Dead Ringer (9 page)

“You may enter.”

You may enter?
She opened the heavy door. “Professor Boynton?”

“That’s right.” He flashed a charming smile of perfect teeth.

He was the polar opposite from what she’d imagined after hearing his voice on the phone. Or maybe she’d been influenced by the title Professor, Department of Biological Structure. She’d envisioned a bald seventy-year-old with Dumbo ears, hunched over an old desk filled with high stacks of papers. Yoda in a white lab coat. Instead, this dude was tall, buff, tan, early forties and wore a Tommy Bahama shirt. Certainly not even close to any professors she’d seen at junior college.

They shook hands, and he pointed to the guest chair and said, “Please.”

The room felt more like a walk-in closet than a professor’s office. Barely enough space for the vintage oak desk, matching guest chair, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A solitary
window allowed a restricted view of Northeast Pacific Street. That is, if you could see through the thick layer of grime coating the glass. A seventeen-inch laptop on the desk. The faint smell of incense caught her attention.

He took his chair and leaned back, arms folded across his chest. “Now what exactly may I do for you?”

During the call, she’d mentioned needing some general information about the medical school’s Willed Body Program but hadn’t delved into particulars. She certainly hadn’t wanted to get into any sensitive questions without a face-to-face conversation. “First, thank you for taking the time to see me, Professor.”

“Call me Bill. Professor sounds too formal.” He flashed another smile.

“Okay, Bill. You’re in charge of the Willed Body Program here at the university?” When she’d Googled
willed body program,
it popped up with the UW Department of Biological Structure. Boynton’s name was on the site.

“Yes.”

“The information on your website answered a lot of questions, but I still have several more I need answers to.”

“Ask away.”

“It states bodies are used for medical research. What exactly does that mean?”

He pushed the laptop aside, knitted his fingers together, and leaned on the desk, eyeing her in a way that made her want to pinch her blouse collar closed. “Means a lot of things, but probably the most common use is education. Teaching students.” He seemed to savor those words. “I guess in the strictest sense student teaching is not truly research, but in
the more global sense it is. I like to believe that training new professionals is the only way to assure a supply of future researchers. Don’t you agree?”

Wendy believed the question was rhetorical, so she didn’t answer.

Without giving her time to answer, Boynton continued. “There are always questions about the biological structure of the human body that aren’t fully answered. So, I guess you’d say much of the material is used for rather straightforward pedantic research.”

She had no idea what that meant but nodded. “I see.”

He seemed to be done and waiting for a new question, so she jumped to the real reason for the visit. “Are you familiar with a local facility called DFH Inc.?”

His expression changed to disgust. “Ditto’s endeavor?”

My, my, what an intriguing reaction
. “What can you tell me about it?”

Boynton studied her a moment. “What exactly do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the business. Can you explain it to me?”

He pinched his lower lip. “So, really, you came to ask about Ditto’s business and not about our Willed Body Program; am I correct?”

“Yes, you are.”

“And I assume you’ve spoken with Bobby Bobby?”

“Who?”

Boynton snickered. “That’s what we call him behind his back. Bobby Bobby. You know, Bobby
Ditto
?”

“Oh. Got it.” Wendy cleared her throat to refocus him. “Yes, I talked with him. But there are still a few things I don’t
understand, things I was hoping someone outside of DFH could explain.”

“This part of an investigation?” He sounded curiously hopeful.

“Why would you ask that?”

Boynton flashed a knowing grin. “Because I’ve always suspected something amiss over there.”

Interesting
. She reached into her purse and triggered a recorder. “Do you mind if I record this?”

He shook his head.

“Is that a no?”

“It is if you want me to be truthful.”

Wendy held up a small notebook. “Then do you mind if I take notes?”

He pointed at the notebook. “Would that be discoverable?”

“Yeah, probably. Depending on what happens.”

“Then I mind that also.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Because I get the impression you’re investigating Ditto. Knowing him, it means sooner or later he’ll end up in court. And that means anything I put on the record today will end up there too. That happens, he’ll know exactly where it came from even if I’m not named as the source. That dude’s one vindictive hombre. What I’m saying is, if he were to win in court, he’d come after me with a vengeance. That’s not exactly a career builder now, is it?”

Another rhetorical question. “Well, if what you say is true, that he ends up in court, what makes you think he’ll get off?”

Boynton laughed. “Because he’s far from stupid. In fact, he’s one of the cleverest hombres I know. Never went higher
than high school, but he has a business sense that’s uncanny. He’s also an expert at reading people. He plans well and executes effectively. Whatever you have going on, be careful. That’s all I can say.”

Wendy dropped the notebook into her purse, sat back, crossed her legs. “You were saying, about his business?”

He glanced at the ceiling, rubbed the back of his neck. “You have any idea what the market is for bodies?”

“You mean, like for kidney transplants?”

“That too, but no, not living organs like kidneys and hearts. I was referring to intact cadavers and cadaver parts. Organ donations are regulated by DSHS, but the cadaver business isn’t.”

“Interesting.” Earlier Wendy had looked up a couple of cases—one at UCLA Medical Center, another in Virginia—where body parts had been sold illegally by employees in the morgue. But the news service articles didn’t provide the information she needed. She planned to dig up more when she had time.

“In this state at least
body
donation is wide open, and it’s a huge market.” Leaning back in his chair, Boynton tapped his pursed lips with steepled fingertips. “Here’s how it works. Say you’re one of the big medical instrument companies, and you develop a whiz-bang new artificial knee. How do you train surgeons on how to implant the appliance correctly?”

“You tell me.”

“The company conducts training seminars. You might hold a few at the big national meetings, but you also set up a series of workshops in major cities around the country. However you choose to do it, you’ll need a constant supply of actual knees. And they have to come from somewhere. That’s where DFH
steps in. They’re a major supplier. Not only that, but their fancy building over by Lake Union … you ever been inside?”

“Yes, but only the lobby and Ditto’s office.”

“Well, it has some of the most elegant teaching facilities I’ve ever seen. HDTVs, webcasting pods, wood-paneled lecture halls … I’m telling you, this building”—he held out his arms—“sucks in comparison.”

From the little she’d seen, it sucked regardless. The West Precinct was the Taj Mahal in comparison.

“The demand for cadavers isn’t just for medical education, either. There’re other needs you might not think about. Forensic studies, as an example. There’s a guy in Tennessee who’s made a name for himself by studying the life cycle of maggots in decomposing bodies. He’s the world expert on the subject. He had fields of corpses and adds new corpses to them all the time. Can you imagine a field of rotting bodies? I’m sure you must have heard of him.”

Wendy nodded, but in truth this was the first mention she’d heard of him and what she envisioned made her nauseous.

“Then you have accident reenactments. Although there are companies that make gelatin body simulations for those, the biomechanics are never as accurate as a human corpse, so the demand remains high,” Boynton said with a shrug.

He’s really getting into it
.
Probably one of the few times he’s lectured to someone actually interested
.

“These are all legitimate uses that make us as people better off.” He paused. “But back to your point. Have any idea how much Ditto is paid for a whole body? Especially one in prime condition?”

She assumed from the way he asked that it would be high. “Tell me.”

“Get this.” Boynton leaned closer as if disclosing confidential information. “How does three hundred thousand dollars grab you?” He sat back and crossed his arms with a smug expression.

“That’s three
hundred
thousand?”

He smiled. “Staggering, isn’t it?”

She whistled. “Man!”

His smile widened as he laid down his trump card. “But
selling
bodies is illegal.”

“Then I don’t—”

Boynton raised a hand, cutting her off. “Here’s how it works. Say your father has a massive heart attack and dies, and you don’t have the money for a casket, much less a funeral. You’re torn. You want to do something nice for dear old Dad, but you simply don’t have the money. And God knows, you have to do something with the body. Can’t very well just toss him in the Dumpster late at night. What do you do?”

“You call DFH Inc.”

He flashed a thumbs-up. “You bet you do. And what’s not to like? Ditto’s crew promptly arrives, whisks away the body. If you opt for his medical research program,” making quotes with his fingers, “there is no charge. It’s free. He cremates the body and gives you the ashes or disposes of them for you if you prefer. But wait,” he said with a dramatic flourish, mimicking a TV ad, “there’s more. If you want, they’ll even give your loved one a nice memorial service in their own chapel free of charge. It’s a huge win for everyone involved. Not only does Dad get a funeral, but he’s contributed to the advancement of science.
Whether you’re down on your luck or rolling in the dough, you don’t have to end up paying several thousand bucks to have Dad cremated or buried with a ceremony. You got to love it. And people do.”

“So how—?”

Up went his hand again. “How can Ditto get three hundred grand for Dad and stay legal? Easy. He charges the customers—medical schools or medical device companies, for example—huge storage, transportation, and” again miming quotation marks, “handling fees. That part
is
legal.”

“Meaning there’s an illegal part?”

Boynton nodded slowly. “Didn’t hear it here, but yes, I’m convinced of it.”

Wendy stole a glance at her recorder. The red record light was glowing, so she was catching every word. “Go on.”

“What I’m telling you is only what I suspect. I don’t have proof. We clear on this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. First, there’s a huge black market for body parts. There’s also a huge demand. So, say you’re Ditto and you pick up a fresh body, one that’s still warm and in perfect condition. If you know what you’re doing and work quickly, you can salvage everything—corneas, skin, heart valves, ligaments. I could give you a complete laundry list, but I think you get the idea. He doesn’t deal in kidneys or other living internal organs for transplant—because that gets a completely different level of state scrutiny—but still, there’s enough tissue to make a jaw-dropping amount of money from dealing in cadaver parts. And it seems like such easy money that every year you read about some dumb shit morgue worker arrested for helping himself to parts of the deceased.”

She thought back to the few cases she reviewed.

“Donating your body isn’t for everyone, and I’m here to tell you it doesn’t happen every day. For a variety of reasons. Most of all, not everyone knows it’s an option. And if you do know, you might not like the idea of being dissected in a classroom full of curious med students. Maybe you’re worried about being naked in front of an audience. For others, just the thought is intrinsically repugnant. Maybe some have a religious law or belief against it. The point is—and this is a biggie—the number of annual donations doesn’t come close to meeting the demand. Yet somehow every year Ditto’s business grows. How does he do it? I can’t understand where he gets all his material—it must be a huge supply. Something’s not right.”

She wanted to know exactly where he was going with this. “Can you be more specific?”

“All I know is how many bodies come to us annually. It’s not close enough to meet our needs. So I can’t for the life of me see how it can approach what Ditto’s numbers are. Granted, he aggressively advertises his discount funeral part of the business and that helps. But think about it. There shouldn’t be any material left over from that. At least not if he really is cremating the entire bodies. So where do all the body parts come from to supply the cadaver parts business?”

“What exactly are you saying?”

“Did I say anything?”

“No, but you sure implied something.”

“I told you I’m not going on the record with this.” He wagged an admonishing finger.

“Look, if you have any proof of anything, say it. Now’s the time.”

“No, I don’t. I already told you that.”

“Then give me a hypothetical. What do you
suspect
is going on?”

Boynton seemed to choose his next words carefully. “Ditto is running three businesses. The one everyone knows about is his budget funeral service. No problem there. The second is his medical research program in which bodies are used for various teaching programs. Supposedly, after the body or limbs are used, all the parts are returned and cremated together and the ashes disposed of according to the family’s wishes. The third business is supplying cadaver parts—bone fragments, ligament, whatever—for use in surgery. I simply don’t see how he gets enough material to keep that third part of the business so robust.”

When he paused, Wendy said, “Go on, tell me what you think is happening.”

“Obviously, he needs bodies to meet demand. How does he do it? First, there’s the possibility of getting unclaimed or unidentified bodies from the medical examiner. But they don’t give away freebies. Besides, by the time the ME finishes with a body, it’s usually too decomposed to be good for anything. There’s only one other way I know to acquire a freshly dead person.”