Rohan Coleridge took a moment to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. It was nearing the end of a cold August, the last month of winter, but he still managed to elevate his body temperature with each swing of his arms.
“Whew!” he said, leaning on the ax so that he could catch his breath. “This is hard work, Dad.”
His father chuckled and scratched at the hank of white hair that hung over his eyes. “You’re going soft, lad. It must be all that time you spend sitting on your ass.”
Rohan smiled and took the jibe in the spirit it was intended. He didn’t need to be told how proud Bill Coleridge was of his oldest son. Rohan only had to walk into his father’s den and see the evidence of his career since he first entered the police academy at the ripe old age of eighteen, to know how his father felt.
“I don’t know how you do this every winter,” Rohan said. Choosing another log from the wood heap, he lifted the ax again. With a crack that sounded like gunfire, he brought the blade down hard.
“I don’t work as rigorously as you do, son. I only cut what we need for the night. You’ve been at it for an hour. No wonder you’ve worked up a sweat.”
“It’s the least I can do after you invited me to dinner. I can smell Mom’s chicken pot pie from here. With a serving of her famous mashed potato and fresh garden peas on the side, I could die a happy man.”
“You need to find yourself a good woman, Rohan. One who knows how to cook.”
“I’m not sure that kind of woman exists anymore, Dad. They’re all too busy with their careers to spend time getting up close and personal with the oven.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid you’re right. I only have to look at your younger sisters to see that. Where did your mother and I go wrong?” he asked in mock dismay, shaking his head.
“Lucky Mom insisted on showing us the basics. At least we can all cook bacon and eggs and I do a mean barbeque. I have you to thank for that.”
He shot his father a grin and turned back toward the woodpile. Bringing the ax up over his shoulder, he drove it once again into the log. This time, it split open and he bent down and added the pieces to the growing pile.
“A couple more should do it,” his father commented. “It should see us through to warmer weather. Thanks for that, son. It’s much appreciated.”
“No problem, Dad. I’m glad I can help out. I don’t get home as often as I want to. It’s nice to be able to do something for you and Mom, when I can.”
“Too bad you moved closer to the city. It’s a fair commute for you to come out to Cronulla now.”
“Yeah, that’s the down side, but I’m so much closer to work and I spend a hell of a lot more hours there, let me assure you. Mostly sitting on my ass,” he teased.
“They don’t give officers bravery medals for sitting around, Rohan.”
Rohan looked at him in surprise.
“It was all over the news.”
“Of course.” Rohan accepted the comment quietly.
“I saw it on the television. You pulled that baby out of the car only moments before that tanker blew sky high. Someone uploaded a video to YouTube. I lost count of the number of times I watched it. You could have been killed, son.”
Rohan shrugged and ducked his head, uncomfortable with the praise. He’d done what had to be done. He’d attended the accident in the course of his job. There was nothing special about him or his so-called courageous actions in those circumstances and he couldn’t forget how, despite his mammoth efforts, the baby’s parents hadn’t survived.
Forcing the sad memory aside, he grimaced, stood another log on its end and brought the ax down hard. A couple more swings and the log split in half and the pieces joined the others in the laden wheelbarrow.
“Did they ever find out what caused the accident?”
Rohan swallowed a sigh and wearily set the ax aside. “The tanker driver’s blood alcohol level was well over the legal limit. He should never have been behind the wheel. Forty-eight years old, he has a wife and three children. He’ll be doing some serious time.”
“What happened to the baby?”
“He was put into the care of relatives. I guess the courts will sort out that one, too.”
Throwing the last two pieces of wood into the wheelbarrow, Rohan moved to pick up the handles. His dad beat him to it.
“I’ll do that, Dad. It’s way too heavy for you.”
“It’s all right, son. I’m as strong as an ox.” Bill took a moment to set the wheelbarrow down and flexed his muscles. His long-sleeved flannel shirt rode high, exposing a generous belly that hung over the top of his jeans.
“Of course you are,” Rohan agreed, “but you’re not as young as you used to be. There’s no harm in taking it a little easy, especially since I’m here and can do it for you.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” his dad muttered and stepped out of the way. Rohan took his father’s place in front of the wheelbarrow and pushed it to the back door. Without being asked, he began unloading it, stacking the wood in a neat pile against the side of the house.
“I’m worried about your mother,” Bill said, taking Rohan by surprise.
“Why is that?”
“Her blood pressure’s a little higher than her doctor wants it to be and she’s got that awful cough. She’s had it a couple months. If anyone needs to take it easy, it’s her. Every time I turn around, she’s heading out the door. Between the charity projects she’s involved in, the bingo and her lawn bowls, she hardly draws breath.”
“Do you want me to talk to her?”
“Would you?” Bill asked with a grateful expression on his face. “She’ll listen to you. Whenever I say anything, she just accuses me of interfering and fussing over her too much.”
Rohan chuckled. “Well, Dad, I have to agree with her there. You do tend to hover.”
Bill had the grace to blush. “It’s only because I care about her, son. She has a few years on me. I don’t want her leaving before me.”
Rohan’s smile faded and a rush of emotion tightened his chest. He loved his parents and knew they had something rare and special. Nearly forty years they’d been together and they loved each other now, as much as they had when they’d married. He couldn’t help but hope he’d find a woman whose heart would remain so true.
“I’m sure Mom’s not planning to die anytime soon, Dad. She’s almost as fit as me. Is she still jogging around the esplanade every day?”
“Yes, of course she is. I’d never hear the end of it if she wasn’t well enough to do that! She says it’s the highlight of her day. Watching the freighters way out in the ocean and the people milling around on the shore… Depending on the season, sometimes she’s even spotted a pod of dolphins.”
“See, there you go! Does that sound like someone heading toward their grave?” Though Rohan spoke lightly, he couldn’t help but notice his father’s expression remained troubled.
“Wintertime is hard on old folks,” Bill murmured. “The cold seeps into our bones. We get aches and pains that we don’t even notice in the summer. This cough your mother has just doesn’t seem to want to go away.”
“When was the last visit to her doctor?”
“Earlier in the month. She was so breathless, I insisted she go and see him.”
“What did he say?”
“He said she had a bout of bronchitis and gave her a prescription for some antibiotics. She finished the course a week ago, but the cough hasn’t eased.”
“Perhaps you ought to take her back? Or phone for a repeat of the medication?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I just can’t help feeling there’s more to it. You know what I mean?”
Rohan stared at his dad and his gut slowly filled with dread. “What are you saying, Dad?”
His father held his gaze for a long moment and then lowered it and picked up a log. “Nothing, son. Forget I said anything. I’m sure you’re right. Your mom’s as fit as a fiddle. She’ll probably outlive me.”
Before Rohan could respond, Bill turned away and added the split wood to the stacked pile. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he pulled open the back door. “Let’s wash up for dinner and then go and enjoy your mother’s pie.”
Rohan stared after his father’s departing back. All of a sudden, eating pie was the last thing on his mind.
* * *
Samantha checked the toe tag against the paperwork in her hand and proceeded to pull the body off the wire shelf of the fridge where it lay. She rolled it onto the gurney. The blue plastic sheeting that covered most of what used to be Natalie Piccoli crackled with the movement. Positioning the body so that it wouldn’t fall, Sam hurriedly pushed the trolley out of the fridge.
It was a Saturday and she shouldn’t have even been working. The fact that she’d been called in put her out of sorts. She was rostered to work the weekdays, but the usual pathologists who covered the weekend were both off sick, including Richard. Staffing had phoned her in desperation, asking if she’d come in and deal with the backlog of cases. The day was winding down. Soon it would be dark and she still had another two cases to go, including Natalie Piccoli.
With a sigh, she wheeled the body to her usual workstation and quietly and efficiently prepared her tools. When all was as she liked it, she picked up a scalpel and turned to make the Y incision. A fresh surgical scar gave her pause.
In the notes Sam had scanned earlier, there had been no mention that the woman had undergone recent surgery in the hospital and yet it was obvious she had. Reopening the incision with her scalpel, she noticed the woman’s ribs had already been sawn through. Prising open the chest cavity, Sam did a preliminary search for Natalie’s organs.
Which weren’t there. At least, not all of them. The heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, intestine and pancreas were missing.
They’d obviously been donated. It had been a few weeks since Sam had autopsied a donor body. When she’d noticed the evidence of recent abdominal surgery, harvesting of organs hadn’t immediately come to mind. But now, there was no other explanation, though it was unusual for someone to donate almost every organ they had. Most chose to limit their donation to the heart and the lungs.
According to the report the police had prepared for the coroner, Natalie Piccoli’s suspected cause of death was a brain aneurysm. Sam hoped that the doctors who’d treated the woman were right because there was very little else for her to examine. Tugging off her gloves, she reached for the paperwork again.
Flipping through the pages, she searched for the consent form that was usually signed by the deceased’s next of kin, giving permission for the organs to be recovered. She couldn’t find it. Frowning, she went through the pages again, more slowly, and still she couldn’t locate it.
With an impatient curse, she went through the paperwork a third time. This time, she loosened the clip that held all the papers together and went through them individually, checking both the front and the back. The consent simply had to be there.
And yet, it wasn’t.
Perplexed, Sam took a moment to flip back to the start of the notes and looked for the doctor who had signed off on the death certificate. Her brother’s name and signature were there in bold black ink: Doctor Alistair Wolfe. He’d also done the organ recovery.
There was no surprise in that. He was the head of the donation for transplantation team. Much of the organ recovery surgery was carried out by him. His name had also been on the paperwork for the donor bodies she’d autopsied the previous month.
She checked for the letter of authorization that would have come from the coroner’s office and found it. A quick scan of its contents showed that Deputy Coroner Richard Davis had authorized the removal of the donor organs prior to the autopsy.
Again, there was nothing unusual about that. Richard must have taken Alistair’s call from the ICU, just prior to the patient’s death. It had happened before. In fact, she seemed to recall Richard had also consented to the last donor body she’d autopsied.
Perhaps the consent form had been misplaced or simply gone astray somewhere between the hospital and the morgue? It wasn’t unheard of. Though the morgue workers took care to ensure nothing was lost in transit, nobody was perfect. It could have happened.
Satisfied that was the only reasonable explanation, Sam made a mental note to speak with Richard about it on Monday morning and let him know that the consent form was missing. If the relatives of the deceased ever questioned the organ donation, the consent would become important. Besides, she didn’t like to think of any paperwork being mislaid.
Swallowing a sigh, she once again set the paperwork aside and pulled on another pair of latex gloves. If she didn’t get on with the PM, she’d be there half the night. Working quickly, she used the scalpel to make the incision, then peeled back the woman’s face. The Stryker saw made short work of the skull and a moment later, Natalie Piccoli’s brain was exposed.
It was immediately obvious the woman had suffered a severe bleed. The dark, clotted blood filled almost half of the right rear quadrant and left Sam in no doubt as to what had caused the woman’s death. After taking note of the size and position of the infarction and recording the weight of the brain, Sam returned the organ to its original location and fitted the skull back in place.
Returning to the woman’s chest cavity, Sam retrieved the few organs that were still present in Natalie’s abdomen and carefully examined, weighed and returned them to where they’d come from. With neat stitches, she sutured closed the woman’s chest and wheeled her back to the fridge where she’d soon be collected by staff from the appointed funeral home.
Sam cleaned up and headed to the tea room. Pulling open the door to the staff drinks fridge, she retrieved a can of Diet Coke. Taking a grateful mouthful, she sat and rested a moment. Conducting any autopsy was exhausting—both mentally and physically. It was essential she communicate with the body on the table and find the answers that had eluded the person’s doctors in life. If nothing else, it gave closure, and quite often peace of mind, to the relatives left behind—and to Sam that was important.
She prided herself on being thorough—and the fact the consent form hadn’t been with Natalie Piccoli’s other hospital papers had put her out of sorts. It was an irritation, like a burr under her skin, that wouldn’t go away and she was annoyed someone’s carelessness had ruined her Saturday evening. She just knew she’d be thinking about it all night, probably for the rest of the weekend.
With a heavy sigh, she finished her soda and tossed the can into the trash. There was one more autopsy to go. Hopefully, it wouldn’t offer up too many surprises. She’d had enough for one day.
A ding from the vicinity of her handbag snagged her attention. She stood and retrieved the bag from where she’d left it on the counter near the sink. Pulling out her phone, she checked the screen. There was a new message from her best friend, Hannah Langdon.
“Damn,” she muttered, remembering she was supposed to be meeting Hannah for dinner. With work commitments getting in the way of Sam’s social life, it had been the best part of a month since she’d seen her friend, but she’d been looking forward to catching up. Now, it looked like, yet again, work would interfere.
Finding Hannah’s number, she selected it and waited for it to dial out. It was answered by her friend in her trademark cheery voice.
“Hi, Sam. How are things? Did you get my text? I was just checking to see if you’re still right for dinner.”
Sam bit her lip, hating to disappoint her. “I’m sorry, Hannah, I’ve been called in to work. I still have one more PM to do before I can consider getting out of here.”
“Bummer for you! As if you don’t work hard enough during the week. Why were you the one to draw the shortest straw?”
“I’m not sure, but so be it. I’ve been here all day. I’m exhausted.”
“Why don’t I meet you at your place? We can order pizza and drink beer. That way, you don’t have to go to any trouble dressing up and heading back out.”
The idea was tempting. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I thought you wanted to check out that new bar in George Street?”
“I did, but we can do that another time. It’s been ages since we got together. I… I really need to talk to you.”
Sam frowned at Hannah’s somber tone, so different from her usual cheerfulness. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course. I mean… Why wouldn’t it be? It’s just that…I need someone who’ll listen when I whinge and whine about work. You’re the only one who understands.”
Hannah was an embalmer at one of the inner city funeral homes and not everyone understood her choice of occupation or her fascination with the dead. But Samantha did and she understood exactly where Hannah was coming from. Sam suffered from the same problem. The thought of a hot shower and a relaxed night on the couch, catching up with her best friend over beer and a pizza, sounded like heaven. All of a sudden, she couldn’t wait to finish up at the office and go home.
“I’m happy to listen for as long as you need, Hannah. I’ll be another hour or two here, if all goes well. How about I meet you at my place at eight? That should give me plenty of time.”
“It’s a date.” Hannah giggled and Sam couldn’t help but smile. “See you soon,” she said and ended the call.
* * *
The front doorbell rang and Sam hurried to open it. She’d showered and changed at work and not long ago had put a six-pack of beer in the fridge. Glancing at her watch, she noticed it was bang on eight. Hannah was punctual, as usual. With a quick check through the security keyhole, Sam spied her friend waiting on the other side of the door and opened it.
“Hi, it’s great to see you,” Hannah said and enveloped Sam in an enthusiastic hug.
“You, too,” Sam replied and meant it.
She’d met Hannah not long after she’d started at the Glebe Morgue. While the pair of them spent most of their waking hours working with the dead, it wasn’t actually work that had brought them together. Whenever Sam found the time, she liked to attend a yoga class, held at the University of Sydney. The college was within walking distance of Sam’s work and after a long and stressful day in the morgue, she liked to treat herself to a wind-down. It was at a yoga class that she’d met Hannah.
They found themselves lying with their yoga mats side by side on the floor. While Sam attempted the various positions, she couldn’t help but notice the girl beside her who seemed so graceful and at ease with the class. Tall and slender and at least five or six years younger than Sam, Hannah’s long, straight blond hair, held in a high ponytail, was just as elegant as her frame. Sam couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit envious of the girl and the kindness Mother Nature had bestowed.
But when Hannah turned and smiled at her, Sam forgot all about the green-eyed monster. The girl’s smile was warm and friendly and genuine kindness shone in her eyes. Sam couldn’t help but respond and before long, they were the best of friends. When they discovered they both had similar occupations, it seemed like fate had brought them together.
Now, Sam reached for the pizza box Hannah held in her hands and headed toward the kitchen. “Are you ready to eat now, or would you rather wait?”
“I’m starving,” Hannah answered, following her inside. “I got busy at work and skipped lunch. I figured since we were supposed to be going out to dinner, I’d work up an appetite.”
Sam turned and grimaced. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. We’re short staffed. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Hey, it’s no biggie,” Hannah smiled. “I know how it is. I’ve had to cover for more than my fair share of no-shows.”
Sam reached for the plates and set them alongside the pizza on the kitchen table. It was only big enough to seat the two of them, but as Sam lived alone, it suited her just fine.
“Help yourself,” she said and reached inside the fridge for two beers. Handing one to Hannah, she sat down across from her friend and took a grateful sip. “Ah, there’s nothing quite like the taste of a cold beer after a hard day’s work.”
Hannah grinned and opened the pizza box. The mouthwatering aroma of pepperoni, onion, olives and melted cheese permeated the air. Sam lifted a piece of pizza out of the box and took a generous bite.
“Mm, that’s so good. And still hot.”
“Yes, I just picked it up from the pizza shop on the corner. Giuseppe says hello, by the way.”
Sam laughed. “He laments the fact I don’t buy pizza often enough. I don’t have the heart to tell him my weakness for takeout is serviced by May-Ling’s Thai.”
“Oh, yes! She has the best Thai food in Sydney! It’s been ages since I ate there.”
“I was lucky enough to have lunch there with Alistair when he took me to May-Ling’s for my birthday.”
“I’m sorry I missed it. I was out of town.”
“No problem. I’m sure there will be others. At least, I hope so.”
Hannah smiled. “And how is the Sydney Harbour Hospital’s poster boy? I couldn’t help but notice the enormous billboard picture of him as I was driving down George Street the other day.”
Sam giggled. “It’s amazing what a little airbrushing can do! He looks younger than me!”
“He looks younger than me!” Hannah grinned. “It’s a good shot, though,” she added, “and it seems to be having an impact. The number of bodies coming through the funeral home with donated organs has skyrocketed and most of them are coming from the Sydney Harbour Hospital.”
Sam stared at her and her heart began to pound. “Really?”
“Yes, before the advertising campaign, we’d see three, maybe four a week. Now we’re seeing ten or twelve. I think there are more bodies coming into the funeral home with organs and tissue missing than those who’ve remained intact.” She shrugged. “I’m not complaining. It makes my job quicker and easier. There are far less body fluids to extract. In fact, there’s less leakage all round.”
Sam swallowed a smile. For anyone not comfortable with the messy side of death, the discussion, especially over dinner, would probably be distasteful. To the girls, however, it was like discussing the weather.
“This is really good pizza,” Hannah mumbled around another bite. “You ought to get takeout from Giuseppe more often.”
“And give up May-Ling’s Thai?” Sam asked in mock dismay.
“Hey, there’s no rule against having both. Maybe you could alternate?”
Sam rolled her eyes and smiled, but her thoughts returned to Hannah’s earlier comment and she grew serious.
“It’s funny you mentioned the increase in donor bodies. I’ve noticed the same thing,” she said. “At least, it appeared that way last month. They seem to have gone back to their usual number of late, or maybe they’re simply not coming to me? Whatever it is, the extra donors are a good thing. More donors means more organs available for transplant and less time on a waiting list.”
“How’s your mom?” Hannah asked, aware of Enid Wolfe’s fragile health status.
Sam shrugged and blinked hard to ward off a sudden surge of tears. “She’s okay. Still getting treatment three times a week. Her kidneys are hanging in there, but only just. We’ve all had to accept that if she doesn’t get a transplant soon, it’s only a matter of time.”
Hannah’s eyes filled with sadness. “How old is she?”
“Sixty-nine.”
“Way too young to die.”
“Yep.” Sam drew in a deep breath and let it out on a heavy sigh. “But there’s nothing we can do about it, short of praying for a donor kidney to be found.” Silence fell between them as they concentrated on their food. Hannah was the first to break it.
“So, how’s your love life?”
Sam chuckled. “Wow, this conversation goes from bad to worse.” She cleared her throat. “To answer your question, my love life is non-existent. My last blind date was a disaster!”
“Did you meet him online?”
“Yes. His bio sounded so good and his photo was really nice. I finally scrounged up the courage to go out with him and it was the most uncomfortable couple of hours of my life.”
Hannah laughed. “What happened? It sounds hilarious.”
“Oh, yeah. Hilarious. Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one having to sit across from him and pretend you had even the tiniest bit of interest in what he had to say. To make things worse, he barely resembled his photo.”
“Oh, boy!” Hannah shrieked, with laughter in her eyes. “What did you say?”
“What could I say? He’d aged twenty years and had put on thirty pounds since it had been taken—if it was even him at all. I seriously have my doubts on that score.”
“You poor thing!” Hannah sympathized. “What did you do?”
“There was nothing I could do! We met outside the restaurant. He’d reserved a table. It was a nice restaurant, too. I could hardly turn tail and run when I saw him, despite the fact he looked old enough to be my father.”
“So you stayed and had dinner?”
“Yes, although I went straight to the main meal, declined dessert and coffee and got the hell out of there as quickly as I could.”
Hannah giggled. “Did he ask if he could see you again?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no!” Hannah laughed, throwing her hands up in the air.
Sam screwed up a napkin and threw it at her. “You’re making fun of a very traumatic experience. Have some sympathy for your best friend.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah responded, looking anything but. “So, does this mean you’re staying away from online dating sites?”
Sam closed her eyes briefly and sighed. “It’s all right for you. You’re young and beautiful and sexy. You could have any man you choose! I’m thirty-four, not so beautiful and definitely not sexy. It’s not so easy for me. I want to fall in love and get married and be a mother to a handful of children. I’ve dreamed of it since I was a little girl.”
Hannah’s expression softened. “For a start, you’re not old. Thirties are the new twenties, haven’t you heard? Nobody finds the love of their life in their twenties anymore. We’re all too busy with our careers and climbing the corporate ladder. Girls and guys who marry in their twenties are so yesterday.” She rolled her eyes and Sam couldn’t help but grin.
Hannah continued in a no-nonsense tone. “What’s more, what do you mean, you’re not sexy? You’re gorgeous! All that dark, wavy hair and big brown eyes and your skin—it’s flawless. I’d die to have skin like that. Well, maybe not die, but you know what I mean. I only have to be out in the sun for ten minutes and my nose turns pink. You look like you have a tan all year round and I know it doesn’t come from a bottle. Give yourself a break, Sam. Take a moment and look at yourself and see what everyone else does.”
“Then why haven’t I found my prince charming yet?” she asked, unable to keep the whine from her voice.
“Have patience, honey. He’s out there, I’m sure of it. Maybe you’re trying too hard?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, stop putting so much effort into online boyfriends and go out and live your life. In the real world. With real men who you can tell even from a distance whether they’re going to appeal. It’s old fashioned, but guess what? It’s worked for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years! Give it a go, girl! What do you have to lose?”
Sam stared at her friend for a long moment and slowly nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been so busy it feels like all I ever do is get up, go to work and come home again. I can’t expect to find someone like that. It’s time I brought back a little balance in my life. We could go dancing or even to a live show. Or maybe even just to one of those hip city bars we talked about, where the professionals like to hang out.”
Hannah beamed. “Exactly! Now you’re getting into the spirit!”
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course! What are best friends for?”
The girls fell into another companionable silence, each lost in their thoughts. Sam picked up her beer and took another drink. Hannah chewed on another slice of pizza. When they were finished, Sam collected the leftovers and tossed them into the trash. Hannah rinsed the plates and left them to dry.
“Would you like another beer?” Sam asked.
“Thanks, it would be nice.”
“It might even be warm enough outside to sit on the balcony.”
With drinks in hand, the girls headed to the sliding door that connected the living room to a small balcony. A light breeze greeted them, but the air temperature wasn’t cold.
“It feels like spring already,” Hannah smiled.
“Yes. Soon we’ll be complaining it’s too hot!”
Hannah merely smiled again and took another sip from her beer. Sam sat in a deck chair and Hannah took a seat opposite. For a moment, the girls enjoyed the silence until Hannah let out a heavy sigh.
“My, that sounds ominous,” Sam teased.
“Maybe it is.”
Sam straightened in her chair, a little alarmed at the solemn expression on her friend’s face. “Don’t tell me Aaron is giving you grief again? Sorry, I should have asked earlier how things were. When will that man face the fact that the two of you are over and you’re never going back?”
“No, it’s not Aaron. I haven’t heard from him in weeks, thank God. I think he’s finally gotten the message we’re through.”
“Then why do you look so troubled?”
Hannah stared at her and then sat forward in her chair. Her shoulders slumped on another heavy sigh.
A sense of foreboding crept through Sam’s veins. “Hannah… You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“You know when we were talking about the increase in the number of bodies coming in with missing organs?”
Sam grimaced. “Donated organs. They’re not exactly missing. I assume someone knows where they are.” She attempted a smile at her joke, but it fell flat. Hannah’s expression remained serious.
“I don’t receive any paperwork, except the patient’s personal details and the name of the hospital that sends them. I only assume the organs and tissues have been donated because, what else would have happened to them?”
Sam frowned. She stared hard at Hannah and her pulse picked up its pace. “What are you saying?”
“I’m not sure, but yesterday I had a body that was missing nearly everything.”
“What do you mean, everything?”
Hannah spread her arms out wide, sloshing her beer. “Everything.”
Sam shook her head in confusion. “Like, all of the organs?”
“I couldn’t tell just by looking at the suture lines which organs were gone, but from the position and length of the incisions, I’m guessing most of them had been removed. On top of that, there were no tendons or ligaments; both corneas and sclera were missing; even a large piece of skin. I didn’t immediately realize the skin had been removed too, because it had been taken from the deceased’s back. It wasn’t until I’d turned the body over to clean it that I saw the fresh wound.” She shook her head. “It was awful. I think there’s something weird going on.”
Sam stared at her in shock, her heart now thumping double time. She could barely believe what she was hearing. Never in her years as a doctor and pathologist had she heard of people donating their ligaments and tendons, or even pieces of skin. Though it was possible to reuse that type of tissue, most people weren’t aware of that and didn’t pay them any heed. She thought back to Natalie Piccoli and the missing consent form and unease trickled like icy water down her spine.
“I’m thinking about going to the police.”
Hannah’s quiet words jerked Sam out of her troubled thoughts. “The police?”
“Yes. I’ve got a bad feeling. This patient was eighty-six. Who gives consent for that kind of carnage on behalf of someone who’s eighty-six? Something’s not right.”
“I agree. Have you spoken to Max?” Sam asked, referring to Hannah’s boss and the owner of the funeral home.
“Yes, but he barely listened. He doesn’t care and he doesn’t want to get involved, particularly if it might affect his business. A body’s a body as far as Max’s concerned. ‘There’s no bringing them back, so why worry about how they went out?’ That’s Max’s motto.”
“Empathetic right to the very end, isn’t he?”
“Yep, that’s Max,” Hannah responded, her voice dry. She took another mouthful of beer and looked out across the city. Thousands of twinkling lights from distant houses and shop fronts lit up the night. She turned back to Sam. “How about you? Have you noticed anything strange lately?”
Sam frowned and shook her head. “Apart from the rush of donor bodies last month, not really. But now that you mention it, today I autopsied a woman who was missing all of her major organs…but the tissues you mentioned were still there. I must admit, at the time I found it a little strange that someone would donate so many organs. It’s not the usual thing we see.”
“Where did she come from?”
“The Sydney Harbour Hospital.”
“Who authorized the organ removal prior to autopsy?”
“Richard Davis.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“No. I only conducted the PM this afternoon. Staffing told me he was ill, along with a couple of others. That’s the reason I was called in. I’m sure he wouldn’t take kindly to me contacting him.”
“What did Richard think about the sudden increase in donors last month? I assume you spoke with him about it.”
“Yes, I did. I can’t remember exactly what he said. He didn’t seem too concerned. I also mentioned it to my brother, but he suggested it could simply be a response to the fact we were in the middle of a harsh winter and that time of year, we always experience an increase in the number of deaths and correspondingly, an increase in the number of donor bodies. And of course, there’s the success of his campaign to consider.”
Sam pursed her lips in thought. “At the time, his explanation seemed reasonable. Of course, I didn’t know about what you were seeing at your work, and what you’re still seeing.”
Silence fell between them as they were once again caught up in their thoughts, but this time, it was far from easy. Sam finished her beer and set the bottle down on the small cane table that squatted on the balcony between them. The breeze had picked up and now had a distinct chill to it. She shivered and hugged herself.
“It’s cooling off. I might go in,” she said, standing and then moving toward the sliding door.
Hannah looked up at her with a troubled expression. “I still think I should go to the police.”
Sam stopped and turned. “And tell them what?”
“I don’t know! But something’s not right. I can feel it in here,” Hannah said, placing a hand over her heart. “I owe it to the deceased to make sure they’re treated with respect, right to the very end. It’s my job to protect them, to make sure that happens and right now, I’m horribly afraid it’s not.”
“We’re talking about people who were mostly patients of the Sydney Harbour Hospital. What if my brother’s involved?” Sam whispered, hardly daring to give the awful thought voice.
“We don’t know anything for sure.”
“All of the cases that came to my attention had Alistair noted as the surgeon,” she said, feeling more and more concerned.
“He’s the head surgeon, Sam. The fact that his name was on a few cases doesn’t mean anything.”
Relief surged through her. “Yes, you’re right. I’m being silly. Of course Alistair’s not involved.”
“The only way we’re going to find out what’s going on is to go to the police and let them know what we’ve been seeing. If they take this on, the hospital will have to provide them with the records. You and I aren’t going to be given access to them. They’re confidential.”
Sam nodded, knowing what Hannah said was true, even though the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to their suspicions.
“Will you come with me?”
“To the police?” Sam asked, even though she hadn’t misunderstood. She wanted to buy time, even a few seconds, to decide what her answer would be.
Hannah looked at her solemnly. “Yes.”
“I… I…”
“Sam!” Hannah cried in exasperation. “Something’s not right. You know it as well as I do. It could be any number of doctors in that hospital. There’s nothing to say it’s your brother.”
“And if it is?” Sam whispered, hardly able to lift her gaze from her feet.
“Then so be it,” Hannah softly, with sadness and resignation in her eyes.
A sudden surge of anger rushed through Sam’s veins and she clenched her fists. “No! No, it isn’t that easy! Alistair’s the best brother a girl could ever have! My dad died when I was a baby! Alistair took on all the responsibilities of the man around the house. He carried me across the burrs when I went outside without my shoes; he helped change my dirty diapers; he even threatened to beat up Sandy Packer when he refused to take me to the prom. He’s always been there for me! He’s my brother and I love him!”
Hannah pushed away from her chair and moved to stand close to Sam. Her eyes were solemn, her face was beyond sad. She reached out and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. Sam flinched from the contact and Hannah’s hand dropped away.
“I understand, Sammie. I understand about all of those things. Your brother’s a saint. He’s the nicest man I know. Of course he isn’t involved in something so horrible! He’s good and kind and compassionate. He loves his patients! But someone is responsible. And families of the deceased have a right to know. People planning their deaths need to know we don’t take their wishes lightly. At the very least, it needs to be investigated. If Alistair’s innocent, you have nothing to worry about.”
Sam stared at her friend, suddenly wishing she’d never agreed to meet. She should have simply declined Hannah’s dinner invitation and gone home to bed. Now it was too late. The conversation had happened and it couldn’t be undone. It was clear Hannah intended to report what she’d discovered to the police, with or without Sam.
With resolve firming up inside her, she held Hannah’s gaze. “And if he isn’t?”
Her friend stared right back at her and Sam could tell Hannah was silently pleading with her to understand and do the right thing. A long moment later, Sam cursed under her breath, pushed past Hannah and headed back inside.