The sound of Detective Sergeant Rohan Coleridge’s siren was as deafening as the pounding of his heart. Another rush of adrenaline surged through him at the thought of what lay ahead. A call had come over the radio about a two-car pile-up that also involved a fuel tanker. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen if the tanker was leaking and they didn’t get there in time.
He glanced across at his partner. Detective Bryce Sutcliffe looked equally grim. The scratchy reports they’d obtained from dispatch had filled them both with dread. At least one car had passengers trapped in their vehicle. Emergency response teams from all over the city were, right now, accelerating toward the accident. As luck would have it, Rohan and Bryce had been interviewing a witness to an unrelated matter only a few blocks away. Closest to the site of the accident, they now expected to be the first responders on the scene.
Another wave of adrenaline flooded Rohan’s veins. Mentally, he began to think about what might need to be done. A leaking fuel tanker was a time bomb. The first thing was to ensure the safety of any passengers who were still alive and pray to God it wasn’t too late.
“There it is!” Bryce called out, tension in his voice.
With a squeal of tires, Rohan swung the squad car onto the sidewalk and braked hard. Shoving it into Park, he leaped from the vehicle with Bryce on his heels.
“You take the white Toyota. I’ll check the Nissan,” Rohan shouted and took off at a run.
Racing toward one of the sedans, Rohan was relieved to see the tanker driver had made it out of his truck and was now stumbling across the grassy verge that adjoined the pavement. With his heart in his throat, Rohan skidded to a halt beside the passenger door of the Nissan.
Peering through the window, he made out the shape of two people in the front of the car. The sound of a baby screaming reached his ears. He wrenched open the front door and came up short. The front of the Nissan had folded in on the occupants. Steel and plastic lay twisted and broken, leaving the inside front compartment of the vehicle almost unrecognizable.
“Hey, can you hear me?” he shouted to the adults in the front of the car. Both the driver and passenger were covered in blood. Neither of them responded. Rohan checked the passenger for a pulse and found none. Reaching across the mess of metal wreckage, he searched the driver for signs of life. Again, nothing.
Pulling back, he stood upright and the sharp smell of gasoline scorched his nostrils. His heartbeat kicked into overdrive. Any minute the tanker could blow. He looked across at Bryce and saw that he was dragging someone out of the Toyota.
“How many?” he shouted, his panic increasing with every passing second.
“Only the driver. He’s pretty badly hurt, but I’ve managed to pull him free. How about you?”
Rohan shook his head at the same time he tried to wrench open the back door. It was stuck. “It’s already too late for the occupants in the front, but there’s a child in the back.”
The baby’s screams increased in intensity, along with the wail of more sirens. Rohan looked up and spied two fire engines bearing down on them. It seemed like there were blue and red strobe emergency lights everywhere. He pulled hard on the door handle again and finally felt it give. With a shout of triumph, he tore the panel open and bent down to rescue the child.
The baby was strapped into a car seat that was wedged hard up against the front seat. No matter what Rohan did, he couldn’t seem to free the straps. The baby’s screaming pierced his eardrums and yet he continued to work at a frantic pace. The smell of gas grew stronger and he knew it was only a matter of time. As if reading his panicked thoughts, Rohan heard one of the fire captains shouting at the crowd.
“Clear the area! Everybody get back! This tanker could blow at any minute.”
Working even more feverishly, Rohan cursed when the straps continued to hold. The only way to free the child was to cut through them.
“I need a knife!” he shouted. “For Christ’s sake, someone bring me a knife!”
Bryce materialized at his elbow with a blade in his hand. Rohan didn’t question where he’d gotten it from. He was just relieved to have it.
“Rohan, we have to get out of here! That tanker’s going to go!”
The urgency in Bryce’s voice and the panic in his eyes told Rohan all he needed to know. This wasn’t some training exercise where any minute the drill sergeant would blow his whistle and call it off. This was the real thing and peoples’ lives were on the line. His, included.
Sawing through the thick straps that held the baby in place, Rohan’s heart thumped so hard it felt like he was about to die. The baby screamed, his face a bright red, but Rohan continued to work away.
“Rohan! For fuck’s sake! You have to get out of the way!”
Ignoring Bryce, he cut through the last strap and almost collapsed with relief. With no time to linger, he snatched up the baby and hauled the child out of the car. Running faster than he ever had in his life, he headed for safety, away from the tanker.
It seemed like only seconds later that he was deafened by an enormous explosion. The ground shook from the force of it. He stumbled and almost fell. Covering the baby’s head with his jacket, he shielded the child from harm.
“Get down, Rohan! It could blow again!”
Rohan nodded at Bryce to show him he understood and half-crawled, half-ran toward the row of ambulances parked well clear of the danger zone. It seemed like a lifetime passed before he finally reached the safety of the emergency vehicles, the baby still in his arms. Paramedics ran toward him, reaching for the child. He handed the screaming bundle over with a grateful sigh.
“It’s all right, Detective. We have him. You can let go now.”
Rohan prised his fingers open and stepped away. Residual shock set in and he began to tremble uncontrollably. Another paramedic came toward him and he could see the concern on her face. A moment later, everything went fuzzy and he fell face down on the ground.
* * *
Alistair stared at the computer screen in front of him and scanned through his emails. Many were from pharmaceutical companies and other medical supply businesses, flogging their products. He looked at them briefly before consigning them to the trash.
As he’d promised Sam at her birthday lunch, he’d sat with their mother earlier in the day while she underwent one of her thrice-weekly dialysis sessions and had done his best to distract her from what was happening. Though it had only been a few days, he’d been shocked at her appearance. Thin and sallow, she looked like someone close to death. Sadness and panic filled his gut. He didn’t want to believe they wouldn’t find a donor kidney, but time was fast running out.
He cursed under his breath and a surge of frustration flooded through him. What he’d told Sam was true. It aggravated him beyond measure that he was the head of the Organ Donation for Transplantation Unit in the largest hospital in Australia and couldn’t find a single kidney for his dying mother.
Pushing the depressing thoughts aside, he continued to scroll through his emails. One in particular caught his eye. It had been sent from a company purporting to be in the business of supplying human organ and tissue to international agencies, who then supplied the donated body parts to medical facilities who undertook the transplants. Perhaps they could help locate a kidney for his mother… Alistair frowned and scrolled down further, reading as he went.
According to the email, Biologistics was a company based in the US and had received approval for its business from the American Food and Drug Administration. The FDA was responsible for overseeing the legitimacy of such companies and they’d apparently given Biologistics five stars. Doctor Charles Shillington, the CEO of Biologistics, had contacted Alistair with a view to making him a proposal: Would he be interested in helping them to supply the market? The email implied that if his answer was in the affirmative, he’d be extremely well compensated.
Compensated? An interesting idea. Up until now, he’d been the one doing the compensating. It had been tough, in addition to paying all the bills for his children, but he’d considered the added expense an acceptable sacrifice for the worthy work he’d been doing. To receive financial gain would make it even more satisfying.
Alistair’s heart began to pound. Trafficking in human tissue was illegal in most countries, including Australia and the US. What the hell was Shillington getting at? Was the email even legitimate? And if so, how, and why had they chosen to contact him?
Typing the name “Biologistics” into Google, Alistair waited for the search results and was surprised to discover the company had a website. Until he found it, he’d been sure the email was a hoax. Clicking on the link, he read through the details on the homepage.
Like the email claimed, the company was not only legitimate and FDA approved, it had been established ten years earlier and there were pages of testimonials from doctors lauding the service provided by the company. A page dedicated to its CEO, Charles Shillington, indicated the doctor had established the company in order to fill a need. He wanted to help facilitate the business of organ and tissue harvesting by sourcing good quality body parts and making them available to those in need.
And those who could afford them, Alistair thought dryly.
Knowing he’d probably regret it, but curious to know more, Alistair shot off a reply. Within minutes, he received another email.
Doctor Wolfe,
I’m so pleased to receive your email. I appreciate you have several questions about our business and exactly what we do. To answer your first question, we found your contact details on the Sydney Harbour Hospital website. For some time, we’ve been looking for more people to join our team. And not just any people. We need the right kind of people. People who understand our goals and who are willing to work with us to help us achieve them.
In the US alone, more than two million products derived from human tissue change hands between suppliers and medical facilities each year. We are in an industry that promotes treatments and products that literally allow the blind to see and the lame to walk. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that?
We are a legitimate, FDA-approved company and while you quite rightly point out that it’s illegal to buy or sell human tissue, it is permissible in the US to pay service fees to cover the costs of finding, storing, and processing human tissue. I understand the same rules might not apply in your country and it is important that you weigh up any potential risk against the benefits. Pleased be assured, the benefits are many.
Apart from the immense satisfaction members of our team receive knowing they are a part of something almost miraculous, Biologistics rewards its suppliers very generously. We are prepared to pay a handsome sum for good and useable human tissue. All you have to do is let us know that you would like to be part of this exciting venture.
The email had been signed: Charles Shillington, CEO, Biologistics. Alistair reread the email twice more and was filled with a growing sense of excitement. He did his best to keep it in check, but he couldn’t deny the possibility of contributing to a tissue donation scheme on such a magnificent scale was mind-blowing. The fact that he could make a little money from it was an added bonus. If luck prevailed, it might even cover some of his kids’ annual school fees. With fingers that weren’t quite steady, he shot off another reply.
What kind of money are you talking?
Once again, he received a reply in minutes.
To put it more plainly, for every five pounds of disease-free human tissue you provide, we will pay you the sum of $50,000 US dollars—deposited directly into your nominated account. All you have to do is say the word. We’ll handle pickup and transportation—the logistics.
Alistair’s eyes bugged out of his head. Fifty grand? For five pounds of tissue? How could they afford to pay him that much? He had no idea there could be so much money involved in the human tissue industry. And, why would he? Trafficking in human body parts was illegal in Australia. Even human tissue imported into Australia was regulated by the government and closely scrutinized. There was no possibility a company such as Biologistics could be established here. Was it possible to get away with such a thing in the US?
Becoming more and more curious, Alistair conducted further research via the Internet. More than an hour later, he’d discovered the trade in human tissue was not only allowed in the US, but flourishing. Like Charles had stated, it was illegal to buy and sell the tissue, but it appeared millions of dollars were made by compensating those people supplying, storing and processing it—and there appeared to be little, if no, government scrutiny.
Though tissue banks were required to be registered with the FDA, it meant no more than filling out a form and waiting for an inspection. From what Alistair had read on the Internet, at least thirty-five percent of active, registered US tissue banks had never been inspected and of those that had been, the FDA had yet to shut a single one down over concern about illicit activities.
Could it really be that simple? Human tissue went to waste in Alistair’s hospital every single day. For a long time, he’d mourned its loss, frustrated that nothing could be done. Was this the answer he’d been searching for? Illegal or not, the process ensured that any useable tissue would be recycled and used again.
Like Charles Shillington had said, it meant making the blind see, helping lame people walk… And that was only the beginning. It might not help Alistair’s mom, but someone would get the benefit. Many someones. How could he not want to be part of that?
And if he made a little—okay, a lot of money—on the side, where was the harm in it? Desperate people got the transplants they needed and he got to put his kids through school with less financial strain than otherwise. It seemed like a win-win situation. Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t already broken the law in the name of the greater good.
The idea of harvesting organs in addition to those they had consent to remove, struck him late one night when he was suturing closed a legal donor’s chest. He’d silently bemoaned the fact that so many useable organs were heading straight for the grave and wondered what could be done about it. It was late May. Winter had been fast closing in and with it came a naturally occurring increase in the number of deaths. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. It was then that the idea formed into a plan. By early July, he’d recruited Richard and had been acting on it ever since.
When Samantha mentioned she’d noticed the rise in the number of donor bodies, he’d almost choked on his Diet Coke. While most of the bodies he illegally harvested from went to funeral homes and crematoriums scattered around the inner city, a small number of them ended up in the Glebe Morgue. He’d hoped that they’d slide by unnoticed; that with the number of forensic pathologists on staff, the rise in donor bodies wouldn’t cause anyone to become alarmed, but it appeared he hadn’t been so lucky.
Either that, or Richard Davis hadn’t done as he’d promised. The deputy coroner had assured Alistair at the outset Richard would make certain the bodies Alistair handled would personally be autopsied by him. That way, none of his staff would be any the wiser. After Sam’s comment, it was now obvious that hadn’t happened. The last thing he needed was to have his own sister asking questions, or even thinking about it, at all.
If he accepted Biologistics’ offer, he’d be forced to illegally harvest the tissues of many more patients in the future. The company expected him to sign a contract and a quota would be specified. Now that Samantha’s suspicions had been raised, it would be safer to ignore the autopsy cases and concentrate his efforts only on the bodies being sent directly to the funeral homes and crematoriums. There was much less likelihood an undertaker would put his mind to the fact that he was seeing way more bodies with surgical scars than he had in the past—if he thought about it at all. As well, there was no call for any paperwork to accompany those bodies.
The more Alistair pondered it, the more it seemed like a good idea. He’d have done it from the outset if Richard hadn’t promised he’d look after him, in return for a small fee and Alistair hadn’t taken him at his word. As far as Alistair had been aware, the arrangement had worked and they’d both walked away satisfied. Alistair had quietly and illegally set about increasing the donor rates and Richard had endorsed them and collected his money.
But for now, with Samantha possibly asking questions, it was just too risky to continue to involve the city morgue and its staff. He’d call Richard and tell him the deal was over and hopefully that would be the end of it. The deputy coroner might wonder about Alistair’s change of heart, but if Alistair threw in a couple extra thousand in the final payoff to his friend, it would hopefully do the trick and keep the man quiet. So far, the deputy coroner had gotten more than ten thousand dollars out of him—money Alistair’s family could have used. The man had no cause for complaint.
* * *
“What do you mean, you’re quitting?” Richard Davis demanded several hours later.
Alistair looked quickly around him at the dozen or so patrons scattered around the dimly lit, inner city bar, but thankfully, no one appeared to be listening to them. “Keep your voice down!” he ordered in a harsh whisper. “We don’t want the whole world to know.”
Richard glanced to his left and right and then leaned closer over the small round table that separated them. “I’m not ready for you to quit. I need that extra money. You can’t get me involved in this and then, out of the blue, tell me you’ve had enough. It isn’t fair. I won’t let you do it!”
Alistair stared at the man and saw the weakness in his chin. Why hadn’t Alistair remembered what a poor excuse of a man the deputy coroner really was? He bit down hard on a sigh. It was too late for regrets.
“If you stop, I’ll go to the police.”
Richard’s words penetrated Alistair’s brain. He tensed. How the hell had he managed to get himself into this situation? He and Richard had gone through med school together. They’d been good friends, almost inseparable until Alistair met Nancy. Then love and life got in the way and the two friends had drifted apart. Richard had gone into forensic medicine and Alistair had become a surgeon.
Although they’d lost touch over the years, when Alistair came upon the idea to harvest additional organs from donor patients, Richard was one of the first people that came to mind to become his accomplice. The deputy coroner’s father had died from liver cancer when Richard was still a child. Richard knew firsthand that a transplant might have saved his dad if a donor liver had been available. He’d grown up a passionate supporter of organ donation.
“You need me, Alistair, and you know it. That’s the reason you came to me in the first place.”
Alistair’s jaw clenched. What Richard said was true. When a deceased organ donor required an autopsy, the senior doctor presiding over the death had to obtain the coroner’s, or one of his deputies’ authorization prior to any organ harvesting going ahead.
Of course, Alistair could have simply bypassed the coronial cases and concentrated on those donors headed directly for the funeral homes and crematoriums, but at the time it seemed like such a waste of good organs to let even those few donors go. Having a college buddy in the coroner’s office seemed too good an opportunity to let slide. Knowing Richard’s attitude toward organ donation was what cemented the matter.
But circumstances had changed. With Samantha’s curiosity piqued, it had become too risky and Alistair had hoped to shut down the morgue arm of their operation. But now, Richard had dropped a bombshell. Was he stupid enough to carry out his threat and go to the police?
With a sigh, Alistair squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments and ignored the pounding in his head. Opening his eyes, he stared at Richard across the table and tried to gage the other man’s sincerity. Richard refused to meet his gaze.
“I mean it, Alistair. If you stop harvesting those extra organs and don’t continue to throw a little money my way, I’ll go to the police and tell them everything.”
“Why would you do a silly thing like that?” Alistair asked, working hard to keep his voice even. “It would destroy both of us.”
“I don’t want to, but if you quit, you’ll give me no choice. I need the money and… It makes me feel good knowing more people are benefiting from our actions. You can’t stop now. Besides, I’ll tell the police it was all your idea and that you forced me to go along with it.”
“You’re bluffing. The police will hardly believe a mere surgeon had the wherewithal to intimidate the deputy state coroner.”
“Then I’ll tell them I knew nothing about it. That you called, I authorized it, but you gave me false information. I’ll tell them you told me the next of kin had consented; that they were supportive of their loved ones’ wishes. It will be your word against mine and if the police interview the families…” A sly look came into Richard’s eyes and Alistair cursed aloud.
He hadn’t thought of that.
Anger surged through him and he gave it its head. “You listen to me, Richard and listen well. If I go down, we’ll both go down. You’ll spend just as many years in a jail cell as I will. Is that what you want?”
Richard lifted his glass of beer and drank quickly. His schooner was half-empty by the time he set it back down. “Of course not,” he replied, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “But what other option do I have? Like I told you, I need the money. I have a few…debts I need to pay.”
“So pay them. It can’t be that much. You must earn a fortune in your job. You don’t have a wife or kids draining every cent faster than you can earn it. What’s your problem?”
A dark red flush started at the base of Richard’s neck and worked its way across his cheeks. He lowered his head in shame. Alistair gritted his teeth and braced himself against what he might hear.
“I like to have a flutter on the horses and the dogs once in a while. You know, a harmless bet here and there. The problem is, they add up and the bookkeepers are at me to pay.” Richard swung his head back and forth and Alistair was aghast to notice there were tears in the other man’s eyes. “I can’t help it, Alistair. It’s out of control and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“How much do you owe?” Alistair asked quietly, his anger slipping away.
“Sixty thousand.”
He reeled back against his chair in shock. “Sixty thousand! How the hell could you have gambled away that kind of money?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know! It just happened. I was shocked when they told me how much. But now they’re threatening to break my arms and legs—or worse—if I don’t find the money soon. That’s why you have to keep on doing it, Alistair.”
“Even if I do, you’re never going to make that kind of money. What are you going to do?”
Like the wall of a dam had suddenly been breached, Richard collapsed into a noisy bout of sobbing. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Alistair looked around them, embarrassed, but only one or two curious stares were thrown their way. Most hotel patrons ignored them.
Alistair thought back to the time when Richard had helped him with chemistry in college. It had been the one subject Alistair had struggled to master. For Richard, it had come easily. For hours and hours on end, he’d patiently walked Alistair through the concepts. Without Richard, Alistair might never have made it through. Alistair owed Richard his career. And that was the truth.
With a sigh, Alistair reached into his back pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief. Passing it over, he urged the man to get ahold of himself. “Stop crying, Richard. Nothing’s as bad as all that. I’ll think of something to do.”
Richard lifted his head. His eyes were red and swollen, but hope flared briefly in their depths. “Really? You’ll come up with a plan?”
Alistair nodded, knowing what he was going to do. “Yes, I’ll come up with a plan. In fact, I might already have one. Listen close. I recently received a very interesting email…”