by Chris Taylor
Moving to the feet of the patient, he ran his scalpel across the woman’s ankles. With an efficiency that came from experience, he stripped away the tendons and ligaments. He did the same to her wrists and carefully stored the tissues in the special containers that were used for that purpose. He could only hope the woman didn’t end up at the funeral home where his sister’s friend worked.
Thinking of Sam and Hannah and the fact that they’d gone to the police gave him a moment’s pause. Ever since Samantha had told him, it had been playing on his mind. He was more than concerned that at least two individuals had noticed his handiwork.
He should have known better than to illegally harvest tissues from a patient tagged for an autopsy, but after Sam’s birthday, when she’d first mentioned the increase in donor bodies, he’d talked to Richard and the man had assured him again the only pathologist to handle Alistair’s bodies would be him.
That obviously hadn’t happened, or Sam wouldn’t have seen what she did. He remembered the patient she spoke of. He’d been at work when he’d been paged by the ICU. In accordance with the State law and hospital protocol, he’d called Richard and had obtained his authority to harvest prior to the post mortem. At that time, Richard assured Alistair he’d conduct the PM himself. To make things worse, Alistair now had an embalmer from a funeral home taking note of the number of donor bodies coming her way. To have Hannah Langdon question the anomalies was just another thorn in his side.
The best thing to do would be to stop the illegal harvesting, at least until the interest in it had died down. Hell, thanks to his sister and her friend, even now he might have an over enthusiastic police sergeant about to knock on his door asking questions. He had no way of knowing how serious the officer had taken the girls’ concerns, but even so, it would be wise to keep a low profile for a little while.
He could always start up again in summer, but it would mean breaching his contract and that could be the end of the money until things picked up again. Furthermore, there was no guarantee Biologistics would rehire him. In fact, more likely the opposite. Charles Shillington probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him if he couldn’t come up with the contracted goods.
With a sigh, Alistair sutured the woman’s wounds closed and then covered her with a sheet. He was still in a quandary about what to do. Switching off the respirator, he waited a little while and then called a porter to transport the body to the hospital morgue. She’d be collected by whatever funeral home or crematorium the family had arranged, and with a bit of luck, that would be the end of it.
He wished he believed deep in his gut that it would be that simple. When had life become so complicated…?
* * *
Rohan swung the unmarked squad car alongside the curb and killed the engine. A large, bold sign fixed to the fence bordering the nearest property announced to the world that it was Forsyth’s Funeral Home. He glanced across at his partner who sat beside him.
“Have you ever been inside a funeral home, Bryce?”
“Nope, but it can’t be any worse than the morgue and I’ve pulled that short straw on more than one occasion.”
Rohan chuckled. “There are close to fifty funeral homes in the vicinity of the Sydney Harbour Hospital. For this stage of the investigation, I’ve chosen the five that are closest. I want to determine whether any other funeral homes have noticed an increase in donor bodies or other anomalies over the past few months.”
Bryce nodded. “It’ll be interesting to hear what they have to say. I can’t imagine that a rogue doctor, illegally removing body tissue, would take the time to enquire about where the bodies are to go for services and burial. In fact, that kind of information generally wouldn’t even have been decided upon at that time.”
“Yeah, that’s the way I see it, too. If it’s going on, I won’t be surprised if the majority of the undertakers, if not all of them, confirm Hannah Langdon’s story. But it doesn’t hurt to gather additional evidence and get a clearer picture about what we’re dealing with. The more information we’re armed with, the more pressure we can bring on the hospital to cooperate.”
Rohan had used the time since Samantha and Hannah attended the police station to get a clearer picture of the organ and tissue donation process before bringing his boss up to speed and he was surprised at what his research had revealed. Worldwide, it seemed the majority of people simply didn’t put their mind to organ and tissue donation and for those who did, most of them didn’t favor the idea. The reasons were many and varied, but Rohan understood them.
He glanced at Bryce. “Do you know the major barriers to people wanting to donate organs and tissue on their death?”
Bryce nodded. “Believe it or not, I do. Chanel raised the topic not long after the triplets were born. I must admit, I hadn’t given it any real thought before then. Chanel told me decisions not to donate are often because of a lack of understanding about brain death and how it’s determined, or because of a general mistrust of doctors.”
Rohan grinned. “Considering your lovely wife’s a doctor, it must have been tough for her to share that.”
“Not at all. She understands better than most why some people act with caution around the medical profession. She says it’s mostly from ignorance and fear. Most of us don’t have anything to do with hospitals and doctors and medical stuff unless we’re sick or injured and it’s then that we’re at our most vulnerable. Vulnerable people don’t trust easily. It’s just the way it is.”
“True. I’ve never spent any time inside a hospital unrelated to work. I’d probably be one of those freaking out if I was unwell enough to be admitted. Until Samantha Wolfe raised the issue of organ donation the other day, I hadn’t given it any real thought.”
Bryce shot him a wry smile. “Like thousands of other people.”
“I guess so. I’ve never been personally touched by the issue; never known anyone who faced certain death without a transplant. But I can see now how important it is to have the conversation with loved ones. From what I’ve read, it’s so much easier to deal with the issue of consent when everyone knows where they stand, particularly if you’re the next of kin.”
The men climbed out of the squad car and met on the pavement adjacent to the funeral home. The business was conducted in a federation-style house squatting among similarly ancient neighbors. A few streets over, the original buildings had been replaced with newer structures, all sporting an excess of style and glass, but modernization hadn’t yet made it this far.
There had been an attempt to keep up a garden, and a scattering of small flowers grew beside unenthusiastic patches of grass, but the building’s paintwork had been recently refreshed and the heritage colors of heavy cream, dark green and maroon contrasted nicely.
Rohan figured it wouldn’t matter what the place looked like. To grieving relatives, struggling to deal with the effort of arranging a funeral, any type of building more than likely evoked nothing but dread—if noticed at all. He turned to Bryce. “You ready?”
Bryce drew in a breath and squared his shoulders. “Hey, it’s a funeral home. How bad can it be?”
Rohan smothered a grin and pushed open the white picket gate that led up a concrete path to the front door. The gate squeaked in protest.
“It mustn’t see a lot of use,” Bryce mused. “Who could stand putting up with that kind of noise all day?”
“I can’t imagine a place like this is overrun with eager staff and it’s not likely they’d receive many repeat complaints from clients.”
Bryce offered a slight grin and then followed Rohan up the two steps that ended at a porch. The weathered boards creaked under their boots. An ancient doorbell was situated beside the front door.
“Let’s see if this works,” Rohan murmured as he pressed the button. He heard the sound of a bell echoing inside the house. Stepping away, he waited with Bryce for the door to open.
“How are Chanel and the girls, anyway?” Rohan asked in an attempt to fill the silence.
Rohan chuckled. “That’s why God made women the mothers. They’re more naturally skilled at multi-tasking. It’s a proven fact. Besides, work might provide some relief for her if you have good child care.”
“Yes, we’re lucky in that regard and you won’t get any argument from me about my wife’s ability to multi-task,” Bryce replied, shaking his head ruefully. “I’ve seen her in action.”
“She works at the Sydney Harbour Hospital, doesn’t she?”
“Yep. She won’t hear a bad word said about the place, despite what went on there a couple of years ago.”
Rohan frowned. “That must have been before my time. I was still stationed out at Penrith. What happened?”
“I was the lead detective on the investigation. It was how I met Chanel.” Bryce smiled at what was obviously a fond memory.
“Forget that mushy crap. What happened?”
Bryce’s expression turned grim. “One of the medical staff decided to play God. Doctor Leo Baker was murdering patients indiscriminately using poison from castor beans. My grandmother came very close to being one of his victims.”
At the mention of Leo Baker, Rohan’s foggy memories of the event suddenly returned. “I remember seeing reports in the media. He was a bigwig in the hospital. Right?”
“Yeah, it was a huge shock to everyone who knew him, including Chanel.”
“She knew him?”
“She trained under him. She was the first person to bring it to our attention. She turned up at the station looking like she’d just stepped off a fashion shoot and told me one of Sydney Harbour Hospital’s most respected surgeons was doing away with his patients. What could I do?” Bryce grinned. “A girl who had both looks and brains and boundless courage to boot. I had no choice but to marry her.”
Rohan smiled. He’d met Chanel on a few occasions at staff functions and found her charming and pretty and smart. Bryce was lucky to have fallen in love with a girl who had it all. Rohan wondered if he’d ever be so fortunate. That triggered thoughts of his parents and the conversation he’d had with his dad about his mother’s health and Rohan gave himself a mental reminder to call his father again and get another update.
The sound of the door opening snagged his attention and he focused on the short balding man who stood in the doorway. A pair of thick black-rimmed spectacles, reminiscent of something from the fifties, perched on the man’s bulbous, red nose. Gray whiskers dotted his face.
“Can I help you?” The man’s voice was scratchy, as if from lack of use. Bryce couldn’t help but think the man probably didn’t engage in too much conversation during his working hours.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Rohan Coleridge and this is Detective Sergeant Bryce Sutcliffe. We’re making a few enquiries about some of the bodies you’ve had through here the last couple of months.”
The man frowned and his face clouded with suspicion. “Detectives? Why would two detectives be interested in what I do?”
“Are you Mr Forsyth?” Rohan asked, ignoring the man’s question.
“Yes, I’m Melvin Forsyth.”
“So you’re the owner of Forsyth’s Funeral Home?” Bryce asked.
“Yes, I inherited it from my father and his father before him. We’ve been in the undertaking business for more than one hundred years.”
Melvin thrust back his thin shoulders and behind his thick glasses, his eyes gleamed with pride. Rohan wondered what it would be like to grow up knowing you were destined to spend your days working in a funeral home.
“Do you mind if we come inside and ask you a few more questions?” Bryce asked.
Once again, the man looked reticent. “Why?”
“We’re investigating a complaint,” Rohan explained patiently. “We’d like to talk to you about whether you’ve noticed anything strange about the bodies you’ve recently embalmed.”
Melvin looked affronted. “Complaint? Who’s made a complaint? I bet it was that big fat daughter of Eloisa Jackson. That woman insisted on choosing the very cheapest coffin for her mother and then had the hide to bargain me down on the price! She accused me of stealing money from people when they were at their most needy.
“Humph!” he scoffed. “From the size of her, she’s never been needy in her life. I tell you what, I wouldn’t want to be paying for her coffin. She’ll need one custom made. There won’t be a coffin off the shelf that will fit the likes of her!”
By now, the man was quite worked up. His breath came faster and his cheeks were flushed. He looked more alive than he had when he opened the door. Rohan hurried to reassure him.
“It’s nothing like that, Mr Forsyth. The complaint’s not about you. Do you mind if we come in so we can discuss it in more detail?”
With a dramatic sigh, Melvin turned and headed down a short corridor. To the right was a small waiting room. It was gloomy with heavy red velvet drapes that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows and blocked all but the tiniest glimmer of light. At the end of the corridor, there was a closed door with a “Staff Only—Do Not Enter” hand-printed note taped to its surface.
“How long is this going to take?” Melvin asked over his shoulder.
“Do you have someplace else to be?” Rohan asked.
“No, but I’m working back here. I need to finish what I’m doing. It’s not something I can start and then come back to later. It’s why I took so long to answer the door. I was hoping you’d give up and go away.”
Rohan nodded in understanding. “We’re happy to talk while you work.” He threw a glance at Bryce who suddenly paled. “Aren’t we Detective Sutcliffe?”
If looks could kill, Rohan would have died on the spot, but then, to his credit, Bryce nodded. “Of course, Detective Coleridge. No sense keeping Melvin from his work.”
“If that’s the case,” Melvin said, looking relieved, “come on through. I have Molly Matthews hooked up to the aspiration machine. It’s in the process of draining her gas and fluids and it’s really something I need to oversee. I’d already started it before you rang the doorbell.”
Bryce turned a paler shade of gray and even Rohan took a breath and braced himself for what lay beyond. Melvin opened the door, apparently oblivious to the discomfort and lack of enthusiasm of the officers who followed in his wake.
“Here she is! Oh, good! It hasn’t finished yet.”
Rohan and Bryce stepped into the average-sized room where Melvin had entered ahead of them. The body of an elderly woman lay naked on the steel table. Rohan expected her skin to be bluish and purple, like it usually was in death, but was surprised to find she looked more alive than dead.
“I’ve already injected the formaldehyde,” Melvin explained, taking note of Rohan’s surprise. “It gives the body color and a more lifelike appearance. It plumps out the features and helps the body look less drawn. It’s worked magic on Molly, don’t you think?” he grinned.
Rohan nodded in agreement. Though he hadn’t seen Molly before the process, he’d seen his fair share of dead bodies. He didn’t dare look at Bryce. “You’re good at your job, Melvin. For a moment there, I wasn’t sure if Molly was still alive.”
The man cackled in delight, as pleased as a small child with a bagful of candy. “Detective, you are too wicked!” He shook his head and then turned back to the body.
A trocar had been inserted just under the ribs and helped drain Molly Matthews of her body fluids. The aspiration machine continued to hum in the background. Melvin squinted at the suction pump and tubing that led from the trocar to a large sink and nodded in satisfaction.
“Almost done,” he murmured.
“Do you work on your own, Melvin?” he asked.
“Yes, I do a lot of the time. I have a young girl who comes in a few hours a day to assist me during our busier weeks. Over winter, we always see a greater influx of bodies. The cold weather. It’s hard on old bones.”
Rohan moved closer. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Bryce also stepped forward—albeit reluctantly.
“Have you noticed anything unusual this winter?” Rohan asked, taking a notepad and pen out of his shirt pocket.
“Not that I can think of.”
“Nothing strange about the bodies coming through?” Bryce added.
Melvin frowned and peered at him through his thick lenses. “Strange? In what way?”
“What about bodies with donated organs and tissues?” Rohan supplied, not wanting to lead the potential witness more than was necessary. “Have you noticed an increase in the number of them?”
“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.