Sweet Smell of Sucrets

by Renee Pawlish

  “Clever,” I said. He was saying something else, but my mind was on that name. Strickland. Where had I heard that before? It suddenly dawned on me. Doctor McKenzie had said he had to visit “Strickland”.

  “I’ll need to speak to Mr. Strickland,” I interrupted. “Is he here in town?”

  Unger stopped talking and stared at me. “Sure. He lives in Golden Gate Canyon. I’ll get you the address.” He got up and left the room.

  Golden Gate Canyon. Where I’d crashed my car. And where I’d followed Gus after I’d seen him at Trevor Welch’s house. My mind raced. Gus was working for Strickland, and Strickland was connected to Doctor McKenzie. So what was Strickland’s role in all this? Was he the one coordinating the organ donors and finding recipients, using U.S. International Realty to cover his activities? Or was Unger involved and just trying to steer me in the wrong direction? If so, Unger was an incredibly good liar.

  “Here you go.” Unger returned and handed me a piece of paper.

  “Thanks.” I stood up to go.

  “I hope you find whoever committed this crime.”

  “I’m sure we will,” I said.

  “Did you figure something out? What crime was committed?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say,” I said. “But thank you for your time.”

  With that, I made my escape before he could ask me any more questions.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I called Cal as I drove to Golden.

  “You okay?” He skipped any pleasantries or the usual jokes.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “This guy Unger says he doesn’t own a black SUV.”

  “Well, it’s registered to his company.”

  “He says his silent partner, Even Strickland, must own it.”

  “A silent partner, huh?”

  “Yeah, Strickland is the financial backer. Did you find anything on him?”

  “No.” Irritation laced his voice. “They covered their tracks really well. But…”

  “What?”

  “Do you think Unger was telling you the truth? What if Unger’s involved and he was putting things off on Strickland?”

  “That thought crossed my mind,” I said. “But if Unger knows anything, he did a good job of acting like he didn’t. He seemed genuinely surprised that Strickland had a car registered to U.S. International Realty. And there’s another issue.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Whether Unger is involved or not, what if he calls Strickland to warn him that a cop is coming to talk to him about the SUV?”

  “You’re a detective, not a cop.”

  “I pretended to be a cop.”

  “Oh. Isn’t that against the law?”

  “Possibly. That’s the least of my problems right now,” I said.

  “True. What’s your next move?”

  “I’m not sure.” I thought for a moment. Sixth Avenue turned north and looped around western Golden, and I realized I was getting close to my destination. I had to come up with a plan fast.

  “What’re you thinking?” Cal asked.

  “I need to talk to Strickland and see if I can find out what he knows.”

  “And he’ll just tell you this?”

  “I’ll finesse it out of him.”

  “How?”

  “This could go two ways,” I said. “First, Strickland doesn’t know who I am.”

  “Are you sure? What if he was around when Gus and Mick beat you up?”

  “That’s true,” I said. Something in my memory clicked. “Wait! There was another voice in the room besides Gus and Mick. It could’ve been Strickland. But I won’t know that until I see him face-to-face. If Strickland recognizes me, I’ll run.”

  “Okay,” Cal said slowly. “Not much dignity in that.”

  “Dignity never saved anyone.”

  He laughed.

  “Anyway, if Strickland doesn’t recognize me, he could think I’m a cop.”

  “If Unger called him,” Cal interjected.

  “Right,” I said. “In that case, Strickland would be wary, and he’d try to hide his involvement in this organ transplant scheme. But if Unger didn’t call Strickland, or he didn’t get hold of him, I could pretend to be an organ donor. And even if Gus told Strickland what I looked like, the description would be different from the man who shows up now, what with my beard stubble and two black eyes. I could also wear my cap to cover my hair.”

  “It might work,” Cal said.

  I sighed. “It’ll have to.”

  “And then?”

  “I could record our conversation and take it to Spillman. She can follow up from there.”

  “And hopefully it’s all enough to clear your name.”

  “Hopefully,” I said.

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  I ended the call and drove up Golden Gate Canyon Road. The road twisted and turned, and I slowed down. Nerves gnawed at my gut. I didn’t relish the idea of running into Gus or his buddy Mick. I glanced at the GPS. There was another street about a quarter mile from Strickland’s house. When I came to that road, I turned right and parked away from the highway. I spent a few minutes finding and downloading a recording app for the phone, and then I mulled over my next move. I needed to know if Gus or Mick were around, so I figured I would watch Strickland’s house for a bit before I tried to talk to him.

  I locked the Subaru, donned my knit cap, silenced my cell phone and walked through the trees. The ground was hard under my feet and here and there I had to trudge through hardened snow that crunched loudly, making it difficult to be clandestine. I finally saw Strickland’s house, a huge, two-story house with a circular drive at the end of a private road. It all seemed vaguely familiar and it dawned on me that I’d been here before. That was the house I’d seen in the rearview mirror the night Gus and Mick beat me up. I was sure of it.

  I crouched down and studied the house. Large windows on either side of a humongous wooden door looked out on the clearing. A black SUV sat parked in the circle drive, but I was too far away to read the license plate. Then two men came out of the front door, got in the SUV, and drove down the private road. I sank down low and watched as it passed by. My buddy Gus was driving and Mick sat on the passenger side. I stayed down until they were long gone. I had no idea where Gus and Mick were going, or when they would be back, so I needed to make my move quickly. I hoofed it back to the Subaru as fast as I could, then drove down the road to Strickland’s house. I pulled into the circular drive, got out and hurried to the front door. I got out my phone, selected the voice recorder app and started it, and put the phone in my coat pocket, where it would get better reception. Then I rang the bell and waited, half expecting a butler to answer the door.

  I waited and then a tall, bony man in an expensive running gear answered the door. He had thinning gray hair, a goatee and a slightly jaundiced look.

  “Yes?” He gazed at me curiously.

  “Mr. Strickland?”

  “Yes. How can I help you?” Slightly impatient now.

  It didn’t appear that he recognized me.

  “I was told you can help me,” I said, then watched him closely.

  “How so?”

  If he was expecting a cop, wouldn’t he have said so? Or if he knew I was the private investigator that Gus had beat up, wouldn’t I have seen something in his eyes? But I’d seen neither. So I went with plan B. Or was it C?

  “I want to talk to you about the exchange program.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. He glanced behind me, then opened the door wider.

  “You’re not supposed to come here,” he hissed.

  “I thought –”

  “Get in here.” He ordered me.

  I stepped inside, my nerves tingly. Now to see where this would lead me. And if I’d have all my organs…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  We stood in a grand foyer with a twenty-foot ceiling, marble tile floor, and a triple-tiered chandelier. A wide circular stairway on t
he left led to the second floor. I followed Strickland down a short hall to the right of the stairs and into a spacious den with bookcases made of reclaimed lumber, but with few books adorning the shelves. Strickland walked around a long oak desk and sat in a leather office chair. He grimaced as he got himself situated. Then he waved a hand at a wingback chair across from the desk.

  “Sit, sit.”

  So I sat.

  He tapped his hands together as he stared at me. Then he finally asked, “Did my son tell you to come here?”

  I kept a straight face and went along with that. “Yes. I need money fast and he said you could help.” My head was spinning. Who was his son? Gus?

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sam Spillman,” I said. My little ode to Detective Spillman, although I couldn’t say “Sarah” was my first name.

  “What do you know about the exchange program?”

  “I know I can sell an item,” I said carefully, “and that I can get a lot of money for it.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded his head slowly. “That’s true, if your item is deemed useable.”

  “How do you determine that?”

  “We, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You’ll have to have medical clearance. A lot of tests will be performed on you.”

  “Okay, I’m cool with that,” I said.

  “We’re not like other places. We’ll pay you a lot of money for your item and our recipients pay a lot of money to us because they’re getting quality. Do you know how some of these organizations operate?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s disgusting,” he said as he stroked the goatee absentmindedly. “They don’t even get healthy people, but drug addicts and such, and then the items aren’t fit for donation. But they harvest the items anyway. And after the surgery, the patients aren’t taken care of. They deal with infections, and there’s no support of any kind, no follow-up.” He jabbed his index finger at me for emphasis. “We charge top dollar, but the recipients in our exchange program are treated well and our donors are paid well.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” I said.

  He frowned at my enthusiasm. Be cool, Reed, I thought. Then he paused and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Excuse me.” He glanced at the screen, hesitated, then his eyes darted to me and back to the phone.

  Was it Unger, I wondered. Had I been made?

  “How do you know my son?” he asked.

  “I met him at work,” I said, then realized I had no idea where Gus worked, or even if he worked, or if Gus really was his son.

  “I see.” He studied me carefully. “What happened to your face?”

  I touched my cheek. “Like I said, I need the money. They threatened to break my legs next time.”

  “That’s terrible.” He continued to ponder me.

  Was he getting suspicious? My gut said it was time to wrap up the conversation and get out while I could. I just needed a little more information. “So when can this happen?” I asked, spurring the conversation forward.

  “Why don’t we get started today?”

  “Okay. Do you have some paperwork for me?” Good. Maybe I could sneak some pictures of documentation that I could show Spillman.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Why wait? You said you needed money, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Let’s get you to our clinic today.”

  “Today?” This wasn’t quite what I planned.

  “Why not? We’ve got a recipient in need right now, so we’ll get your preliminary evals done and then get you your money.”

  “But,” I hesitated. “I thought you said you needed to make sure I’m healthy first.”

  He held up a hand. “We will, don’t worry.”

  “Okay, sounds good,” I said, but my stomach did a flip. What kind of tests would they do on me today? “Is your clinic here in the house?”

  He laughed, but it held no mirth. “No, of course not. It’s downtown. I’ll have someone drive you to our clinic and they’ll do the tests there.”

  “I can drive myself.”

  He shook his head, then tapped his fingers. “I’m afraid we can’t do that because, as you must realize, we have a need for secrecy.”

  “Oh, right.” I tried to act cool, but more than an inkling of concern shot through me.

  “So we’ll have to take you to the clinic and bring you back here.” His eyes narrowed. “You understand.”

  “Of course.” But what if they took me somewhere and left me? How could I let someone know where to look for me?

  “So, let me make a phone call,” Strickland said as he stood up.

  “Great.” Anyone would’ve been nervous to give up some of their body parts, so I didn’t have to fake my edginess. “Could I use the bathroom before we go?”

  He eyed me again, then said, “It’s out the door and to the right. I’ll show you.”

  I followed him into the hallway.

  “Right there.” He pointed to a door just down the hall. “Help yourself.”

  I strode into the bathroom and shut the door. Then I stared into the mirror. Was it time to make my escape? Strickland appeared to be alone, so I could just run out the front door. He didn’t seem to be in shape enough to stop me. But did I have enough to get Spillman to believe me that there was an illegal organ harvesting organization operating in the metro area? Probably, but I didn’t have any proof that Gus or Mick killed Noel Farrell, let alone why, and that’s what I needed to clear my name. It looked like I was going to have to see this through, but I’d have to figure out a way to bring Farrell into the conversation and see if Strickland would tell me how he fit into all this.

  I heard Strickland talking and I put my ear to the door and listened. His voice sounded muffled, but I caught “get over there now” and “harvest all the organs.”

  Good Lord, what was he going to do to me? I thought. I instantly reconsidered my plan. Time to bail out, and I’d find my proof another time.

  “Mr. Spillman, are you finished?” Strickland called out.

  “Yes, one moment.”

  I turned on the water, then pulled out my phone. I started to text Willie but she was at work and didn’t typically check her phone except on breaks, so I called Cal. It went to voicemail. I silently cursed, then tried Ace and Deuce, but neither answered. More swearing.

  “Mr. Spillman.”

  “Coming.”

  I didn’t have any choice, so I dialed Willie, praying that she would pick up. But I knew better. She rarely answered when she was working. I decided to leave the phone on and hope it recorded whatever happened next. I could only hope she would check the message soon and call for help. I put the phone back in my pocket, shut off the water and left the bathroom. I slowly walked back into the office, then stopped short.

  Strickland was standing in the center of the room, hands crossed in front of him, waiting. To his left stood Mick. He lips twisted into a dangerous smile.

  “It’s time to go, Mr. Spillman,” Strickland said. “Or should I say Mr. Ferguson.”

  I mustered up a smile of my own. “Okay, you know who I am. I think I’ll pass on the organ donation.”

  I whirled around to run out the front door, but Gus had quietly stepped up behind me.

  “Un-uh,” he said, then coughed. I smelled that menthol cough-drop odor. He pulled his coat back to reveal a pistol tucked into his waistband. “I’d hate to use this.”

  “These men are going to escort you to the clinic,” Strickland said.

  “You mean to Doctor McKenzie’s, right?” I asked.

  Strickland’s eyebrows came together in a thin, menacing line. “So you figured that out, did you?”

  “It’s not going to do him any good,” Gus said.

  “True.” Strickland rubbed his goatee. “Who else have you told?”

  “No one,” I said.

  Strickland studied me, then looked over his shoulder at Gus. “Make sure that’s true. Just be careful
you don’t damage any organs.”

  “With pleasure,” Gus said.

  “Let me know when it’s finished.” Strickland walked past us, then climbed slowly up the stairs. When he got to the top, he turned around. “I’ve called McKenzie and he’ll meet you there.”

  With that, he turned and disappeared down the hall.

  If I was going to make a move, it had to be now. I was about to hurl myself at Gus when Mick came up behind me and threw a cloth bag over my head.

  I sucked in a breath and got a mouthful of fabric. “Mph,” I said. I reached up to grab the bag and felt something hard press into my stomach.

  “Keep fighting and I’ll put a bullet into you.”

  “But what about damaging my organs?” I tried to shout, but it came out garbled. Even so, I stopped moving.

  “Tie him up,” Gus said.

  Mick jerked my arms backward and tied my hands behind my back with rope. I had visions of being taken out into a field and shot, but Mick gripped my arm and propelled me forward. The whole thing felt a bit like déjà vous as they took me outside. Only this time they hadn’t gotten me drunk or made me drive my own car. I stumbled down the porch steps and Mick jerked me up, wrenching my shoulders. I let out a muffled gasp but neither one seemed to notice or care. I heard a car door open and then Mick shoved me into what I assumed was the SUV. I fell over on my side and one of them kicked me in the ass, then the door slammed shut. I managed to sit up, the effort pulling my shoulders painfully. The front doors opened and shut.

  “We gotta make sure it’s done right this time, or the boss is going to kill us,” Mick said.

  “Don’t worry. McKenzie will take care of everything.”

  That was from Gus, who was driving. The car jolted forward and I spread my feet so I didn’t fall over as we meandered down the road, onto 93, and back to 6th Avenue. I was completely blind, had no idea if my cell phone call had continued long enough for Willie to hear our destination, and was fighting hard not to panic. I took some deep breaths, working hard not to suck the bag into my mouth. I finally figured out that little breaths worked best.

  “Hey, I could use a cup of coffee,” I said, hoping my humor would calm me down.