by James Carver
“I don’t know. But I have a theory. You might think it’s a little crazy…”
“Go on,” said Fox.
“I think it might have been a cop. A Halton Springs cop…and I think I know why they went after me.”
An agitated Stevens told Devlin and Fox how he had discovered the missing shift records for the night of the Long Pine homicide.
“It was the emails I sent,” insisted Stevens. “I think that’s what triggered it. Four emails to Miller, Gray, Lincoln, and Taylor asking them to refile the missing reports from last Friday’s night shift. When I pressed Send on that email, I sent my own death warrant. Someone had broken into my house and was lying in wait for me. If it wasn’t for a nosy neighbor telling me that they’d just seen someone in a hooded top sneaking in around the back of my house, I probably I wouldn’t be alive. Thanks to her I went in around the back too and had the advantage of surprise. Had a firefight in my own damn house, and they ran off. I was just too worn-out to give chase. Thank God Rachel and the kids were at her folks in Hamilton. If they had been at home… Well, it just doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Who you think it was, which cop?” asked Fox.
“No idea. Whoever they were, they were hooded up and I didn’t get a proper look at them. But it cannot be a coincidence that I asked for the missing shift reports and then I get ambushed.” Stevens shook his head. “I think it’s one of my own officers. One of the officers on that shift, the shift on the night of the first murder.”
“But we don’t know for sure,” said Fox.
“Not for certain. But it sure makes sense to me.” Stevens paused a moment for thought. “But there’s something else that’s shook me up even more, something on my conscience. It’s the craziest thing…”
“What?” asked Devlin.
“It’s since I found the shift reports had gone. I couldn’t lose this terrible feeling… I’ve just had this his suspicion, this suspicion that Earl wasn’t the killer. Despite the DNA, the evidence placing him at the scene, the revolver in his bunk, the manhunt I lead into the heart of Long Pine…despite all that that landslide of evidence, I can’t push away the feeling I got the wrong man. How crazy does that sound?”
Stevens looked up at Devlin and Fox and was startled to see that they didn’t think he was crazy at all, or if he was, they were too.
“We don’t think he’s the killer either,” said Devlin. “We’ve had quite a busy few days too.”
“What’s going on, Gabe? Tell me now, what the hell is going on?”
Devlin searched for a place to start. Then he took a breath and said bluntly, “Ed James is dead.”
“Ed? How do you know?”
“I tracked him down in Cuyahoga. He’d hidden out with the travelers that were camped in Halton. He was alive and well yesterday. I saw him with my own eyes. Just now I got a call he’s been murdered. And by all accounts, it’s not pretty.”
“I’m sorry, Gabe. Truly sorry. Why would anyone kill Ed?”
“Because he was working on the ranch as an informant for Homeland.”
“What was Ed doing working for Homeland?”
“Both Homeland and the Secret Service have been looking into money transferred covertly from Freedom Medical to Logan Enterprises. Fifty million dollars that seems to have been put into the cattle fertility lab. Ed was placed on the farm by Homeland to try and get intelligence on where the money really went. Clay Logan found out, and Packer came looking for Ed, to kill him for spying on the ranch. That’s why Ed left town, disappeared.”
“The Logan Ranch is into some pretty heavy shit,” said Fox.
“Like what?”
“There’s something going on between Logan and Freedom,” said Devlin. “I think they’re using the illegal workers, offering money for…certain transactions.”
“Transactions? What transactions?”
“They’re selling organs to Freedom Medical taken from illegal workers on the ranch.”
“Today,” said Fox, “we saw a Mexican ranch hand transported by ambulance from Freedom Dayton Hospital to the Logan Ranch, we think to the building that houses the cattle lab.”
“Remember Lazard?” said Devlin. “The surgeon who’s working at Halton Medical Center? I got hold of tests he’d run on one of the Mexican kids working on the ranch, a kid called Alvarez, the one transported to the ranch today. Lazard had run tests for a donor match with another unidentified person. A recipient. I think Alvarez is an intended donor victim and the Long Pine victim was too. You remember the coroner found ketamine in the Long Pine victim’s bloodstream? Well, I don’t think he took it to get high. I think he was administered it in preparation for surgery. Ed told me Clay Logan buys in ketamine to use as a veterinary anesthetic. But I don’t think it’s just being used on the cattle.”
“You think these men are selling their organs?” asked Stevens.
“Yes I do,” replied Devlin.
“But why was the Long Pine victim killed, then? And cut up?”
“I think the deal went bad. I don’t know why. But if he was an illegal worker, then whoever killed him knew he wouldn’t show up on any national DNA database. Cutting him up would be enough to prevent him being ID’d. Earl was framed. We were all played. We were played by Clay and the people he has running the transplant business. As to who actually cut that body up, well, the coroner said the victim’s bone marks indicated a knife. I’m certain the guy who attacked me at Ed’s place was Packer. And he was carrying a big old knife. When Packer turned up here looking for Ed, he was carrying a hunting knife. That’s who my money’s on.”
“Shit,” said Stevens shaking his head. “Last Sunday we sat in my house and we were chasing two different things in two different directions. Now we’ve come full circle, and we’re face-to-face again. But what I can’t work out is why Earl killed himself? Surely that means he was guilty?”
“I don’t think he can have killed himself. Someone must have got to him,” said Devlin.
“It has to have been a cop,” said Fox. “A cop working for Clay. One of the cops on the shift with the missing records. The one who tried to kill Greg. How could anyone but a cop have got through the police chain?”
“The first people on the scene were Walker and Miller,” said Stevens.
“Do you think they could have killed him?” asked Fox.
“It’s possible. And Miller was on last Friday night’s shift.”
“For now I think we have to assume all four cops on the night shift are operating rogue—Miller, Lincoln, Taylor, and Gray,” said Devlin.
“Absolutely,” agreed Stevens.
There was a weighty silence. No one spoke. Each sifted through the conversation they’d had to find some new revelation or connection.
In the end, Stevens said, “You really think Clay’s involved in harvesting human organs?”
“I think it’s the only explanation that makes sense of all the things that don’t make sense. Lazard at the free clinic, Alvarez’s test results, the money snuck into Clay’s ailing ranch. Anyhow, I aim to put it beyond all doubt.”
“How?” asked Stevens.
“I’m going back up to the Logan Ranch, tomorrow, in the light. I’m going to get a good look at that lab.”
Stevens was completely blindsided. “If all of what you say is true, that sounds like a damn near suicidal plan.”
Fox had been quiet for stretches of the conversation. She’d been letting Devlin lead. But now she felt compelled to spell it out to Stevens.
“Greg, at some point someone has to get access to the lab if they want to finally pin this whole thing down. It’s where the money’s going, it’s where Lazard keeps going, and it’s where Alvarez went. It’s the curtain behind which the perpetrators are hiding. Like Devlin, I don’t see any other way. If you don’t buy what we’re peddling here, that’s absolutely fine. But we sure could use some help.”
Stevens closed his eyes and for a moment looked like he was praying. But he did
n’t need long. Truth was he’d let this crazy idea take root that Devlin was responsible for his remission. Maybe not directly. Maybe not in the sense of some biblical miracle. But Stevens felt that Devlin’s electric presence had been some sort of catalyst for his partial recovery against all the odds. He’d follow Devlin out to the edge of doom.
“Of course you got my help. There’s a…” Stevens hovered for a split second over the next word, “a cancer at the very heart of Halton Springs. And it needs cutting out. Question is, how do we get into the lab?”
“Between the three of us, we’ll work out a way of getting in,” said Fox.
As the light failed outside and day shaded into early evening, the three uplit faces sat in a small pool of yellow light conspiring solemnly, working out how they would give themselves the best chance of getting into the heart of the Logan Ranch.
50
Lazard sucked the very last burst of warm smoke from his cigarette and let it soak into the walls of his lungs. Then he flicked it to the sidewalk and entered the Dayton Crowne Plaza Hotel. He surveyed the lobby. It was empty but for the receptionist and three gentlemen dressed in suits who were sitting huddled in a corner with large suitcases beside them. They had placed themselves behind one of the square purple pillars that were spaced out around the lobby in a grid formation. Two of the men were Asian and in their early twenties; the third was older by some four decades. He wore an expensive English tweed suit, an emerald tie, a gold tie clip, and matching gold cufflinks. He was completely bald at the top, but the gray-and-copper-colored hair around the sides of his head had been fastidiously pomaded back from his temples.
Lazard crossed the lobby and stood in front of the three men, his hands clasped together holding his driving gloves.
“So good to see you, Jakob,” said Lazard.
“Likewise, Claude,” said the older man. “I brought my handpicked team with me. Allow me to introduce Chan Liu and Li Wei. Trainee surgeons under my tutelage in Peking. Chan, Liu, this is my younger brother, Claude.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Lazard. The two men nodded once, and Lazard bowed in return. Liu was broad and short, his chubby face still bearing traces of teenage acne. Wei was slim and wiry with his hair chopped short into a kind of punky mess. Both were wearing dark suits and ties like they were up for a job interview. They were reserved, probably nervous, thought Lazard. They knew what they had signed up to, what the paycheck would be and what the work would entail.
“Follow me. I’m parked outside,” said Lazard. The three men followed Lazard and rolled their cases out into the street to the parked Jaguar. Lazard clicked his key fob, the car chirped, and the doors and trunk snicked open.
Jakob looked puzzled. “You don’t have a chauffeur?”
“No. He…resigned. It’s a long story.” Lazard opened the trunk. “Please, put your luggage in.”
“Dear God. You drive yourself?” asked Jakob despairingly.
“I’m afraid so.”
Jakob rolled his eyes, and he and his two students placed their luggage in the trunk. They got into the Jaguar with Jakob in the front seat and the two young men in the back. Lazard started the engine and pulled out, driving in the direction of the I-75. They headed away from the Dayton skyline in a line of traffic, the streetlights sliding over the tops of other the cars that were streaming out of the city alongside them. Lazard hit the ramp onto the freeway, which was relatively clear of traffic, and accelerated. The speed brought a peace to the four occupants of the Jaguar.
“You’re not too tired?” asked Lazard.
“No. One night to recover from jet lag was sufficient for us,” said Jakob. “Is everything prepared?”
“Yes. Everything is in place,” replied Lazard.
“What about the one who was damaged?”
“He is back to almost perfect health.”
“Almost?”
“His right kidney will not be fully recovered for the transfer. We will not be able to fulfill that order.”
“How much is that costing us?”
“Three hundred thousand dollars.”
“That’s a costly mistake.”
“It’s a fraction of the total price. It was a mistake made by the cowboys Logan uses on the ranch.”
“First we lose an entire donor, now a kidney too. Why the hell are you using cowboys?”
“It was Stein’s idea. To reduce costs and involve only those people we could of necessity trust.”
“It’s playing with fire.”
“I agree. But I have overseen all the preparatory work. It’s all in place and done to my satisfaction. And now you are here, we have all the expertise we need in place. A new chapter begins.”
“It will be a hard week’s work. The hardest we’ve ever undertaken.”
“Hopefully one of many weeks to come, Jakob. And it will multiply your pension provision by a factor of ten. Besides, you have done this before. How many Falun Gong did you operate on?”
Jakob didn’t answer immediately. They were driving over a river. He could see two bridges lit up either side of the one they were on. Ahead there was a billboard by the road advertising Rolex watches as if the journey toward his promised outrageous financial reward was being signposted.
As Jakob gazed out of car window, he totted a figure up in his head. Eventually, he replied, “Oh, thousands. Definitely thousands. Difficult to say for sure. We didn’t keep records, for obvious reasons.”
“And your two assistants?” Lazard angled his rearview mirror and peered at the two sleepy faces watching the freeway fly by.
“We’ve done plenty,” said Liu, rubbing his red eyes and looking back at Lazard’s face in the mirror. “We both extracted organs from executed prisoners in Beijing Municipal Prison. We know what we’re doing and what we’re doing here.” Lazard noticed that Liu spoke English fluently with a slight hint of an American accent. Jakob had chosen very wisely indeed. There could be no communication difficulties if they were to meet their deadlines. Lazard moved the rearview mirror back into place and looked across approvingly at Jakob.
“I told you I’d bring you a crack team,” said Jakob.
“I could always rely on you, brother.”
“What are the donors like?”
“They are in the peak of physical condition. They have been handpicked for the closest possible match to their recipients.”
“Wonderful.” Jakob gave a broad smile, exposing his narrow nicotine-stained teeth. “It’s the Bloomingdale’s of organ transplantation.”
“With price tags to match,” replied Claude. “When we get there, you’ll be able to examine the assets and read through their extensive medical notes. We have scheduled delivery to begin on Sunday morning when the first patients arrive at Freedom Hospital in Dayton. I will go through the schedule with you, but roughly speaking we are required to deliver for arrival at Freedom Hospital by ten hundred hours every morning, to ensure the assets are at their freshest and at optimum functionality. As you know, this will mean working through the night and resting by day for the next six days. Once we have finished the preliminary examination of the assets and acquainted ourselves thoroughly with the medical notes of each asset, I will show you to your bedrooms in the ranch house.”
Lazard had arrived at the turnoff for the ranch. He left the highway and drove under the stone arch and into the dusty clearing. Then he motored on past the ranch house that stood illuminated in the dark and onto a grass clearing behind. He slowed his speed on the rougher terrain, anxious to protect his car, and came to a halt before the square, plain edifice of the cattle plant. The plant was deliberately tucked behind the ranch house, close enough to be accessible to large vehicles yet far away enough from the main ranch buildings not to be seen from the highway or by passing visitors. It was a huge, rectangular, light blue aluminum building striped with mirrored windows and with a sloping roof. Two trucks labeled Freedom Medical were parked up by the entrance, and Reeves and Campbell were heaving boxe
s back and forth from the trucks in through the brightly lit, wide front entrance. Reeves was a few years younger than Campbell with greasy black hair slicked back and shorn short at the sides. Tattoos covered his arms and torso and crept up around his neck. He wore headphones and the white cords ran into his jean pocket. As he worked he bobbed his head every now and then to the beat of the song blaring at full volume into in his ears.
“I see the cowboys are now doing the jobs they are most suited to,” said Jakob.
“Yes,” replied Lazard. He looked across at his brother and then over his shoulder at the two men slumped in the back seat, peeping back through half-shut eyes. “Here we are, then, gentlemen. Bloomingdale’s. Like no other store in the world.”
51
After a basic meal of canned soup and bread that they’d picked up on the journey from Halton, Devlin had gone outside to clear his head and smoke. By the time he had finished his cigar and entered the cabin, the lights were out. Stevens had insisted on taking the sofa and was stretched out fast asleep, already snoring. Devlin made his way quietly to the bathroom at the back and took a shower. Then he cleaned his teeth with what he assumed was Fox’s toothbrush that she kept at the cabin, getting the woody tang of cigar leaf out of his mouth.
Devlin dried up, wrapped a towel around him and gathered up his clothes and shoes. He climbed the stairs to the attic bedrooms. As he passed Fox’s bedroom, he saw the door was open and could see in. On the bed, under the window, he could make out Fox’s slender body lying still, sound asleep under the blankets.
He willed himself away from Fox’s doorway and walked into his own bedroom. It was cramped with a sloping roof. There was a single iron bed, a small nightstand, a closet, and a skylight that shed moonlight onto the floorboards.
Devlin folded his clothes and placed them alongside his shoes in the empty closet, he took off the damp towel and hung it over the closet door then pulled on his boxers, and knelt by his bed. He said a night prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours followed by a prayer for Ed. Then he got into bed and closed his eyes to the night and within minutes was in deep sleep and dreaming.