned and shook her head. “Apart from the rush of donor bodies last month, not really. But now that you mention it, today I autopsied a woman who was missing all of her major organs…but the tissues you mentioned were still there. I must admit, at the time I found it a little strange that someone would donate so many organs. It’s not the usual thing we see.”
“Where did she come from?”
“The Sydney Harbour Hospital.”
“Who authorized the organ removal prior to autopsy?”
“Richard Davis.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“No. I only conducted the PM this afternoon. Staffing told me he was ill, along with a couple of others. That’s the reason I was called in. I’m sure he wouldn’t take kindly to me contacting him.”
“What did Richard think about the sudden increase in donors last month? I assume you spoke with him about it.”
“Yes, I did. I can’t remember exactly what he said. He didn’t seem too concerned. I also mentioned it to my brother, but he suggested it could simply be a response to the fact we were in the middle of a harsh winter and that time of year, we always experience an increase in the number of deaths and correspondingly, an increase in the number of donor bodies. And of course, there’s the success of his campaign to consider.”
Sam pursed her lips in thought. “At the time, his explanation seemed reasonable. Of course, I didn’t know about what you were seeing at your work, and what you’re still seeing.”
Silence fell between them as they were once again caught up in their thoughts, but this time, it was far from easy. Sam finished her beer and set the bottle down on the small cane table that squatted on the balcony between them. The breeze had picked up and now had a distinct chill to it. She shivered and hugged herself.
“It’s cooling off. I might go in,” she said, standing and then moving toward the sliding door.
Hannah looked up at her with a troubled expression. “I still think I should go to the police.”
Sam stopped and turned. “And tell them what?”
“I don’t know! But something’s not right. I can feel it in here,” Hannah said, placing a hand over her heart. “I owe it to the deceased to make sure they’re treated with respect, right to the very end. It’s my job to protect them, to make sure that happens and right now, I’m horribly afraid it’s not.”
“We’re talking about people who were mostly patients of the Sydney Harbour Hospital. What if my brother’s involved?” Sam whispered, hardly daring to give the awful thought voice.
“We don’t know anything for sure.”
“All of the cases that came to my attention had Alistair noted as the surgeon,” she said, feeling more and more concerned.
“He’s the head surgeon, Sam. The fact that his name was on a few cases doesn’t mean anything.”
Relief surged through her. “Yes, you’re right. I’m being silly. Of course Alistair’s not involved.”
“The only way we’re going to find out what’s going on is to go to the police and let them know what we’ve been seeing. If they take this on, the hospital will have to provide them with the records. You and I aren’t going to be given access to them. They’re confidential.”
Sam nodded, knowing what Hannah said was true, even though the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to their suspicions.
“Will you come with me?”
“To the police?” Sam asked, even though she hadn’t misunderstood. She wanted to buy time, even a few seconds, to decide what her answer would be.
Hannah looked at her solemnly. “Yes.”
“I… I…”
“Sam!” Hannah cried in exasperation. “Something’s not right. You know it as well as I do. It could be any number of doctors in that hospital. There’s nothing to say it’s your brother.”
“And if it is?” Sam whispered, hardly able to lift her gaze from her feet.
“Then so be it,” Hannah softly, with sadness and resignation in her eyes.
A sudden surge of anger rushed through Sam’s veins and she clenched her fists. “No! No, it isn’t that easy! Alistair’s the best brother a girl could ever have! My dad died when I was a baby! Alistair took on all the responsibilities of the man around the house. He carried me across the burrs when I went outside without my shoes; he helped change my dirty diapers; he even threatened to beat up Sandy Packer when he refused to take me to the prom. He’s always been there for me! He’s my brother and I love him!”
Hannah pushed away from her chair and moved to stand close to Sam. Her eyes were solemn, her face was beyond sad. She reached out and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. Sam flinched from the contact and Hannah’s hand dropped away.
“I understand, Sammie. I understand about all of those things. Your brother’s a saint. He’s the nicest man I know. Of course he isn’t involved in something so horrible! He’s good and kind and compassionate. He loves his patients! But someone is responsible. And families of the deceased have a right to know. People planning their deaths need to know we don’t take their wishes lightly. At the very least, it needs to be investigated. If Alistair’s innocent, you have nothing to worry about.”
Sam stared at her friend, suddenly wishing she’d never agreed to meet. She should have simply declined Hannah’s dinner invitation and gone home to bed. Now it was too late. The conversation had happened and it couldn’t be undone. It was clear Hannah intended to report what she’d discovered to the police, with or without Sam.
With resolve firming up inside her, she held Hannah’s gaze. “And if he isn’t?”
Her friend stared right back at her and Sam could tell Hannah was silently pleading with her to understand and do the right thing. A long moment later, Sam cursed under her breath, pushed past Hannah and headed back inside.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dear Diary,
What have I done? I’m terrified I’ve created a monster. I’ve sold my soul to the devil and there’s no telling he’ll ever give it back. And what is anyone without a soul?
* * *
The phone near Rohan’s elbow rang and he leaned over to answer it.
“Detective Coleridge.”
“Detective, it’s Constable Foley downstairs. I have a couple of women here who wish to speak with someone about the illegal harvesting of human organs and tissue. Are you available?”
Rohan bit back a sound of surprise. It wasn’t every day he took a call like this. He glanced at his watch. He was intrigued and there was still an hour before his shift ended. Besides, he was the only one around. “Sure,” he replied. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
Replacing the phone on its cradle, Rohan pushed away from his desk and headed for the stairwell that connected the first floor with the ground level. Taking the stairs two at a time, he then strode across the worn linoleum and punched his security code into the panel on the door that divided the entry to the stairs from the reception. The door beeped and he swung it open and stepped into the public waiting area.
His gaze was immediately drawn to a striking, tall blonde who stood closest to the door. With bumps and curves in all the right places, she wore her Levis and long sleeved T-shirt with casual panache. The other woman had her back to him. She was as dark as the blonde was fair. Shorter in stature, but with a tidy figure that was in proportion to her height, there was something about her that seemed familiar. He stilled, trying to place her in his memory. She turned to face him and it came back to him in a rush.
He shook his head in surprise. “Samantha Wolfe? Is that you?”
Surprise and recognition flared in her familiar brown eyes before it was quickly replaced by an expression that bordered on angry. With her lips compressed, she reached up and pushed a length of wavy, dark hair from her eyes. H
er expression was far from friendly.
He frowned and wondered at her strange reaction. As far as he could recall, the last time he’d seen her she hadn’t been upset, and yet it was clear she was now. Perhaps it would be better for another detective to conduct the interview? The woman was obviously already on edge. Getting to the bottom of any story was always more difficult when the interviewee was hostile.
But what excuse would he give? He didn’t have a clue about the cause of her antagonism. Besides, there was no one else upstairs. The other rostered on detectives had left in a group to enforce a search warrant on the headquarters of one of the city’s most notorious biker gangs. They wouldn’t be back anytime soon.
The only reason Rohan had been confined to his desk was because he was still recovering from a football injury he’d sustained the weekend before. Detective Superintendent Holt Denman had refused to allow him to take part in a raid that could quite possibly turn physical. His boss had enough to worry about without concerning himself with an officer who wasn’t at his peak. At least, that’s the excuse Holt had given when he’d ordered Rohan to stay put.
So now he had the dubious pleasure of interviewing a blonde who looked like she could grace any catwalk and the angry woman from his past who stood defiantly beside her. A woman who was even now watching him through narrowed eyes. With no other option, Rohan stepped forward and held out his hand to the blonde and shot her a friendly smile.
“Good afternoon, I’m Detective Rohan Coleridge.”
“Hannah Langdon,” the blonde answered and shook his hand firmly.
Rohan turned to her companion. “Samantha. How nice it is to see you again. It’s been awhile.”
To her credit, she took his proffered hand, but gave it the most perfunctory handshake. Hannah looked from one to the other, a questioning look on her face. “You two know each other?”
Rohan noticed Samantha did little more than offer the tiniest of nods. He wasn’t quite so reticent.