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“Put it on hold.”
When Doctor Kirk raises his hand again, I point his way. “Update?”
“I have just one on my slab today, Chief Mayet. I finished one out this morning. Reports have been written and submitted. Now I have a Jane Doe we’re trying to identify. Would you like her particulars?”
“Sure,” I sigh. In my effort to avoid Aubree, I came out here and landed myself with an hour-long briefing that helps no one. Least of all me. “Tell me her particulars.”
* * *
At a little past six, with my phone still untouched, and not a single missed call or message from my husband, I swap out my white coat for something more suited for outside. It’s thin, but the weather has turned perfect anyway, which makes my horrible winter coat the best kind for the spring.
I step out of the George Stanley without telling anyone I’m leaving. Not even Aubree. I hold the straps of my briefcase on the crook of my arm and slip my keys into my coat pocket, and after riding the elevator to the lobby floor, I let myself out the revolving doors until I step into the evening breeze and think of waterfalls.
Swimming.
Lovemaking and tender touches.
I think of Archer, and the way he loves me. I think of his selflessness and kindness. The way he protects me even over his own safety. How he makes damn sure I’m fed and rested as often as possible, and when I’m neither, he steps forward to provide me a place to lean and a protein bar to nibble on.
He’s a good man. The best, really. And though our fight this morning was big, it’s not something we can’t overcome. It’s not something we can’t fix just as soon as I walk through the door of our home and it’s just the two of us again.
No outside interference. No extra voices. Just him and me, our love, and our uncanny ability to find compromise in the unlikeliest places.
Fisted in my hand, my phone bleats and sends my heart galloping.
Finally, I think,he’s calling. He’s making contact, and soon, we’ll make up and go back to normal.
But my joy lasts only as long as it takes for me to check the screen and find Detective Fletcher’s name flashing at me instead.
I breathe through my frustration and swipe to accept the call, then studying the street ahead, I bring the phone to my ear and smooth my voice. “Hey, Fletch.” I look as far ahead as I can manage and hope to see the guys before they see me. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Delicious. I’m actually calling about our organ harvest case. Jesse Corrigan. Do you have anything to add that might help me along?”
“Oh…” I can’t help the wash of disappointment pulsing in my veins.
I have to remember in addition to the friendship I have with this man, I’m also a professional. I’m the medical examiner on his case, and as such, I probably should’ve called him already today.
“Uh… I don’t have anything new for you. Killer took his heart. Medical-grade removal, which implies the organ would be sold and reused elsewhere. We haven’t had any more bodies turn up today, not at the George Stanley or in any other facility across the city. I’ve put out word to others in my industry, so if another vic pops, you’ll hear about it quickly. Have you and Arch gotten any closer?”
“Uh… well…” He exhales. “Not really. We spoke to Doctor Cleary at the hospital to see if she’d heard anything. We also spoke to the head of cardio down there. Kinda stuffy guy, super by-the-book. He didn’t have any pointers for us, but he assured us that any patient who’d had that kind of surgery wasn’t likely to be waltzing along the street any time soon. Whoever the recipient is, if there is one, is very likely laid up in a hospital somewhere right now.”
“But if they’re in the hospital, we’d have records to say so. If someone checks in with a brand-new scar on their chest, that’s going to throw up alerts all over the system. Especially now that this murder is being investigated.”
“So…” Fletch lets his word drag on for a minute, only to end with what I’m certain is a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe there was no recipient at all. Maybe this was purely to hurt Corrigan. Or maybe the recipient didn’t make it, so the killer dumped and ran. Or maybe they took the organ out of the city.” He runs through his possibilities while I act merely as a sounding board. “Shit, how long can a heart stay on ice before it’s useless? How far away from Copeland can they get before it’s too far?”
“They have about four to six hours,” I tell him. “After that, they risk the organ failing.”
“So… a six-hour drive gives us a perimeter we can work with. But a six-hour flight?” He groans. “The heart could be anywhere in the country by now, Delicious. Shit.”
“Stick close to Copeland. Regardless, if an unaccounted-for heart turns up somewhere,anywherein the country, it’s gonna be flagged. There are systems in place for this. If there is indeed a recipient, and the transplant was successful, they’re either having a really rough time at home right now, or they’re in a hospital somewhere, which means they know a doctor who can slip them in and keep it all off the books. Keep looking for your cardiothoracic surgeon; there are only so many of those. Work your way through the list and see what comes up. One of them either knows someone dying of heart failure, or they have a beautiful, new wad of cash in the bank. Both are traceable. You just have to follow it to the end.”
“You’d make a good cop, ya know that, Delicious?” Chuckling, Fletch sits back so his seat squeaks, stifling my hope that he and Archer are walking my way.
I cross over from one block to the next and continue toward my apartment. “I’ve heard that already once today. And since you brought it up—”
“What did I bring up?”
“Cop stuff. I need records for a guy named Laramie Fentone. Forty-nine years old. He’s done a few stints in prison for various crimes. I can see what’s on the internet, but I need you to find me the stuff cops can see.”
