by Chris Taylor
“The usual donor body that comes through has the standard surgical scar indicating the heart and lungs have been removed, but the more recent ones appeared to have been cleared of a whole lot more. The incisions have extended all the way through to the lower abdomen, as if everything inside has been removed. I can’t think of another reason for making such a long incision.”
It was exactly as Hannah Langdon had described. Rohan made eye contact with Bryce and could tell his partner was thinking much the same thing.
“What about other areas of the body? Have you noticed anything unusual?” Rohan asked.
Melvin lifted a large bottle of fluid off a nearby shelf and proceeded to inject it into the body on the table. “I’m distributing the fluid between the thoracic and abdominal cavities,” he explained, noticing Rohan’s curiosity. “I saturate all the organs to eliminate any residual odors.”
Rohan nodded and well understood the reasons why most people chose to go through life oblivious to what happened to them after they died. Melvin’s work practices fell fairly and squarely into that category. Still, if Rohan wanted to ask questions, he had no choice but to listen to the undertaker’s enthusiastic explanations. Keeping up his part by plastering an interested expression on his face, Rohan steered the conversation back to the investigation.
“How often do people donate other types of tissue, such as skin or ligaments and tendons?” he asked.
“Not often at all, Detective. It’s a shame, really. So much more could be put to use. I don’t think enough people turn their mind to how much good donating their organs can do. Of the small number who do, they usually restrict their donation to the standard organs: heart, kidneys, liver and lungs.”
“So, have you seen any recent bodies with wounds that might indicate ligaments, tendons and the like could have been harvested?” Rohan asked, needing to make sure.
“No, I don’t think so. Not in the last little while, anyway. It would have been six or eight months ago since I saw one that was missing skin.” He turned back to the body on the table and removed the apparatus he’d used to insert the cavity fluid into Molly Matthews. A moment later, he pulled a container out of the cupboard that was filled with cotton wool. Calmly and efficiently, he began packing the woman’s mouth and nose.
Rohan looked across at Bryce and indicated with a movement of his head that perhaps it was time to leave. Bryce’s face flooded with relief. Rohan turned back to Melvin who was now stitching the mouth of Molly Matthews closed.
“We’ll leave you to it, Melvin. We appreciate your time,” Rohan said. Bryce lifted his hand in farewell and both men turned and headed toward the door. Rohan had just reached for the handle when the door opened. He almost collided with the young girl who stood on the other side.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she gasped. “I didn’t realize you were there.”
She looked like she was no more than eighteen or nineteen. Her skin was scarred with severe acne, but she had the bluest eyes Rohan had ever seen.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. We were on our way out.”
“Oh, Jane, you’re here. That’s great,” Melvin said, looking up from Molly Matthews. “I got an early start on this one, but there are another four in the fridge. I’d appreciate it if you could get started right away.”
“Of course,” Jane replied.
Rohan stepped back to allow the girl he assumed was Forsyth’s assistant, into the room. She threw Rohan and Bryce a look filled with curiosity.
“I take it these men aren’t making funeral arrangements, Mr Forsyth, given that they’re back here.”
“You’re right, Jane,” Melvin replied, as he squirted a dob of peach-scented shampoo into Molly’s wispy, white hair. “These men are detectives. They’re making enquiries about the bodies with donated organs we’ve had come through the funeral home over the past few months.”
Jane nodded, but Rohan noticed a new tension in her stance. “What did you tell them?” she asked, keeping her gaze on her boss.
“I told them we’d had a greater number than usual, but I haven’t really noticed anything else out of the ordinary—and it’s winter, after all.”
Rohan watched Jane closely. She chewed on her lip and looked both scared and uncertain all at once. He wondered what had caused her curious reaction and instinctively directed his next question to her.
“What about you, Jane? Have you noticed anything unusual?”
For a second, she froze and then sighed quietly, almost looking relieved. “It’s… It’s really weird that you’re here. Only yesterday I was working on a woman who bore signs that she’d donated some of her organs, but…there was more.”
“What do you mean?” Rohan asked.
She drew in a deep breath. “The woman was missing a couple large areas of skin on her back and on the back of her legs. She also had wounds across both wrists and ankles. It was weird and awful and it stuck in my mind… It made me feel sick. I wasn’t even sure I could come in today.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Melvin asked, looking stricken.
“You were on the phone when I finished up yesterday. I had an appointment in the city. I couldn’t wait around.” She turned back to Rohan and Bryce.
“I’ve only worked here a few months, but I’ve never seen anything like it. It was lucky the family requested that she be buried in a pantsuit. I don’t know how I would have concealed the incisions if they’d wanted her dressed in shorts and a T-shirt.”
“Is the body still here?” Bryce asked hopefully.
Melvin shook his head. “No, the funeral was scheduled first thing this morning.”
“What do you think about the incisions, Melvin?” Rohan asked.
“It’s more likely than not the wrist and ankle wounds were the result of ligament and tendon removal. The skin removal speaks for itself.”
Rohan digested the information and couldn’t help but compare the similarities with the body Hannah Langdon had spoken of earlier in the week. Another question occurred to him.
“Which hospital have these donor bodies come from?” he asked the funeral director. “Do you keep a record of such things?”
“No, but there’s no need,” Melvin replied. “We’re right down the street from the Sydney Harbour Hospital and it’s the only hospital that services this area. Most people who live around here, and end up in there, come here if they don’t make it out alive. I call it near-ology, Detective. Most families choose the funeral home closest to where they live. It’s convenient and also a way of giving back to their community, you could say.”
“What about the nursing homes? There are a few of them in this area,” Rohan said.
“Yes, and we get our fair share from those establishments. In fact, they keep us even busier than the hospital, but you asked about donor bodies. Nursing homes don’t go in for organ and tissue harvesting. They’re neither qualified nor equipped to handle it. The only people who have even any chance of seeing their organs and tissue donated are those that die in a major hospital, and even then it doesn’t always work out.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rohan and Bryce left the premises of the fifth and final funeral home on Rohan’s list and climbed back into the squad car. They’d been at it all day and both of them were beyond fatigued. Rohan didn’t want to step inside another embalming room for the rest of his life and he was sure Bryce felt the same. Both were convinced they’d never get the smell out of their clothes.
“So,” Bryce said, turning to tug on his seatbelt, “what do you think?”
Rohan pursed his lips. “Most of the people we’ve spoken to agree they’ve seen an increase in the number of donor bodies and the majority of the bodies have come from the Sydney Harbour Hospital.”
“Yeah, although given that the Sydney Harbour Hospital is the closest major medical facility to our funeral homes, it’s not exactly surprising, is it?”
“It’s a pity the hospital only supplies the funeral parlors with the
most basic of information. It would be interesting to see if there’s a pattern with regard to the doctors involved in the care of these people.”
“We should call Deborah Healy.”
Rohan quirked an eyebrow. “Who’s Deborah Healy?”
“She’s one hell of a good-looking woman, even though she must be close to fifty—and she runs a tight ship. I admire her and I wouldn’t want her job for quids.”
“Which is?” Rohan continued to stare at Bryce, waiting for his partner to get to the point.
“She’s the general manager of the Sydney Harbour Hospital.”
Rohan was filled with eagerness and anticipation. “I think we need to meet with Ms Healy and sit down for a little chat.”
Bryce grinned. “You won’t get any argument from me.”
* * *
Rohan and Bryce climbed the flight of stairs that led to Deborah Healy’s office. Rohan had called ahead to arrange an appointment. He’d half expected to be put off until the morning, given that the day was almost done, but the general manager had agreed to see them within the hour.
She’d enquired about the reason for their visit and Rohan had told her. Her immediate expression of shock and denial hadn’t surprised him. Until the recent Doctor Leo Baker scandal, the Sydney Harbour Hospital had enjoyed an enviable reputation as being among the most prestigious hospitals in the country.
The executive suites were in an older part of the hospital and still showed signs of the grandness and style that had gone into the design of the building more than a century and a half ago. Original stained glass windows were surrounded by heavy wooden frames painted a forest green color. The late afternoon sunlight that shone through them, fell softly onto the polished wooden stairs beneath Rohan’s feet.
They reached the landing at the top. Having been there before, Bryce gave directions and within a few moments Rohan was knocking on the closed door. It was opened almost immediately, and he was impressed by the general manager’s punctuality. The middle-aged woman who greeted them was smartly dressed in a woollen suit of navy-blue, threaded with gold. A silk blouse in pale pink complemented the outfit.
“Good morning, I’m Detective Sergeant Coleridge and this is my partner, Detective Sergeant Sutcliffe. Are you Ms Healy?”
The woman chuckled. “Good heavens, no! I’m Veronica Blackwell, her receptionist. I’ll let Ms Healy know you’re here. Please, come in and take a seat.”
Rohan and Bryce entered the room. The waiting area was small but tidy, with a dark leather sofa against one wall. A spread of magazines was artfully arranged across the glass top of a wooden coffee table.
“It looks just like it did the last time I was here,” Bryce murmured. Rohan acknowledged his comment with a nod.
“Ms Healy will be with you in a moment,” Veronica advised. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea?”
Rohan glanced at Bryce and answered for both of them. “No, thanks. We’re fine.”
The woman nodded and returned to her seat behind the counter. A moment later, a door to their left opened and a tall, slender woman wearing a tailored, olive-green suit and lemon-colored blouse strode into the waiting room. Without pause, she came straight to where they were sitting and extended her hand.
“Detective Coleridge, I’m Deborah Healy.”
Rohan stood and shook the proffered hand. The general manager turned her attention to Bryce.
“Detective Sutcliffe, it’s nice to see you again. I trust Chanel and your children are well?”
“Yes, thank you. They’re fine.”
“Doctor Sutcliffe is one of the finest on our team. We’re very pleased she decided to return to work after the triplets were born, although I was a little surprised. It must take some doing, trying to juggle everything.”
Bryce nodded in agreement. “Yes, it certainly does.”
“Well, anyway, give my regards to your wife. Shall we?”
She turned on one four-inch, black leather heel and headed back the way she’d come. Rohan couldn’t help but check out her shapely butt. She must have been edging fifty, but she was trim and toned and had a pair of attractive, stocking-encased legs that would put women half her age to shame.
They followed her into a corner office that overlooked the front entryway of the hospital, a floor below. The room was airy and bright. Sunshine poured through the tall windows that lined the wall behind her desk, flooding the room with natural light. Potted plants that were not only real, but flourishing stood along the window ledge. Rohan was relieved the place smelled nothing like a hospital. He’d had enough of the stench of cleaning fluid, formaldehyde and other undesirable odors to last him a lifetime.
“Please, take a seat.”
Rohan turned. Three chairs stood opposite a large wooden desk. He was surprised to discover one of them was occupied. The general manager made the introductions.
“This is Doctor Alistair Wolfe. After you told me you were enquiring about our organ and tissue donation unit, I asked Doctor Wolfe to attend. He is the head of the Organ Donation for Transplantation Unit. I hope you don’t mind?” She directed the question to both Rohan and Bryce, but it was Rohan who responded.
“No, of course not. I’m pleased you did. Doctor Wolfe is perhaps in a better position to answer our questions.”
The doctor stood and the men greeted each other with handshakes. Rohan took the time to study him. He was one of those good-looking, athletic types and appeared to be in his mid-forties. Silver wings at his temples were in stark contrast to his otherwise dark hair, but they only enhanced his air of keen intelligence and authority.
Small crows’ feet jostled for space around his eyes and faint smudges of fatigue left shadows beneath them, but his direct gaze was friendly and open. Something about the man seemed familiar and a memory niggled at the back of Rohan’s mind, but it disappeared before he could cement it into a coherent thought.
Deborah took a seat behind her cluttered desk and drew her chair in close. Sitting tall, she folded her hands together in front of her and addressed them.
“So, Detectives, how can we help you?”
Rohan pulled his notebook out of his pocket. “Ms Healy, it’s come to our attention that someone in this hospital might be carrying out the removal of some human organs and body tissue on deceased patients without consent.”
To the credit of both hospital employees, they maintained their composures. The only evidence that they were affected by Rohan’s announcement appeared in the form of a tightening of Doctor Wolfe’s lips and a flush that spread slowly across the general manager’s cheeks. She motioned for Rohan to continue.
“There are a number of factors that have led us to this conclusion. We’ve spent some time interviewing staff from various funeral homes in the vicinity of the hospital. As you can imagine, there are a lot. We chose to attend the businesses that were closest to you and we’ve uncovered some rather disturbing results.”
As Rohan spoke, Deborah’s expression grew more and more grave. When he finished, her gaze held the smallest hint of fear. Rohan understood her sense of foreboding. It had been less than three years since the fiasco with the murderous Doctor Baker. It had taken the hospital some time to recover from that bad press. He could sympathize with her dread of hearing yet another rogue doctor was on the loose in the Sydney Harbour Hospital. Clearing his throat, he spoke again.
“We also talked to staff at the Glebe Morgue. All of the people we spoke to agreed that they had noticed an increase in the number of bodies coming through their establishments who presented as organ donors.”
The general manager held Rohan’s gaze and appeared to regain a little of her equilibrium. “That’s not entirely surprising, Detective. The hospital has spent considerable funds over the past few months on extensive organ donor advertising campaigns in both the print and electronic media. We’ve seen some very positive results. I’m sure Doctor Wolfe can provide you with the statistics we’ve been able to collect so far.”
>
Alistair turned in his chair until he faced Rohan and Bryce. “We’re very pleased with how it’s all going. Organ donations are up by thirty percent and the campaign only kicked off at the beginning of June. Of course, we always see an increase in deaths over winter, particularly in the elderly and those who run out of skill on the icy roads. It’s a tough time of the year for a lot of people. Even with the marvels of modern medicine, we can’t always save them.”
Rohan thought of his mother and her persistent cough and resolved to call her again and insist she attend upon another doctor. Her regular physician kept claiming it was no more than a bout of the flu, but Rohan and his father weren’t entirely convinced by that reassurance.
“What’s your role as the head of the Organ Donation for Transplantation Unit, Doctor Wolfe?” Bryce asked.
“The position is relatively new and one that’s not without its challenges. I’m a surgeon first and foremost and I assist with many of the organ retrievals. This is done in conjunction with retrieval teams from the various other Sydney hospitals.”
“How do you decide which retrieval team to call?” Bryce asked. “Is there a roster?”
Alistair shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. The hospitals involved in the organ transplantation program usually specialize in the transplantation of specific organs. For example, the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital specializes in kidney and liver transplants. Heart and lung transplants tend to be carried out across town at St Vincent’s Hospital. Westmead does kidneys and pancreas. So if we get a donation of a kidney, the retrieval teams from RPA and Westmead are notified. If a heart is donated, the St Vincent’s team will be called, and so on. Of course, if more than one organ is donated from the same individual, several teams might receive the call.”
“It must involve quite a crowd in the operating room,” Rohan commented.
The doctor smiled. “You have no idea.”
“Whose job is it to approach the relatives of the dying patient and obtain the necessary consents?” Rohan asked.