Savage Heart

by M. G Scott

  He stepped out of the car, not caring it was still running, and stumbled to the front door. Cupping his hands around the front window, he tried to make out any sign of life but everything seemed disturbingly still. He opened the screen and knocked twice—hard—on the oak door. Nobody came. He knocked three more times. Silence. Slamming the screen shut, he looked around the porch. The red wood was littered with newspapers. A worried, sickening feeling filled him. It was obvious Gina hadn’t been here for weeks. He grabbed one of the papers and pulled it from its plastic sleeve. He eyed the date. It was a month old. His eyes floated down to a headline that for some reason caught his eye: Little Johnny Still a Hero to Women He Saved.

  He read the first few paragraphs, finding the writer to be remarkably savvy in grabbing the reader’s attention. He sighed. This was getting him nowhere. Gina needed to be found. He thew the paper down and leaped from the porch. An idea hit him. He snatched the same newspaper and scanned for the reporter’s name. There it was, tucked just under the headline: By Sabrina Katz, Neskowin Beacon Reporter. He read the folio under the newspaper’s name: Published in Neskowin, Oregon.

  Something bothered him: What was Gina doing with a newspaper from up the coast? Then he remembered she and her brother grew up in Oregon. Maybe this was a way to stay in touch with their childhood years. A sense of urgency rushed through him: He needed to find the reporter. If she can write a compelling story about an eighty-year-old statue, why not one that announces a fundraiser for his sister’s heart surgery? The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. But there wasn’t much time. The Center would need final payment within the week.

  Chapter 39

  Sabrina fidgeted nervously on the stool. The pint of beer sat untouched while a little black notebook lay on the table—a hand firmly on top of it. Her attention turned to a couple having a heated exchange near the bathrooms. What are they fighting about?

  She took a sip and looked around the Irish tavern. She thought about Brieman. After leaving him an urgent message, he called back and said he’d leave his rounds early and meet her. So where is he?

  Eyes seemed to focus on her. What are they staring at? She sighed. Maybe she was being overly skittish. But how could she not be? Three deaths in the last month would be enough to put anybody on edge; and in her mind, they were all connected. Plus, someone was obsessed with getting her out of the picture—that was clear from the photos someone left for her at Carla’s house.

  Public places. It would be the key to her survival.

  The tavern door swung open, revealing the outline of a man she had befriended only a month ago but grown to adore. She stared at his confident figure, suddenly feeling her breasts come alive—something she hadn’t felt in years. She took a sip of beer. Snap out of it, she thought. A lover would have to wait until Sanchez’s death was answered.

  Brieman saw her immediately. He walked over and gave her a quick hug. “Sorry about that. I really wish I could’ve gotten here sooner but we were shorthanded at the hospital.” He took off his raincoat and shook it before placing it on a nearby hook.

  No matter how short, she savored the hug. “No reason to apologize,” she said.

  Brieman plopped on the stool across from her. He eyed her. “You sounded stressed on the phone.”

  She slid the leather-bound book, no bigger than a postcard, toward him. “I think when you see this, you’ll understand why,” she said in a hushed voice.

  He eyed the book still under her palm. “You mentioned a package in the mail. Is this it?” He grabbed the edge with his fingertips.

  “It arrived this morning.” A pause. “Mona overnighted it to me.”

  “Before she died, apparently.”

  Sabrina nodded. “My hunch is it must’ve been what the killer was looking for when he trashed her house.”

  “Why do you say that?” Brieman flipped through the pages. “Looks like a diary, or journal, of some sort.”

  Sabrina nodded. “Because it’s related to the medical research Sanchez was working on at BioHumanity.”

  A server stepped over from a nearby table. “What would you like?”

  Brieman pointed to Sabrina’s glass. “I’ll have the same.”

  “The pale ale?” the server asked.

  “Perfect.” Brieman smirked at Sabrina. “I like your choice.” His eyes moved back to the small book. “What makes you think this is important enough to kill over?”

  “I wish I knew. I mean it was obviously something she wanted me to have.”

  “No argument there,” Brieman replied as the server arrived with his beer. He took a sip, read the first few pages, and then scanned the rest of it. “I don’t get it. Seems like standard research notes on the trial he was working on.”

  She sighed. “Something’s not clicking.” Her attention was suddenly drawn to the front door. It was a man and a woman, both dressed in black. They were standing there, as if looking for someone.

  Brieman leafed through the journal again. “This is interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Take a look at the last entry. It’s dated a few days before his death.” Brieman spun the book around so she could see it. “He seems pissed about something at BioHumanity. He says: ‘The test group of placentas contained the right number of stem cells as the embryo continued to double every few days. But I was unable to trick them into generating the heart muscle. This is consistent with the previous tests as well.’ ”

  “And then he goes on to say: ‘But they are pushing me beyond my ethical limits. I refuse to meet their demands and now they are blackmailing me. For the sake of humanity but at the risk of persecution, I have to go public with their intentions. I cannot, nor will I, accept and approve what they are willing to do.’ ” Brieman then flipped to the last page. “And then there’s the last sentence in the journal: ‘I will give them one chance to do the right thing. If they do not cease harvesting then I will go forward with my threat, regardless of how much it destroys me, BioHumanity, or the people that will benefit from our work.’ ”

  “You’re right. He seems on edge about something.” She pointed to a set of initials and numbers underlined twice at the bottom of the page. “I wonder what this means.”

  Brieman eyed it. “You mean SI seven nine oh?”

  A nod.

  “I have no idea. Maybe it’s the code for the project he’s working on.”

  “Could be, but it was something he felt important enough to write in his journal.”

  Brieman shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe he was trying to remember it and just happened to jot it down on the page. Either way, we’ll probably never know.”

  An uncomfortable pause settled between them. “Little did he know how far BioHumanity would take retribution,” Sabrina finally said.

  “If you believe BioHumanity’s behind it, it must’ve been a helluva secret.”

  “No doubt. And how convenient he died a few days after the last entry,” Sabrina said.

  Brieman finished off his beer. He slammed the empty glass on the table. “What the hell is BioHumanity up to?”

  “‘If they do not cease harvesting …’,” Sabrina said, repeating what Sanchez wrote in the journal. “What does that mean?”

  “It could mean anything. In the medical field, harvesting is sometimes associated with organs … but I’m not getting the connection with his work.”

  Sabrina looked back toward the entrance. The couple were gone.

  “You okay?”

  She focused on his eyes. They were as blue as a sparkling ocean. “I’m fine. I’m just a little jumpy, that’s all.”

  “No argument here, especially since what’s happened.”

  “It’s just that I saw this couple near the door, dressed in black, and I thought they seemed out of place … like they were coming for me.”

  He turned around. “I’m not seeing …”

  She shook her head. “They’re gone now. It must’ve been nothing.”

  A s
mile. “I’m a little jumpy too.” He gave her hand a nudge. “But you’re with me,” he said calmly.

  She took a deep breath. “Thanks for being so comforting. Otherwise, I would’ve walked out of here by now.”

  He grinned. “Part of my job as a doctor.”

  She returned to the book. “What do you think of his comments about stem cells?”

  “He seems to be talking about using stem cells in some sort of study, but that doesn’t give us a lot to work with. I do know doctors and researchers are spending time and a lot of cash trying to understand the potential of stem cells.”

  “Potential to do what?”

  “To solve a host of medical issues when your own cells die. Think diseases that affect organs such as the brain, lungs, liver, and heart … and the spinal cord too. If you think about stem cells, they’re usually associated with healing and repairing organs.” He leaned back, folding his arms. “But there’s a problem.”

  “Such as?”

  “It usually requires a special kind of stem cell. I can’t think of the name offhand but I want to say it starts with an M.”

  “Let’s see what I can find.” Sabrina pulled her cellphone from her bag and started tapping. After a moment, she replied, “Could it be mesenchymal?”

  He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. They’re special because they seem to gravitate toward an organ’s injured area.”

  “Any idea how you make them?”

  “They come from bone marrow. But you would need a helluva lot of donors to do anything with it.” He scratched his head. “I don’t know. He mentions the placenta so maybe he’s working on a new technique.”

  Sabrina pondered what he was telling her. “You said harvesting could be associated with organs. What does that mean?”

  “I was just trying to connect the dots of what he might’ve meant. He could be talking about harvesting the family farm for all I know.”

  “C’mon! It has to be medically related.”

  “There’s market demand for harvesting organs and selling them but I can’t imagine that’s what we’re talking about here.”

  “That’s sickening.”

  “When people are desperate, you’d be surprised what they’ll buy and how much they’ll pay for it.”

  Sabrina looked away.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “I’m just trying to put this together. It’s a lot to digest.”

  “Yeah, and there’s still a lot of questions.”

  “The biggest one is what BioHumanity tried to push down his throat.”

  Brieman threw up a hand, trying to get the server’s attention. “Maybe Sanchez didn’t like how they planned on using his research.”

  Sabrina sighed. “But was it worth his and three other lives?”

  Brieman eyed her. “As much as I want to make the connection to the other deaths too, we don’t know that yet.”

  “No. You’re right. But we need to.” She ran a hand through her hair. “So how do we prove that?”

  He leaned back for a few seconds and then snapped his fingers. He had a devious look in his eyes. “What about the coroner?”

  Sabrina looked confused. “Coroner?”

  “Yeah. To take a deeper look at the report.”

  “But they already ruled it an accident.”

  “What if there’s more to it than what was released?”

  “You don’t think …” Her voice trailed off. She thought about it some more. She looked at him weirdly. “You’re serious, aren’t you? A corrupt coroner?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “What would we find?”

  “Well, we know he was fishing the afternoon he died. What if somebody drugged or poisoned him and caused him to fall in the water?”

  “Now you’re jumping ahead.”

  “Touché.”

  She tapped the table. “Hmm. You do have a point.” She always thought it wasn’t an accident but she never thought about what might’ve caused him to die.

  The server arrived with the check and Brieman threw twenty dollars on the table. “This one’s on me.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Happy to.” When the server left, he asked, “So what do you think?”

  She eyed him nervously. “I think it’s worth a shot. But I really don’t want to be another casualty.”

  “Hey.” He reached over and felt her fingers. “I’ll be with you the whole way. Nobody’s going to be coming after you when I’m around.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  That comforted her. A lot. She moved from the stool. “Then let’s see what we can find.”

  Chapter 40

  “That wasn’t the right time,” Mannheim said to his passenger. They were in his black Jeep following a few car lengths behind the doctor’s Porsche.

  The woman, not about to agree, glared back. “How can you say that? We had them front and center in the bar.”

  “Did you not notice the twelve other people standing around? I don’t know about you but I’m not interested in making a scene with that many witnesses.”

  “We could’ve done it discreetly. Besides, if someone realizes what’s going on, you’re very good at taking care of the situation. Remember how you handled the coroner?”

  Mannheim laughed. She was irritatingly efficient as an assassin but had no concept of reality. “The coroner was a one-time deal. I seriously doubt I’d be able to bribe her again.

  She shook her head. “I don’t agree. She could’ve been paid off again. It was sick, it was so easy.”

  “I’m done arguing about this.” He looked straight ahead at the doctor’s taillights. “The decision’s final,” he stated. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn toward the window. In the moment of silence, Mannheim focused on the car ahead, making sure to stay just out of view of their rearview mirror.

  The Porsche suddenly braked hard and veered hard off Highway 101.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Continue following. That’s what,” he replied.

  “And the journal?”

  Mannheim stiffened. It was the one piece of unfinished business that was driving him nuts. “You sure it was there?”

  “The reporter had it on the table,” the woman replied. “I’m sure of it.”

  Mannheim pounded the steering wheel. “Damn woman. Now that makes two—”

  The woman jabbed his shoulder. “Where are they going?”

  Mannheim replied, “Don’t know. But there’s nobody out so now’s the time.”

  A cruel smile washed over her face. “I’m thinking accident.”

  “Go on.”

  “What if she’s killed, and we make it look like it was Brieman’s fault.”

  “More collateral damage?” Mannheim replied. “I don’t like it. We’ve had too many already. We’ll be sunk if we have to pay off anyone else.”

  “But we’ll take them both out with one shot,” she pleaded. “It’ll be the easiest way to clean this mess up.”

  He opened his mouth to retort, but changed his mind. Maybe she was right. “Did you bring the long-range rifle and scope?”

  Her eyes lit with approval. She had won him over. “In the trunk.”

  Mannheim pushed hard on the brake. “Look!” He pointed ahead. The Porsche stopped in front of a gray building.

  “Damn it,” she yelled as she eyed the one story across the street. “They’re going to the coroner’s office.”

  “I know,” Mannheim replied, his voice tense, “but that might be a blessing.” The muscles in his body tightened. Adrenaline kicked in as if his mind and body were becoming aware of something that was about to happen.

  “You need to relax,” the woman noted. “The last time you acted like this, Mona was just pulling into the abandoned restaurant.”

  He ignored her. He was too focused.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking
it’s late,” he stated. “That means there’s going to be nobody around for blocks. It’ll be just us and them in that office.”

  A smile started to draw on her face. “This is going to be easier than I thought.”

  Chapter 41

  Brieman pulled off the main road—Rueppell Avenue—in downtown Pacific City and stomped on the brakes.

  Two-story industrial buildings dotted the landscape indiscriminately along the street where they parked. It wasn’t prime real estate, at least compared to what they had seen coming into town, but it suited an ordinary coroner just fine.

  “What’s the address?” Sabrina blurted.

  “One two two one. It’s the one over there.” Brieman pointed to a pale brown building across the street.

  She eyed the nondescript office as dimly lit streetlights cast a wide shadow on the tarnished brick. Everything looked chocolate brown, from the brickwork to the window frames to the door. “What a perfectly mundane building for a coroner.”

  “Government buildings,” Brieman replied. “Always architecturally stunning.”

  Sabrina checked the car’s clock. It was a half past midnight. The fear of someone coming after her was never far from her mind. She looked into his eyes. “I’m stressed,” she blurted.

  “I know,” he replied. “But I told you I’m going to be here for you and I mean it.”

  She smiled gently. “That makes me feel a little better … but the Sanchezes and Mona probably thought they would be okay too. And that didn’t work out so well.” She paused. “I’ve been warned and I still haven’t left. I don’t know about you but it’s obvious what they’ll do next and yet …”

  “You just can’t seem to leave?’

  A nod. “As much as I know it’s the safest thing right now, I just feel like I need to figure this out, no matter what happens.”

  “Is that why you were helping Carla … you feel it’s unfinished business?”

  She looked away, pondering what Brieman had suggested. “You know, I hadn’t really thought about why … but maybe. Yeah, maybe.”