Georgia swallowed. She’d thought Chad Coe was simply involved in a baby-breeding operation. Now he was running an organ transplant business too? How did they get the organs? She gulped air as it came to her. The mothers. A wave of nausea climbed up her throat, and it was all she could do not to bolt. Nyquist seemed to understand Georgia’s distress and stopped eating.
Georgia swallowed. She tasted bile. “So…,” she said slowly. “It’s your job to scout patients who need organs all over the country?”
“Oh no. UNOS divides the country up into regions. I only search from New Orleans to Minnesota. You know, the Midwest. A few months ago I found a woman who needed a lung in Texas, but that didn’t go so well. The lung failed on the way.”
Georgia didn’t want any details. “How often do you find someone who needs an—an organ?”
“Like I said, demand is much higher than supply. Traffic accidents, cancer, old age, things like that.”
“So what’s your best guess? How many do you come across? How often?”
“In the Midwest? Probably three or four a week. But Chad doesn’t supply them all.”
Georgia blinked. “What happens after you give the names to Chad?”
“There aren’t any names. Just hospitals. I don’t know how he finds out who the patients are.”
Georgia thought she knew. If he subscribed to the same private databases she did—and as a lawyer he could—he could identify individuals by studying their financial and medical records. People who required transplants in a specific area would run up sky-high bills from hospitals, clinics, and doctors. Coe could zero in and contact a potential patient. Pay them a visit, tell them about the service he offered. Like he did with the Glencoe couple.
Nyquist went on, seeming relieved to be talking about something other than her drug problem and daughter. “The thing is, when it comes to life and death, doctors—at least the ones I know—aren’t that picky about where the organ comes from. Most of what they call the ‘alternative solution’ happens in the OR every day.”
“Come on. You’re not saying that doctors knowingly transplant black market organs?”
“Of course not. They probably don’t know they’re black market. I mean, if someone—an administrator or a lawyer or someone like that—assures the surgeon everything is kosher, what are they going to do? They want to save lives. And they don’t have time to mull it over.”
“You’re talking about someone like Chad Coe?”
Nyquist nodded. “Then if the organ rolls up in an ambulance, and a guy in a uniform delivers it, has them sign a bunch of paperwork, and a lawyer already said it’s okay…” Her voice trailed off.
All of which the Russian mob could provide. Georgia shifted. UNOS was being used as a chop shop for human parts. Which meant her sister, Savannah, could be part of the mix. Were they planning to auction off her baby to the highest bidder and then kill her for parts?
“When did you go on Chad Coe’s payroll?”
Nyquist broke eye contact. “About nine months ago.” She stared at her soup. “At first, I just thought he was finding people who died in car accidents and things.”
“When did you figure out what was really going on?”
“When he was able to come up with the…” Nyquist faltered. “…the exact organ for whatever was needed on UNOS. It wasn’t rocket science.”
Georgia nodded. Coe and his cronies had offered Nyquist a way out of her troubles, as long as she didn’t have scruples. Which, apparently, she didn’t. At least at the start. Best of all, the business had the cachet—at least the appearance—of legality. To be fair, though, if Georgia had a critically ill family member and someone like Chad Coe showed up with a solution to her problem, as he had for the Glencoe couple, would she question how he’d come up with it?
“And now you want to get out, but you can’t.”
Nyquist nodded. A long silence stretched between them. Then the woman cleared her throat. “What’s going to happen? Am I going to jail?”
“Oh yeah,” Georgia said. “Especially after I call the cops.” She hesitated. “But before I make that call, you need to make your daughter disappear. As soon as possible. Send her someplace safe. And inaccessible.”
She looked up. “I have a sister in Minnesota.”
“Not good enough. If your sister has a phone, she can be found. Give her to someone who has no connection to you. Someone from your church, maybe. Your pastor might be able to help.”
“Do I have to?”
“If you ever want to see her again. You know who you’re dealing with. They don’t like loose strings. And you are a big one. Who knows? They might have been planning to move you ‘out of the way’ at some point anyway.”
Nyquist pushed her plate away, most of her salad uneaten. Anxiety spread across her face. “For how long? Christy, I mean?”
Georgia shrugged.
“Are you talking weeks? Months? A year?”
“I don’t know.”
“God, what if Christy doesn’t remember me? She’s only four.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you hooked up with Coe.”
Nyquist massaged her temples, her expression veering toward panic.
Georgia didn’t like the woman and couldn’t condone what she was doing. But by calling the cops, she was condemning an innocent little girl to a long time without her mother. She was on the right side of the law. So why was she often faced with shitty consequences? It wasn’t fair. She blinked rapidly.
“Okay,” she said. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to give you the name of a good lawyer. I think she’ll help you. But you need to go to her office right away. Like, now. I’ll call and tell her you’re on your way.”
She scribbled Pam Huddleston’s number on a piece of paper and slid it across the table.