Missings, The (12 page)

Chase watched her, looking for a sign that she might be involved with illegal organ procurement. She certainly had the knowledge and background, but did she have the callousness required? Maybe she was inadvertently assisting somehow.

The next patient they saw, a middle-aged man named Simon, was waiting for a lung. Simon seemed bitter, and although he acknowledged Birdie and forced a kind of politeness at Chase, he didn’t go out of his way to welcome them the way Mitchell had.

While Mitch’s days held soft slow dances, Simon’s were all sharp battles. Chase hated how easily he identified with the surly man. Simon’s angry eyes indicated he had given his life over to energy-draining, negative poisons. Chase saw an image in his mind, of Simon feasting on a venomous plague. The man devoured it. Chase thanked God he’d found his way out of that hopeless realm, but he knew in his heart how quickly he could find himself there again.

Simon would change places with him in an instant—with no regret. Chase understood Simon’s hardened heart, and that scared him more than any article on Santeria ever would.

His cell phone rang.
Terri
. “What’s up?” He listened for a minute. “Okay, go ahead. Do what you’ve gotta do. An hour isn’t gonna kill us. I’ll contact you if something important comes up.”
Terri’s involved in something. So far, not a problem. So far.

The last patient, Juliette, they didn’t talk to. She resembled his Stephanie as she slept. Nine years old. Chase looked at the small form under the covers in her hospital bed and trapped a groan. Juliette needed a heart. She ranked very near the top of the infamous, magical list. Simplifying it a great deal, if a heart became available, and it wasn’t a match for one of the two people higher on the list than Juliette but
did
match her, she’d automatically move to first place for that organ. A woman slept in a cot next to her bed. Her disheveled appearance marked her as the mother. A plate of picked-over food sat on a tray next to the cot. Hopelessness permeated the air, fused with brutal anger around its edges.

Balloons, wall posters and stuffed animals did little to disguise the institutional purpose of the room. Soft yellows and pink attempted to counter the stainless gray and beige without success. The end result sent the message of a little girl trapped in a nightmare.

Chase felt his own heart quake at the memory of David and all they had lost. He wondered what he would have done if they’d known David needed a new heart, with none readily available. Would he have turned to the black market? Would he have hocked everything to save his son’s life? Even if it meant some stranger—someone he didn’t know or love—might have needlessly died? Been murdered? Chase felt spiders crawl over his conscience and forced the thoughts aside.

He and Birdie moved on to the elevator in silence. When they arrived at the ground floor, Birdie moved as if to slough off a cloak. She waved her arms, still carrying the folders in one, and shook her head, twig-stick hair flapping. A couple of quick kicks with her legs and the energetic, exhausting Birdie re-emerged. Watching her, Chase stalled somewhere between alarm and relief.

“They are all my people, you know. My family. I laugh with them, cry with them, fold my hands to God with them, and sometimes I hold them while they die. It is not easy, but it is my happiness. My gift.”

Chase wondered who had it hardest—Birdie or her “people.”

“Tell me about your experience, Birdie, if it’s not too personal.”

“It is all personal. If not personal, it would not matter.” She peeled off with her skip-step down a hallway leading to the hospital cafeteria. “Do not you worry. We are not eating here—I need to put my eye on a lady for a slice.”

He waited while she veered behind the counter almost bowling over an elderly woman who checked food trays and took the money of hospital diners. Birdie flung the files down by the cash register and wrapped her skinny arms around the woman who did a good job of covering up her surprise—and her smile.

“What in the world?” The old woman’s accent filled the air as she swatted Birdie’s arms away. “Can not you let me do my job the way it is supposed to be done?”

Swinging around, one arm gently guiding her victim, Birdie faced Chase. “Irina, I’d like you to meet Chase Waters Detective. I am gifting him my people today. Chase, this is the amazing woman, Mrs. Irina Kostakov.”

The woman’s eyes flicked to meet his for a moment, then fell away. Chase nodded in acknowledgement as a faint blush stained her wrinkled cheeks. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kostakov.

Birdie released her arm and planted a kiss on Irina’s cheek. The wrinkled woman reached up and cupped Birdie’s face in her hands, murmuring something to her in Russian. Eyes welling, Birdie gave one last hug and began flip-flopping back the way they’d come before Chase could react. A smile and another nod toward Mrs. Kostakov, then he hurried to catch up to the dashing woman. He decided Birdie was aptly named—always taking off in flight.

“Irina had a son. I am transplanted because of his bone. He and friends fly into Aspen to play golf and crash plane into Aspen Mountain. Irina live in state of New Jersey, but push herself here to be to the end place her son breathed.” Birdie did a hop-dance and turned to face him. “And be near me, I think. I am filled with life and alive and sticking my feet down today because of her Alexi.”

Stunned, Chase asked, “How did you find out the name of your donor?” Had they missed something when David died? There were so many forms.

“Both the transplanted people must agree to have their name said. Or, in the case of Alexi, his next of line. She did, I did, so we did.”

Chase looked at his watch. He’d been here almost thirty minutes, and although he’d become aware of the life-or-death urgency for organ donations, he had a couple more questions. “Are all of the transplant surgeries done here at Memorial?”

“For regular money people.”

“What do you mean?”

“People who are transplanted by insurance visit Memorial.”

“Where else is there?”

“High money people go to here or the clinic.”

“A clinic?”

“Private. Preston Clinic.”

“Birdie, I want to thank you for taking the time to introduce me to these people who mean so much to you, and giving me a primer in transplants. May I call you if I have any more questions?”

“My phone is always in my ear.”

Chase took that as a yes.

The Preston Clinic

Monday, September 24

Bobby Carlisle pushed his sunglasses up on his head and ushered the young man into the clinic through a side entrance. “Wait over there. Someone will come and get you in a minute.”

“When do I get my money?”

“After the operation.”

“But you said—”

“
After
the operation.”

“I think maybe this is a mistake. I think I have changed my mind.” The kid, barely seventeen, moved to leave.

Carlisle blocked the door. He shoved his coat to the side to reveal a gun strapped to his chest. “Leaving would be a mistake. A bad one. The last one you would ever make. We have an agreement and I expect you to honor it. You know about honor?”

The kid looked at the floor. “I know honor.”

“Good. Then wait over there. It will be over sooner than you can say Immigration and Customs Enforcement.”

These lowlife criminals with accents pissed him off more and more every time. Idiots. The scum from Mexico were useful but he hated the need to interact with them.

He pulled out his cell and punched in a number. “I’ve got a possible rabbit so I need you to get the cash.” He gave the ‘eyes on you’ signal to the kid then turned his back on him. “Eight hundred.” He spun back around. “Good. See you soon.”

Pablo, or whatever his name was, had agreed on three hundred dollars for one of his kidneys. Carlisle’s “commissions” were building a nice little nest egg for his future. He had amassed a tidy sum over the years. In addition, he’d made some particularly good investments. Soon it would be time to cut and run. He hadn’t decided whether or not to share the money with his brother. Probably not. Sammy was slow and bound to lose it. Then he’d be needing a place to live. Better keep complete control and give his brother an allowance. Pay him for protection or something.

* * *

He stretched his patience for the benefit of the two men sitting across the rather broad expanse of his desk. He handled the gold letter opener in his hand like a weapon—a long thin finger tested the point. To keep his operation small meant he had to deal with the flunkies. Part of him hated this—the part where he had to have patience—but part of him loved to dip his manicured fingers in the street-smart portion of his business. It reminded him of his youth when he had survived from day to day by his wits.

“You need to do two things if you are to remain on my payroll. First, you need to try and find a brain between you and figure out what to do with the product suppliers when we’re finished with them. You’ve gotten lazy. Too many are being discovered, and eventually that will spell disaster for our work here. Second, you need to fine-tune your information related to the routine of the next heart donor. You must be prepared to bring her here on a moment’s notice.”

He scowled at the brothers. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

Bobby looked up. “I have a question.”

When the man said nothing, Bobby plunged ahead. “Why did you have us tell the bitch where to find her sister’s body if we’re so concerned about discovery?”

“Never, ever use that kind of language in front of me again. Do you understand?”

Bobby shifted in his seat. “Yes. Sir.”

“The older sister had already gone to the police. She’s pushy and mouthy. We need her to shut up.”

The man sat back in his chair, fingered the letter opener one more time, then skewered his gaze on the two unfortunate men sitting in front of him. “Are you prepared to do the job? If you have some concerns about my requirements or your ability to meet them, I need to know. Now.”

“No, sir. We’re good.” The more diminutive of the two spoke. Maybe he knew about what happened to former employees who knew too much. Or maybe he really thought he had a handle on things. It didn’t matter. Not the time to make a change. Too much depended on information they’d already accumulated about the heart donor.

“Don’t disappoint me.” He pulled a small sheet of paper from a notebook and handed it to the small man. He smiled at the hesitancy and slight tremble before the paper was accepted.
Power. Gotta love it.
“This is a minor supply situation that’s in addition to your main project, but we’ve made a commitment to produce the product. You have one week to gain consent from the kid for one of his kidneys, otherwise, we will need to gain access with a less secure outcome. And you will need to have determined a preferred disposal method.”

The man pulled a file open and began to finger the pages. “We’re done here.”

* * *

“I got it, Bonehead. Quit bugging me.”

Sammy wiped his hands on his pants for the five hundredth time. “But Bobby, we got to get this right. There’s so much we gotta do, it’s confusing.”

“That’s why you’ve got me. First thing is the disposal, right? We do the same thing we did a year ago. Look for some mutilation group to hide our toss. We’ll head over to the campus and poke around. Bound to be some group of assholes there.”

“Good. That’s good. Give us a place to dump the leftovers.”

“And we’ve been following little heart girl for a few days. We’ll have the details down soon. Could be a hard snatch because she’s never by herself, but she’s just a kid. Surprise will be in our favor.”

Bobby waited a minute for Sammy to process his words. When he saw his partner, actually his older brother, blink a couple of times he figured everything had finally sunk in.

“So you’re with me then?”

“I’m always with you, Bobby. You should know that by now. You might have the brains but there’s no way you can take care of yourself in a fight.”

“You got that right. I need you.”

“Who’s our next supplier?”

Bobby unfolded the paper, laughed, then handed it over to his brother to read.

He watched as Sammy read the top line that said the best place for contact was Cobalt Mountain Books, and then moved on to the contact name. His brother looked up, eyes wide. “Really? Tom Hanks?”

“Efraín Tomás Hanks Madrigal. Kid with a name like that is gonna be an easy sell.”

Aspen Falls’ Hispanic Neighborhood

Monday, September 24

Daniel and Elizabeth walked the neighborhood much like they had on Saturday, but today they were bundled against the cold. A high country storm teased the mountain town with the promise of winter and the white powder their ski slopes were known for.

“We want to try and identify another body, Elizabeth.” Daniel watched her reaction before making the decision to say more. Satisfied by what he saw he continued, “We’re not certain of a tie-in but there’s a chance it’s connected. Maybe part of a pattern. And the young man we’re trying to put a name to may have a family here who is looking for some answers.” He didn’t need to add the fact that she searched for her own answers. “Are you comfortable with this?”

“Detective Murillo—”

“Daniel, please.”

She nodded. “I am doing this—helping you—for one reason only. To find whoever is responsible for my sister’s murder. It sounds like you think I might be of some help in finding someone to identify this body. Fine. I’ll do whatever I can. As long as it leads to my sister’s murderer. Am I making myself clear?”

“Your neighbors may not like the idea of your working with the police, regardless of the reason. And you know someone is very unhappy with the fact that you are talking to us. You’ve already been warned.”

“Are you trying to scare me away, Daniel?”

He hesitated. His name on her lips threw him off track. “I just want to make sure you know the downside. The risk. And I need to know you’re with us. With me.”

“As long as I’m comfortable with our direction—to find out why my sister died and who is responsible—I’m with you every step.”