“Okay,” Cal said slowly. “Not much dignity in that.”
“Dignity never saved anyone.”
He laughed.
“Anyway, if Strickland doesn’t recognize me, he could think I’m a cop.”
“If Unger called him,” Cal interjected.
“Right,” I said. “In that case, Strickland would be wary, and he’d try to hide his involvement in this organ transplant scheme. But if Unger didn’t call Strickland, or he didn’t get hold of him, I could pretend to be an organ donor. And even if Gus told Strickland what I looked like, the description would be different from the man who shows up now, what with my beard stubble and two black eyes. I could also wear my cap to cover my hair.”
“It might work,” Cal said.
I sighed. “It’ll have to.”
“And then?”
“I could record our conversation and take it to Spillman. She can follow up from there.”
“And hopefully it’s all enough to clear your name.”
“Hopefully,” I said.
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
I ended the call and drove up Golden Gate Canyon Road. The road twisted and turned, and I slowed down. Nerves gnawed at my gut. I didn’t relish the idea of running into Gus or his buddy Mick. I glanced at the GPS. There was another street about a quarter mile from Strickland’s house. When I came to that road, I turned right and parked away from the highway. I spent a few minutes finding and downloading a recording app for the phone, and then I mulled over my next move. I needed to know if Gus or Mick was around, so I figured I would watch Strickland’s house for a bit before I tried to talk to him.
I locked the Subaru, donned my knit cap, silenced my cell phone and walked through the trees. The ground was hard under my feet and here and there I had to trudge through hardened snow that crunched loudly, making it difficult to be clandestine. I finally saw Strickland’s house, a huge, two-story house with a circular drive at the end of a private road. It all seemed vaguely familiar and it dawned on me that I’d been here before. That was the house I’d seen in the rearview mirror the night Gus and Mick beat me up. I was sure of it.
I crouched down and studied the house. Large windows on either side of a humongous wooden door looked out on the clearing. A black SUV sat parked in the circle drive, but I was too far away to read the license plate. Then two men came out of the front door, got in the SUV, and drove down the private road. I sank down low and watched as it passed by. My buddy Gus was driving and Mick sat on the passenger side. I stayed down until they were long gone. I had no idea where Gus and Mick were going, or when they would be back, so I needed to make my move quickly. I hoofed it back to the Subaru as fast as I could, then drove down the road to Strickland’s house. I pulled into the circular drive, got out and hurried to the front door. I got out my phone, selected the voice recorder app and started it, and put the phone in my coat pocket, where it would get better reception. Then I rang the bell and waited, half expecting a butler to answer the door.
I waited and then a tall, bony man in an expensive running gear answered the door. He had thinning gray hair, a goatee and a slightly jaundiced look.
“Yes?” He gazed at me curiously.
“Mr. Strickland?”
“Yes. How can I help you?” Slightly impatient now.
It didn’t appear that he recognized me.
“I was told you can help me,” I said, then watched him closely.
“How so?”
If he was expecting a cop, wouldn’t he have said so? Or if he knew I was the private investigator that Gus had beat up, wouldn’t I have seen something in his eyes? But I’d seen neither. So I went with plan B. Or was it C?
“I want to talk to you about the exchange program.”
His eyes widened in surprise. He glanced behind me, then opened the door wider.
“You’re not supposed to come here,” he hissed.
“I thought –”
“Get in here.” He ordered me.
I stepped inside, my nerves tingly. Now to see where this would lead me. And if I’d have all my organs…
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We stood in a grand foyer with a twenty-foot ceiling, marble tile floor, and a triple-tiered chandelier. A wide circular stairway on the left led to the second floor. I followed Strickland down a short hall to the right of the stairs and into a spacious den with bookcases made of reclaimed lumber, but with few books adorning the shelves. Strickland walked around a long oak desk and sat in a leather office chair. He grimaced as he got himself situated. Then he waved a hand at a wingback chair across from the desk.
“Sit, sit.”
So I sat.
He tapped his hands together as he stared at me. Then he finally asked, “Did my son tell you to come here?”
I kept a straight face and went along with that. “Yes. I need money fast and he said you could help.” My head was spinning. Who was his son? Gus?
“What’s your name?”
“Sam Spillman,” I said. My little ode to Detective Spillman, although I couldn’t say “Sarah” was my first name.
“What do you know about the exchange program?”
“I know I can sell an item,” I said carefully, “and that I can get a lot of money for it.”
He pursed his lips and nodded his head slowly. “That’s true, if your item is deemed useable.”
“How do you determine that?”
“We, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You’ll have to have medical clearance. A lot of tests will be performed on you.”
“Okay, I’m cool with that,” I said.
“We’re not like other places. We’ll pay you a lot of money for your item and our recipients pay a lot of money to us because they’re getting quality. Do you know how some of these organizations operate?”
I shook my head.
“It’s disgusting,” he said as he stroked the goatee absentmindedly. “They don’t even get healthy people, but drug addicts and such, and then the items aren’t fit for donation. But they harvest the items anyway. And after the surgery, the patients aren’t taken care of. They deal with infections, and there’s no support of any kind, no follow-up.” He jabbed his index finger at me for emphasis. “We charge top dollar, but the recipients in our exchange program are treated well and our donors are paid well.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I said.
He frowned at my enthusiasm. Be cool, Reed, I thought. Then he paused and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Excuse me.” He glanced at the screen, hesitated, then his eyes darted to me and back to the phone.
Was it Unger, I wondered. Had I been made?
“How do you know my son?” he asked.
“I met him at work,” I said, then realized I had no idea where Gus worked, or even if he worked, or if Gus really was his son.
“I see.” He studied me carefully. “What happened to your face?”
I touched my cheek. “Like I said, I need the money. They threatened to break my legs next time.”
“That’s terrible.” He continued to ponder me.
Was he getting suspicious? My gut said it was time to wrap up the conversation and get out while I could. I just needed a little more information. “So when can this happen?” I asked, spurring the conversation forward.
“Why don’t we get started today?”
“Okay. Do you have some paperwork for me?” Good. Maybe I could sneak some pictures of documentation that I could show Spillman.
He waved a hand dismissively. “Why wait? You said you needed money, right?”
I nodded.
“Let’s get you to our clinic today.”
“Today?” This wasn’t quite what I planned.
“Why not? We’ve got a recipient in need right now, so we’ll get your preliminary evals done and then get you your money.”
“But,” I hesitated. “I thought you said you needed to make sure I’m healthy first.”<
br />
He held up a hand. “We will, don’t worry.”
“Okay, sounds good,” I said, but my stomach did a flip. What kind of tests would they do on me today? “Is your clinic here in the house?”
He laughed, but it held no mirth. “No, of course not. It’s downtown. I’ll have someone drive you to our clinic and they’ll do the tests there.”
“I can drive myself.”
He shook his head, then tapped his fingers. “I’m afraid we can’t do that because, as you must realize, we have a need for secrecy.”
“Oh, right.” I tried to act cool, but more than an inkling of concern shot through me.
“So we’ll have to take you to the clinic and bring you back here.” His eyes narrowed. “You understand.”
“Of course.” But what if they took me somewhere and left me? How could I let someone know where to look for me?
“So, let me make a phone call,” Strickland said as he stood up.
“Great.” Anyone would’ve been nervous to give up some of their body parts, so I didn’t have to fake my edginess. “Could I use the bathroom before we go?”
He eyed me again, then said, “It’s out the door and to the right. I’ll show you.”
I followed him into the hallway.
“Right there.” He pointed to a door just down the hall. “Help yourself.”
I strode into the bathroom and shut the door. Then I stared into the mirror. Was it time to make my escape? Strickland appeared to be alone, so I could just run out the front door. He didn’t seem to be in shape enough to stop me. But did I have enough to get Spillman to believe me that there was an illegal organ harvesting organization operating in the metro area? Probably, but I didn’t have any proof that Gus or Mick killed Noel Farrell, let alone why, and that’s what I needed to clear my name. It looked like I was going to have to see this through, but I’d have to figure out a way to bring Farrell into the conversation and see if Strickland would tell me how he fit into all this.
I heard Strickland talking and I put my ear to the door and listened. His voice sounded muffled, but I caught “get over there now” and “harvest all the organs.”
Good Lord, what was he going to do to me? I thought. I instantly reconsidered my plan. Time to bail out, and I’d find my proof another time.
“Mr. Spillman, are you finished?” Strickland called out.
“Yes, one moment.”
I turned on the water, then pulled out my phone. I started to text Willie but she was at work and didn’t typically check her phone except on breaks, so I called Cal. It went to voicemail. I silently cursed, then tried Ace and Deuce, but neither answered. More swearing.
“Mr. Spillman.”
“Coming.”
I didn’t have any choice, so I dialed Willie, praying that she would pick up. But I knew better. She rarely answered when she was working. I decided to leave the phone on and hope it recorded whatever happened next. I could only hope she would check the message soon and call for help. I put the phone back in my pocket, shut off the water and left the bathroom. I slowly walked back into the office, then stopped short.
Strickland was standing in the center of the room, hands crossed in front of him, waiting. To his left stood Mick. He lips twisted into a dangerous smile.
“It’s time to go, Mr. Spillman,” Strickland said. “Or should I say Mr. Ferguson.”
I mustered up a smile of my own. “Okay, you know who I am. I think I’ll pass on the organ donation.”
I whirled around to run out the front door, but Gus had quietly stepped up behind me.
“Un-uh,” he said, then coughed. I smelled that menthol cough-drop odor. He pulled his coat back to reveal a pistol tucked into his waistband. “I’d hate to use this.”
“These men are going to escort you to the clinic,” Strickland said.
“You mean to Doctor McKenzie’s, right?” I asked.
Strickland’s eyebrows came together in a thin, menacing line. “So you figured that out, did you?”
“It’s not going to do him any good,” Gus said.
“True.” Strickland rubbed his goatee. “Who else have you told?”
“No one,” I said.
Strickland studied me, then looked over his shoulder at Gus. “Make sure that’s true. Just be careful you don’t damage any organs.”
“With pleasure,” Gus said.
“Let me know when it’s finished.” Strickland walked past us, then climbed slowly up the stairs. When he got to the top, he turned around. “I’ve called McKenzie and he’ll meet you there.”
With that, he turned and disappeared down the hall.
If I was going to make a move, it had to be now. I was about to hurl myself at Gus when Mick came up behind me and threw a cloth bag over my head.
I sucked in a breath and got a mouthful of fabric. “Mph,” I said. I reached up to grab the bag and felt something hard press into my stomach.
“Keep fighting and I’ll put a bullet into you.”
“But what about damaging my organs?” I tried to shout, but it came out garbled. Even so, I stopped moving.
“Tie him up,” Gus said.
Mick jerked my arms backward and tied my hands behind my back with rope. I had visions of being taken out into a field and shot, but Mick gripped my arm and propelled me forward. The whole thing felt a bit like déjà vu as they took me outside. Only this time they hadn’t gotten me drunk or made me drive my own car. I stumbled down the porch steps and Mick jerked me up, wrenching my shoulders. I let out a muffled gasp but neither one seemed to notice or care. I heard a car door open and then Mick shoved me into what I assumed was the SUV. I fell over on my side and one of them kicked me in the ass, then the door slammed shut. I managed to sit up, the effort pulling my shoulders painfully. The front doors opened and shut.
“We gotta make sure it’s done right this time, or the boss is going to kill us,” Mick said.
“Don’t worry. McKenzie will take care of everything.”
That was from Gus, who was driving. The car jolted forward and I spread my feet so I didn’t fall over as we meandered down the road, onto 93, and back to 6th Avenue. I was completely blind, had no idea if my cell phone call had continued long enough for Willie to hear our destination, and was fighting hard not to panic. I took some deep breaths, working hard not to suck the bag into my mouth. I finally figured out that little breaths worked best.
“Hey, I could use a cup of coffee,” I said, hoping my humor would calm me down.
Nothing.
“Starbucks? My treat.”
“Shut up or I’ll make those eyes blacker than they already are,” Gus growled.
I shut my mouth and waited. At one point I felt my cell phone buzz in my pocket, but I couldn’t do anything about it. But that meant that the call to Willie had been cut off. I sighed and hoped again that she’d listen to her voicemail.
It couldn’t have taken more than half an hour to get to Doctor McKenzie’s clinic, but it felt like a thousand years. We finally rounded a corner and stopped. I heard Gus turn in his seat.
“I’m taking the bag off,” Gus said. “If you try anything, I’ll shoot you dead, got it?”
“Yep, I got it.”
I heard the front passenger door open and shut. Then Gus grabbed the cloth bag and yanked it off my head, getting a bit of my hair in the process. I blinked as sunshine hit my eyes. I looked around frantically. We were parked in the alley behind McKenzie’s office. Gus turned back around and got out. Then the back door opened.
“Come on, get out.” Gus yanked my arm and I stumbled out of the car.
“Ow!” I said.
“Shut up,” he growled.
He stood close behind me and if anyone saw us, I doubted they’d see that my hands were tied. Mick stayed in front of me as we walked up to the entry and knocked. The door opened and the same nurse in the purple scrubs that I’d seen this morning opened the door. She had dark circles under her eyes and she didn’t look happy
.
“Hurry up,” she said.
We followed her down a short hallway and then turned right. She waved us through a doorway on the right and we entered a large room with a covered window opposite the door. In the corner was a counter with a cabinet underneath. On the counter were various medical supplies, bottles, and disinfectant. In the center of the room was a long operating table with a folded gown up on it. A chair sat against one wall, medical equipment stood around the table, and a small metal tray on wheels was next to the operating table. Laid out on it were a variety of scalpels and other tools.
I gulped. I was in big trouble now.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Get him in the gown,” the nurse said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.
While Gus trained his gun on me, Mick untied my hands, then positioned himself in front of the door. Gus turned to me. “Strip,” he said.
I stalled for time. “I don’t think so.”
Mick moved up to me, putting his big nose in my face. “You trying to make trouble?”
“No,” I said. “I just prefer to keep my clothes on.”
“You think so?” His nose touched mine.
Before I could react, he punched me in the stomach. I doubled over and coughed.
“Knock it off, you idiot!” Gus said. “You don’t want to damage his organs. I’ll take care of this.”
Mick backed away and Gus stepped forward. He pressed the barrel of his gun to my temple. “Take off your clothes or I’ll splatter your brains all over this room. And before you ask, the doc will still be able to harvest your organs.”
“Yeah, we don’t want or need your brain,” Mick said.
I tried for more time. “They’ll trace the gun back to you.”
Gus smiled. “It’s Farrell’s gun. Now strip.”
So much for that. I help up my hands. “Okay, all you needed to do was ask nice.”
Gus glared at me as I slowly took off my coat. I laid it carefully on the chair and then started unbuttoning my shirt. Behind me, the door opened and hit Mick in the back. Mick stepped aside and the man I’d seen with the black bag poked his head in.
The Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 3 Page 32