The Garbage Man

by Candace Irving

  She was about to leave to grab that suggested coffee, if only to give the agent some space, when he stood. Gathering up his pen and scrawl-filled legal pad, he walked along the table, dropping heavily into the chair Joe had vacated.

  "Sheriff, Deputy, it's worse than we feared."

  She didn't follow. Couldn't. "How can it be worse than murdering homeless vets, and selling off their organs?"

  "Because I no longer think that's all Dr. Parish and his cohorts were, and possibly still are, selling. I think they're partitioning up entire bodies, arranging for the immediate sale of the more perishable organs, then preserving and—in many cases—freezing and storing the remainder of the parts, until they can be sold off piece by piece to the highest bidder."

  Lou looked as green as she felt. He shoved the plate of muffins as far away from them as he could, locking his arms over his girth as he sat back. "Explain."

  "VitaCell Tissues, Incorporated, is an FDA-sanctioned tissue bank. They recover corneas, heart valves, skin, ligaments, bone and other tissues from human bodies. Much of this is done legally, of course, in surgical suites set up for this purpose and in funeral homes."

  Lou stiffened. "Funeral homes?"

  "Yes. Technicians come in and harvest the tissues on-site, up to thirty-six hours following death." The BAU agent tapped his notes. "Though there have been instances of unscrupulous techs harvesting from bodies that have been deceased longer. Depending on the condition of the corpse, of course."

  Of course—not. At least not in her book.

  Kate kneaded the base of her skull where the nerves had begun to throb. "I'm guessing there's money in it."

  Walker nodded. "Quite a bit. And there is a genuine need for many of these parts. Skin sections, for example, are used to treat burn victims. In fact, skin is supposed to be earmarked for this specific need because it saves lives. But from what Nicole relayed to me, not nearly enough of the skin that's collected ends up there. The majority is reworked for cosmetic purposes. Nose jobs, lip plumping and the like. It can be used to smooth out other areas of the face and body, too. For example, reconstruction to minimize previous scarring. Bone is used too. It can be ground down and used as filler during dental procedures and other surgeries, including implants. Again, some of these procedures are life-saving and/or altering due to the nature of certain deformities, while others are intended simply to enhance a man's or a woman's perceived beauty."

  Kate's fingers came up, instinctively tracing the cavern carved into her flesh along the mottled scar covering the right side of her face. A conversation she'd had with a well-meaning physician at Walter Reed flitted in. The doc had been an Army reservist in the midst of her annual training. In the civilian world, the woman headed up a plastic surgery practice and had tried to press her card on Kate.

  She'd refused.

  In retrospect, rather rudely. At the time, she'd felt judged. Maybe she had been, maybe she hadn't. Either way— Kate stared at the BAU agent as she dropped her hand into her lap. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll live without the plumping."

  Especially now that she'd worry where it came from.

  "Sorry—" this from a still visibly queasy Lou, "—I'm stuck on the funeral home part. They slice bodies open right there? Parts they're gonna turn around and stick in someone else?"

  "Yes. All a recovery technician needs is a sterile environment. According to Nicole, the tech brings along a portable harvesting kit that's set up at the site to create the necessary sterile environment. The parts are removed and placed inside sanitized coolers. If the body is slated for funerary viewing, it's then stitched up as best as can be, often with sawed off sections of PVC piping inserted to replace any missing bone to give the illusion of structural integrity. From there, the recovered tissue is usually wrapped, labeled and frozen to await transport to the processing facility."

  "Jesus, Son of Mary—" Lou planted his fists on the edge of the conference table as he shot to his feet. "—Those damned paper bags; all those carefully hacked-up, vacuum-packed parts. That's why Grant strung 'em out like that along the road. They're supposed to be waitin' for transport. Abel wasn't lyin'. Grant did want out. And whether or not he planned on gettin' caught, he wanted us to know what was happenin'."

  Walker nodded. "I concur."

  Kate leaned forward as Lou regained his seat. "How much money are we talking about? Tens of thousands per body, or more?"

  "Much more. Though the tissue recovery side of the business is billed as nonprofit, it's anything but, especially since even the usual donors and their families are unpaid. According to Nicole, however, the black and gray markets surrounding the tissue processing and the subsequent marketing pipeline are even uglier. Donation might be presented as a compassionate gift but, make no mistake, to VitaCell Tissues and companies like it, it's all about money." Walker retrieved his pen and tapped it along a column of figures. Each entry was nauseatingly large. "A recovery broker alone can make up to two hundred thousand dollars or more per body, depending on the age and condition of the corpse, along with the donor's corresponding medical history prior to death."

  Donor. The word tumbled through Kate's empty stomach, making her doubly grateful she'd passed on those muffins.

  Those missing vets weren't donors, they were victims.

  "And when you multiply that figure with transplantable lungs, kidneys, livers, pancreases and hearts carefully selected from military veterans for their ability to become near-perfect tissue matches to someone who would otherwise not be able to receive said organ?" Walker shrugged. "The sky's the limit."

  No wonder Kusić had that much cash tucked inside his closet. He probably couldn't spend it fast enough. Not unless he'd wanted to draw undue attention for a government-paid lab tech working in a VA hospital.

  Kate suppressed a shudder. "What about the organs? Kusić, Dunne and Silva were missing theirs. You don't think Grant entered them into that pipeline do you? His own co-conspirators?"

  But Grant had been murdering his fellow vets ever since Abel had received that stolen heart eighteen months ago. Since then, he'd been helping those Madrigal bastards sell off every extra inch of flesh they could lay their greedy paws on. Why not sell those organs too? Grant probably felt it was justice served.

  Walker closed his legal pad and laid his pen on top. "It's possible. It would explain their absence from the bags. Though I fear we won't be able to obtain the answer until we've located Dr. Parish and the setting for all the murders. Those that involved the bags, and the missing vets."

  Walker was correct. Worse, they still had no idea where any of it had taken place. At least now they knew they were searching for someplace sterile, or at the very least someplace that could be made sterile.

  "The warrants." Kate turned to Lou. "Boss, we need to expand the ones for Madrigal and VitaCell Tissues to include every hard record and electronic data file they have, financial and otherwise. Yes, they'll be doctored. But there has to be a clue somewhere as to where they're running the surgical end of this scheme."

  "Agreed. I've got another call to make to Little Rock in—" Lou glanced at his watch. "—ten minutes. The governor's been champin' to light a fire under someone. Let's let him."

  Fire.

  Son-of—

  Kate swung back to Walker. "What about the remains? You said normal donors are prepped as best as can be if they're slated for funerary viewing. But what if they're not slated for burial at all? Those bodies are cremated, right?"

  The second set of paper bags.

  Grant had strung Jason Dunne's out along the road leading damned near to the entrance to that pet cemetery.

  Lou must've read the look on her face, because he nodded. "I agree. If it ain't enough for a warrant, I'll punt that to the governor too and let his people figure out how to work it."

  "Work what?"

  It was Joe. She'd been so consumed by the possibility that they might have a real lead, she'd missed his return.

  Walker shook his head as
Joe sat down beside him. "I have no idea. They're speaking in Braxton code."

  Kate flushed. "Sorry. The second crime scene—Jason Dunne's. It's just down the road from the county's only full-service pet cemetery...complete with a brand-new crematorium, put in maybe two, two-and-a-half years ago."

  And it was large enough to handle horses.

  Walker's nod was almost eager. "Yes, that would do. It would be an excellent spot to reduce the remainder of those vets' bodies—and any other evidence—to ash without anyone being the wiser."

  Except for them.

  If her suspicions were correct.

  Lou stood. "I'm on it. Ed, you mind taggin' along? I'll put us on speaker, and you can run through the medical and financial details with the governor and his aide."

  "Of course."

  Kate turned to Joe as Lou and the BAU agent departed. Joe had brought his government-issued laptop back with him. "Did you find the sergeant?"

  He set the computer on the table and fired it up. "I think so. I found a Sergeant Stephen Fremont Wright. He served in Special Forces from 2008 to 2016. He was in Afghanistan and Iraq, and he lost both his lower legs to a VBID."

  It had to be him then.

  Flush with the possibility of adding a photo to the APB Lou had sent out, Kate spun the laptop toward her. The guy on the screen had blond hair and green eyes, not black and brown. And his face was completely wrong.

  "It's not him."

  "You sure?" Joe tapped the write-up. "See the—"

  "I can read his stats. It's just not him. There must be another Fremont in SF. One with Fremont, not Wright, bringing up the rear." The branch was small, but not microscopic. "Heck, Steve or Steven could be his middle name for all we know. And did you try changing the spelling to—" Her phone rang. "Just a sec." Kate retrieved her phone and glanced at the caller ID. "It's Detective Moradi."

  She stood to stretch her legs as she accepted the connection. "Hey, Arash. Please tell me you got something from searching that mansion besides altitude sickness."

  A warm chuckle filled the line. "I wish. My guys did finish the initial neighborhood canvass, though. You said you wanted an update as soon as possible."

  She had. Did. "And?"

  "We found a witness, but I don't think her statement will amount to much. One of Kessler's neighbors left for the grocery store around the time you and Joe were paused at the security gate. She says she saw a man jogging along the back of Kessler's yard before he disappeared into the trees."

  That sounded like a lot to her. "Was he blond?"

  "She didn't get a good look at his hair, or much of anything else. She thinks it was dark brown, maybe black—but that impression could've been due to the shadows of the trees. Either way, I doubt it's your doc. She only noticed the guy because of his stride. It took her moment to realize what she'd seen, and it knocks your doc out of the running, so to speak. The man she saw was wearing a sweatshirt and running shorts, and had—"

  "—prosthetic legs. Both of them. From the knees down." Kate wasn't even sure why the words had popped into her brain, much less out of her mouth. But they had.

  "How'd you guess?"

  Sweet Jesus. Maybe she had been sure—in the deep, dark recesses of her gut where she'd been afraid to go from the moment she'd stared at that face she hadn't recognized on Joe's screen, but should've. Kate braced her spine against the conference room wall before the implications that were reverberating through her body sent her shuddering to the floor.

  "Kate?"

  "Sorry. Gut instinct. That, and the wrong face in the only possible military record that should match...but doesn't."

  She caught Joe's equally shocked stare. On the drive back to Braxton, she'd shared the story that Fremont had relayed to her about his IED and the supposedly shitty spot on his spine where shrapnel had hit. Only now she knew that explanation to be an utter lie—along with the man's name.

  But if the soldier on Joe's screen was Sergeant Stephen Fremont Wright, US Army Special Forces, who the hell had she shared eggs with?

  "I take it you'd like a copy of the neighbor's statement."

  Kate forced herself to focus on the former Army sergeant to whom she was actually speaking. "I would indeed. As for my gut instinct, I don't have a name to go with it yet. I'll let you know when I do."

  "Understood. Check your email; the witness statement's on its way. I gotta go. A tech I need to speak to is about to leave. Talk to you later."

  Kate stared at her phone as she lowered it, reconsidering everything they'd learned these past few days in light of this new, tectonic discovery. A discovery that had rocked their entire case to the core, and her along with it.

  By the time she looked up, Joe, Lou and Agent Walker were all staring at her. For the second time that evening, she'd been so rattled she hadn't heard the door open.

  "Kato, you okay? You look like you've seen the ghost of your dad."

  Why not? He was rumored to haunt the station, though usually around midnight, roughly the time when he'd died out on that road. Even if she had run into her father's spirit, she couldn't have been more surprised. "Boss, I just found out I had breakfast this morning with a man who doesn't exist."

  Joe swung his laptop screen toward the newcomers. "Meet the real Steve Fremont—who, evidently, Kate has not."

  Liz was wrong. She was an idiot. "A blind, self-centered idiot who can't see past her own goddamned scars."

  Lou tore his confusion from the screen. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I said, I'm an idiot. The first time I sat down with that man at Fort Leaves he actually waved it in my face. He told me flat out that people never bothered to look beneath the scars. He was right." She was one of them. Even with her past and her own mutilated face, she was as guilty as everyone else. "All I saw was the chair—just as he'd intended."

  Lou still appeared bemused by her self-directed vitriol, along with the critical element to the vet's deception.

  Walker, however, had nodded. "He's been injecting himself into the investigation."

  "And brilliantly." She hadn't caught so much as a hint of the man's shadow on the proverbial wall of the cave. Hence, she hadn't been remotely close to seeing him for who he truly was.

  The Garbage Man.

  Kate dumped her phone on the conference table and slumped into the closest chair. "Damn, he's good."

  First, the hospital elevator. Then those two "accidental" collisions with his wheelchair. Coffee in the cafeteria. And then he'd called and invited her to the Silver Bullet where he'd sat across that worn Formica table, carefully laying out the rest, crumb by crumb, luring her down the path he'd wanted her to walk without her realizing it. "An unscrupulous lab tech. Vials of stolen blood. Questions to homeless vets that when added to the rest came back to one answer: organ transplants. He's been following—and guiding—the investigation through me."

  Giving her just enough information while garnering her trust so he could make certain she'd ferret out the remaining details he wanted her to discover.

  Worse, he'd ruthlessly used her own fucked up psyche against her to keep her and her investigation off balance while he did it.

  She stared at Walker. "I'm right, aren't I?"

  "Yes. But in retrospect, none of us should be surprised, and all of us are guilty of not considering the possibility. This is not the first time a murderer has attempted to interject himself into an investigation."

  Attempt, hell. He'd succeeded. "But why not just come forward? He clearly knew about the organ racket. And he knew they were getting them from vets. Given how he hacked up and displayed those bodies, he had to know about the tissue bank too. Why not tell someone? Me, some other cop—any cop. The man was respected at Fort Leaves and at Saint Clare's. Someone would've listened. Acted. He didn't have to murder them."

  Lou scrubbed his hand through the silver sprouting along his jaw. "In his mind, maybe he did. Sure, this bastard's smart. He's proven that time and again these past few days. But maybe we're gi
vin' him credit for too many brains. You got that Madrigal connection followin' a conversation with a receptionist. Could be he couldn't quite get to those two or three ringleaders he killed today without you. Maybe that's what he needed you for."

  It was possible. But she didn't believe it. And from Walker's expression, neither did he.

  Kate snatched her phone from the table and shoved it in her pocket. "I disagree. I think he's known about all of it for a long time. This whole week feels like the final moves of a long and meticulously executed chess match."

  And for some reason, she was his favorite pawn.

  Why else had he slipped into her house and gone through her trunk? Pinned that damned mothballed Silver Star to her pillow?

  And more.

  Kate hooked her fingers to the stainless-steel chain she'd shoved beneath her Braxton PD polo out on Abel's patio, and tugged Max's tags free. "He didn't need me to complete anything. I don't even think he's been forced to deviate from his plan. Not yet. He killed Ian Kusić, Jason Dunne and Andrea Silva right on schedule, and dumped their bodies exactly where and how he wanted to dump them. Then he took Grant. What he has planned for Grant, I'm not sure any of us want to know, but we will, and soon. As for the latest three, I think he intended on slitting the CEO's and Robert Stern's throats all along. The woman may have been an unexpected blip on his radar that he was forced to deal with—and he did. If so, she's the only one."

  "But you can't be sure." This from Lou.

  "About Stern and the CEO?"

  He nodded.

  "Yes, I can. He was on foot, boss. As skilled as he is, he never would've gotten even one grown man, let alone two—actively fighting him or drugged—out of that gated community without wheels. Wheels he'd have brought, if he felt he needed them. That BMW and Jaguar wouldn't have sufficed. Neither vehicle had tinted windows. The gate guard, along with anyone pulled up next to him at a traffic light, could've looked right in. Not to mention the guard would've recognized the cars."

  "But why not plan to slice 'em up and display 'em like the first three? It just don't make sense."

  "That, I don't know. But if he'd wanted to, he would've." Kate glanced at the BAU agent. "Any ideas?"