by Chris Taylor
“I’m head of the Unit,” Alistair replied. “If I’m working when such an occasion arises, a staff member will page me and I meet with the relatives, explain the circumstances and the condition of their loved one, talk about the organ donation process and how much it can mean to someone on a transplant list—and then hopefully, obtain their consent.”
“You’re obviously a good communicator if the recent stats are anything to go by, Doctor Wolfe,” Rohan said.
The doctor eyed Rohan somberly. “It’s a difficult job and one I never look forward to, but I know how important it is to at least try and convince people to donate.”
He leaned forward, as if to emphasize his point. “More than sixteen hundred Australians are on a transplant waiting list at any given time, Detective. You might not know it, but less than one percent of patients die in hospital in the specific circumstances where organ donation is even possible.”
He drew in a quick breath. Determination and a steely resolve deepened the color of his brown eyes. “The numbers are against us. Demand far outstrips supply. It’s the reason I work so hard to raise awareness and to increase the donor rate.”
The general manager sat straighter and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Doctor Wolfe does his job with an admirable level of skill, sensitivity and compassion. The hospital receives countless letters thanking us and Doctor Wolfe for the manner in which he has dealt with them and the assistance he gives in helping grieving relatives make an extremely difficult decision. There’s no doubt about it, the recipients of those organs owe him a great debt of gratitude.”
Alistair looked both humbled and grateful at the general manager’s words. Rohan was moved by his modesty and his dedication.
“I can’t imagine how hard it is for you to do that kind of thing,” he said. “It must take its toll.”
The doctor grimaced. “Of course, both physically and mentally. I leave here most nights feeling drained, but I believe wholeheartedly in what I do. I took an oath to do all I could to ease the suffering of people and help sustain life. If that means approaching grieving relatives during their darkest hour in order to persuade them to give the gift of life to others, I’ll do it over and over again. No question.”
Rohan glanced at Bryce and he could tell his partner was just as moved by the doctor’s passionate belief as he was. Rohan hadn’t lied when he’d told Samantha he’d never given much thought to organ donation, but after the research he’d undertaken, and listening to Alistair Wolfe, he was struck with an urgent need to do whatever was necessary to register himself as a donor.
All of a sudden, the niggling feeling of familiarity he’d had upon first meeting Alistair came back to him in a rush and he realized its cause: The good doctor closely resembled Samantha. Rohan blinked, surprised it had taken him so long to make the connection. Surely, the two of them must be related? He turned to the doctor, wanting to have it confirmed.
“Are you any relation to Doctor Samantha Wolfe?”
The tension in the doctor’s face eased and he smiled with genuine warmth. His voice conveyed his affection. “Yes, of course. She’s my baby sister.”
Rohan acknowledged the man’s words with a slight smile. “When we were introduced, there was something about you that appeared familiar. Now I know why.”
“You know Sam?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve spoken to her in the course of your investigation,” Alistair guessed.
“Yes, but I’ve known her for much longer than that. We met when she was in college.”
Alistair’s eyebrows rose high in surprise. “Wow, that long ago. She’s never mentioned you.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I was dating her roommate at the time. Things didn’t end well.”
Alistair nodded in understanding and Bryce cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to the investigation.”
“Of course,” Rohan replied.
“What’s the procedure when a patient whose relatives consent to donate their organs requires an autopsy?” Bryce asked. “I had it in my head that a coroner’s case would have to arrive at the morgue intact, but I understand that’s not necessarily the case?”
Alistair nodded. “That’s correct, Detective Sutcliffe. It depends upon the circumstances of the individual case. Once we know a critically ill patient’s relatives desire to donate the patient’s organs, usually a senior ICU doctor will contact the coroner or one of his deputies to obtain his authorization. The matter will be discussed and things such as the likely cause of death, whether there are any suspicious circumstances and that kind of thing, will be taken into account prior to the coroner making his decision.
“If the coroner gives the go ahead to comply with all or part of the donor’s request, then the doctors go to work and the retrieval process begins. If something is suspicious or unclear about cause of death and the coroner declines to authorize the donation, the deceased will be sent to the morgue with their organs intact.”
Rohan listened. It was much as Samantha had described when she’d attended the police station. “How many donor requests end up going ahead with the authorization of the coroner?” he asked.
Alistair thought for a moment. “On average, perhaps one or two a week. The odds increase with a rise in the number of deaths, such as during a harsh winter. Sydney might not see snow, but that doesn’t mean people here don’t feel the cold and we know that even temperatures that don’t fall below zero can have a fatal effect.”
Rohan nodded. This information also fit with what Samantha had told him. “How often do you get patients who donate a substantial number of organs and tissues? Does it ever happen?”
“Yes, occasionally,” Alistair replied. “When I approach a patient’s relatives to discuss the possibility of organ donation, my aim is to have them consent to us taking anything we can use, but more often than not, they limit consent to the major organs: heart, lungs, liver and kidneys.”
“What about skin and eye tissue? Or ligaments and tendons?” Bryce asked.
“If I’ve managed to convince a relative to give consent for everything, then that means everything. Unfortunately, like I said, it doesn’t happen very often.”
“How often is not very often?” Rohan asked.
Alistair shrugged and looked across at the general manager. “I don’t know. Maybe once every three or four months.”
Deborah Healy nodded. “That sounds about right.”
“During our investigations, we’ve discovered that recently there has been substantial removal of organs and tissue from at least two bodies and the two we know of were patients of this hospital. Does this surprise you?”
Alistair nodded. “Yes, it does. Are you sure about your information?”
“Absolutely certain,” Rohan replied.
“Well, I guess it’s not impossible. It’s certainly not the norm.”
“If you’re not around at the time a patient dies, who obtains the consent and who does the surgery?” Rohan asked.
“There’s a roster. I have a whole team of very capable doctors who work with me.”
“I see,” Rohan said. “So a single doctor couldn’t be in the situation where he could act upon something like this on his own?”
“We have certain protocols in place,” Deborah interjected smoothly, her expression firm. “There is a strict procedure that is adhered to in every circumstance and we always treat our donor bodies with the utmost care and respect.”
Rohan looked at Alistair. “Do you always follow protocol, Doctor Wolfe?”
The deliberate gibe didn’t seem to ruffle the doctor’s composure. “Of course, Detective. That’s why we have them.”
Rohan stared at him a moment longer. Satisfied with the doctor’s response, he returned his attention to the general manager.
“Thank you for your time, Ms Healy and for arranging for Doctor Wolfe to be in attendance. It’s been most enlightening and has saved us a good deal of time.” Rohan reached across th
e desk and shook her hand before pushing away from his chair. Bryce followed suit.
Rohan turned to Alistair and again held out his hand. “Thank you for your cooperation, Doctor Wolfe.”
“My pleasure. I hope I’ve been able to help. The very thought that someone might be interfering with patients without consent is abhorrent. If it’s true and news of it gets out, it would set the entire organ donation movement back decades.”
“Don’t worry, at this point our work is confidential. I agree wholeheartedly with your concerns and it’s why I’m determined to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible,” Rohan replied and then turned back to the general manager. “I’ll need a copy of the records of any patient who went through an organ donation retrieval process in the past three months, including details of treating doctors, retrieval teams, patient consents and so on. I appreciate it’s a lot to ask, but we need to find out what, if anything’s been happening.”
“Of course,” Deborah replied. “The hospital will fully cooperate. If someone’s acting illegally, we need to identify them and remove them, without delay.”
“And charge them,” Bryce added.
“Yes, of course,” the general manager agreed.
Rohan looked back at Alistair. “Give my best to your sister the next time you see her,” he said.
Alistair nodded and threw him a quick smile. Rohan turned away and headed for the door.
* * *
“What do you think?” Bryce asked as he and Rohan headed back to the squad car.
“I can see why Wolfe’s the poster child for the hospital. He’s old enough that people will trust him—charismatic and good-looking to boot. What more could they want?”
“I agree. If his data is to be believed, he’s certainly turned things around as far as raising awareness of organ donation. I had no idea less than one percent of hospital deaths are eligible for donations.”
“Yeah, it’s made me realize I need to do something about putting myself on a register. Someone else might as well have the benefit of what’s left after I’m gone.”
Bryce nodded. “After Chanel and I talked about it I filled out the form.”
“Alistair Wolfe is certainly devoted to the cause. We need more people like him.” They continued across the car park. Rohan pulled the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Bryce. “Here. You can drive. I thought I might pay a visit to Doctor Samantha Wolfe. The morgue’s not far out of our way. I’ll call ahead and check if she’s there and if she is, I’ll get you to drop me off. I’ll take a cab back to the station.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No. This is personal.”
Bryce threw him a sly look. “I heard you say you’d known her since college. If she takes after her brother in the looks department, I can see why you might want to spend a little more time with her.”
“Fuck off, Sutcliffe. I’m not trying to get into her pants. All I want to do is talk with her. About something that happened in the past.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Bryce grinned.
It was clear Bryce didn’t believe him for a minute. Rohan bit down on another sharp retort and decided silence was his best defense. As Bryce pulled out of the parking lot, Rohan phoned the morgue and asked to speak with Sam.
“I’m afraid Doctor Wolfe’s in the middle of an autopsy at the moment. May I take a message?”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll catch up with her a little later.” He ended the call and slid the phone back in his pocket.
Bryce shot him a quick look. “I take it she’s not at work.”
“She’s there. She just can’t come to the phone at the moment. I’ll go and wait there until she’s available.”
Ten minutes later, Bryce pulled up to the curb outside the Department of Forensic Medicine and Rohan climbed out. He leaned in through the open car window.
“Thanks, mate. I’ll see you tomorrow. Until we get the paperwork from the hospital, there’s not much more we can do.”
“No problem. I might even try to get home early for a change.”
“Yeah, just in time to help with dinner and all the bathing,” Rohan joked.
Bryce grimaced. “Maybe I won’t leave early. I’m sure there must be some filing I can do around the office… Or maybe I’ll even put my hand up for a double shift.”
Rohan laughed “See… Now you can understand why Chanel wanted to get back to work.” He stepped away and threw Bryce a wave. A moment later, the squad car disappeared into the traffic.
* * *
Sam stared down at the tiny body on the steel gurney and braced herself against a surge of emotion. She hadn’t known the two-year-old who lay so still and cold on the table beside her, but she couldn’t help feeling distressed and sad that an innocent young life had been cut short.
The child’s parents claimed the baby was dead in his cot when they found him. The preliminary findings were Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, but after close examination of the little boy, it was obvious he hadn’t died from natural causes.
Numerous bruises around his chest and neck area indicated he’d been held down with a fair degree of pressure. Tiny petechial hemorrhages in his eyes indicated suffocation. An X-ray identified several old fractures, now long healed, but the hospital notes that had come with him indicated no previous history of broken bones. Sam could only assume the parents had taken him elsewhere for treatment. She couldn’t bear to think the poor baby might have had to heal all on his own without proper medical care.
Sighing quietly, she finished the autopsy and closed the incision. Anger and helplessness burned inside her at the thought of how the little boy had suffered. Some people didn’t deserve to be parents. It was as simple as that.
Here she was, at thirty-four and getting more and more desperate for a baby and yet this little boy hadn’t been given a chance. Abused and discarded like unwanted trash, he’d died a terrifying death. She couldn’t imagine how it felt not to be able to breathe. It broke her heart that no one had been able to save him. The only thing she could hope for was that the parents would suffer in jail.
“Sam, I have a Detective Coleridge out in the waiting room. He’s asked if he could see you.”
Sam looked up and blinked, focusing on the young girl who manned the front desk. “I’m sorry, Angie, I was a million miles away. Could you repeat that?”
“Detective Coleridge is outside. He’d like to see you.”
Sam’s stomach did a flip-flop and her heart skipped a beat. The thought of seeing Rohan again, filled her with nerves. It wasn’t because he was so attractive, or that he looked at her like her could read her innermost thoughts, it was just…
She shook her head. He might be good-looking, but that didn’t excuse his despicable treatment of her friend. Sam didn’t care that it had happened a decade ago. Children were a gift from God. No one had the right to abandon them or treat them with so little love and disrespect. The child on the gurney was a tragic example of that.
“Tell him I’m too busy, Angie. I have another PM to do after this one and it’s already late.”
“Of course, Sam. I’ll let him know.” She disappeared the way she’d come and Sam drew her attention back to the child. With the autopsy finished, all she had to do was return him to the fridge and complete the paperwork.
With gloved hands, she picked up the baby and carried him back to the refrigerator. She did her best not to look at him as she placed him back on the rack. He looked so tiny among the thirty or so other bodies that lined the shelves. With a sad sigh, she headed back to her workstation and collected her notes. Her report to the police would be heavy going. Turning away, she almost collided with Angie, who gave out a little yelp.
“Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were coming this way.”
“It’s all right, Angie,” Sam replied, brushing the girl’s apology away. “I should have been watching where I was going. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be behind me.”
Angie�
��s face flushed with embarrassment. She opened her mouth again, but Sam cut her off. “Angie, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Now, what can I do for you this time?”
“It’s the detective. I told him you were too busy to see him, but he insists it won’t take long. He says he’s not leaving until he gets a few minutes of your time. What would you like me to do?”
Sam drew in a deep breath and eased it out slowly. She’d just carried out a PM on an abused baby. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, even if it was someone she knew. Very few people understood what it was like to deal with death, day after day. Some days were easier than others. This wasn’t one of them.
The thought that Rohan had said he was prepared to wait until she was available, irritated her. He had no right to turn up at her place of work and demand to see her. He could have telephoned and left a message, like every other police officer she dealt with.
Maybe he had? She’d been in the autopsy room all morning and most of the afternoon. She’d only returned to her desk briefly during her lunch break and hadn’t checked her messages. There was probably a handful of them sent by the receptionist via email, including a call from him. There was no way of knowing without returning to her office.
But to do so meant getting out of her scrubs and cleaning up, only to have to return and get dressed in more scrubs afterwards. She wasn’t lying when she’d told Angie she still had another autopsy to do. It would be easier to simply agree to give Rohan the few minutes he wanted and then be done with it.
She sighed with resignation. “Send him in, Angie.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. That way you won’t have to put up with him annoying you out there for what’s left of the day.”
Angie giggled. “Oh, I don’t mind. He’s very easy on the eye. I could happily gaze at him all night.”
Sam raised an eyebrow and Angie giggled again and turned away. A short time later, there was a brief knock on the door to the autopsy suite and Rohan strode in.
Dressed in a charcoal-gray suit and white business shirt, it wasn’t hard to understand Angie’s reaction. Rohan looked hot enough to set the pulse rate of any woman under ninety racing. Sam was no exception and the knowledge she was so susceptible did nothing to lighten her mood.