Nurse Blood (The Organ Harvester Series Book 1)

by Rebecca Besser

  “They would need privacy—somewhere where they wouldn’t be seen or heard,” she said. “I suppose if I didn’t want to be found doing something like that, and since it couldn’t be done out in the open in the woods or anything, I guess I would find an abandoned building or something. We have quite a few of those since the economic downturn. Factories have been going out of business left and right.”

  David’s mouth fell open in shock as he thought about it.

  “Brilliant!” he all but screamed. “I’ll call Detective Jones and see if they can have a couple of patrols check out areas where there’s abandoned buildings, just to look for anything suspicious,” David said, pulling out his phone and dialing.

  Croce was shaking her head, grinning, as she pulled into the parking lot of the next hospital on their list.

  ***

  Butch drove into the parking lot of the building they were vacating at eight o’clock sharp; Roger was already there, sitting in the moving truck waiting for him.

  He parked his truck beside the larger vehicle and got out, shivering slightly in the crisp morning air after being overly warm from his truck’s heater.

  Roger climbed out as well, but didn’t offer to shake Butch’s hand like he normally did; he got straight to business.

  “We moved most of the large stuff yesterday, so we only have a little bit to do today,” he said. “We should be able to get everything in one load. After we unload at the new location we’ll come back and clean really good to cover our tracks better.”

  Butch nodded and teased, “All business this morning, aren’t we?”

  “We need to get this done with no fooling around,” Roger said, and turned to walk up the ramp to the building. “We don’t have time for joking and playing today if we want to do the harvest tomorrow.”

  “Bossy, bossy,” Butch muttered under his breath and followed Roger.

  They entered the building together. Roger headed toward the stairs that led to the basement, since they’d already removed the generator that had previously powered the elevator. Butch paused to prop open the door with a heavy cinder block they’d found the previous day for that purpose, before he followed the other man down the steps.

  Roger turned on one of the flashlights they’d left at the bottom of the stairs and proceeded to gather up anything he could find that they hadn’t moved the day before.

  Butch picked up the other flashlight and did the same.

  In less than an hour, they had everything else loaded in the truck.

  “Why don’t you drive your truck over too,” Roger suggested, not wanting to talk to Butch any more than he had to. “That way when we’re done, you can go. Jennings said he had a side assignment for you and that I shouldn’t keep you any longer than necessary. I can clean by myself later.”

  Jennings had told him no such thing. He’d made it up because he didn’t want to be around Butch any more than necessary. He wasn’t a homicidal man, but he wanted to kill Butch for what he’d done to Sonya, and for lying about it. The things Butch had done in the past were bad enough without him trying to turn the team against each other—at least any more than they already were. He knew Butch was poison and he wanted as little contact with him as possible. Working with him was like working with a slightly smarter Jack. While Jack had been ignorant about how his actions would affect people, Butch was pulling everyone’s strings and pitting them against each other intentionally. Butch’s meddling was far worse.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Butch said, suppressing a chuckle. “I do still have a lot to work on for that side project.”

  I just bet you do, Roger thought, waving and climbing into the moving truck.

  He started it up and took off out of the parking lot slowly, giving Butch plenty of time to get into his truck and follow him at a decent distance. He figured Butch would be able to find the new building on his own, but he didn’t want to take the chance of him getting lost—they didn’t have time for any bullshit.

  The drive was peaceful for him. He thought about how soon everything would be over and how he’d be free to go his own way; freedom was so close he could taste it. But at the same time, every time he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Butch’s truck, he was reminded of the very real peril that he still had to face to achieve that freedom.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Nothing again,” David growled. “One more hospital to go and it’ll be over.”

  Croce nodded and sighed.

  “When we’re done with the next hospital, we’ll check in and see how the building search is going,” McCoy said, and glanced at his watch, noticing that it was only eight minutes until ten o’clock. “If they’ve even started yet.”

  “If they haven’t, we can go,” Croce suggested. “I know the general area pretty well.”

  David nodded. “We just might.”

  He kept checking for messages on his cell phone to see if there was any new information.

  “How far are we from the next hospital?” he asked Croce.

  “Oh,” Croce said, squinting as she thought about it, “about a twenty minute or so drive, depending on the traffic.”

  “Great,” David said, increasing his pace and reaching the car in less than a minute. Croce rushed to keep up.

  “The time frame is really getting to you, huh?” she asked as she climbed in the car beside him, buckled up, and started the engine.

  “Yeah,” he said, and sighed. “I’m sorry if I’m getting cranky, but I feel like a wild panic is building inside me.”

  She chuckled. “I feel the same. Just remember I’m on your side before you try to bite my head off.”

  David laughed. “I will.”

  They were out of the parking lot in no time, heading for the last hospital morgue in the city.

  ***

  Roger and Butch finally made it to the new building, parked, and got out. First they checked on the locks, windows, and doors to make sure no one had tampered with the place and then did a quick perimeter check. Once they knew everything was secure, they went back to the truck and started to unload its contents.

  “I got us another contact to move some of the parts from the harvest,” Butch said smugly as they carried their first loads inside.

  Roger frowned. “Does Lloyd know? I thought that was his job…”

  “Yeah,” Butch said, “I told him. He thought it was a good idea.”

  “I thought he had enough contacts to move everything,” Roger said as he set down the stuff he was carrying and turned to head back out the door for another load.

  “Apparently not,” Butch said, putting down his stuff too and following him. “Besides, it’s hard to move a lot of parts all at once because some contacts won’t take it in bulk.”

  “I know that,” Roger said. “But I thought Lloyd had enough contacts to move everything without trouble. He didn’t say anything about having any problems.”

  Butch shrugged. “Maybe he just doesn’t want to look like he can’t get the job done, especially in front of his woman.” He stopped and snickered. “But then, you wouldn’t know about that, would you? Since you’re gay and all.”

  Without warning, Roger straightened up from where he’d been half-bent over to reach something in the back of the truck. He balled his right hand into a fist and slammed it into Butch’s face.

  Taken by surprise, Butch stumbled back a few steps before falling to his knees, dazed.

  “I’m not gay, you bastard!” Roger screamed, breathing fast with his eyes wide and wild. “Stop saying that I’m fucking gay. I’m so sick of your damn mouth.”

  He took a couple steps forward and swung at Butch again.

  Butch saw the punch coming this time and raised his arm to block it. He rolled halfway over on his side from the force of the blocked blow.

  “You stupid fuck,” he snarled, spitting blood on the ground.

  Roger kicked Butch’s midsection with an almost unnatural speed, knocking the slightly larger man to the ground
.

  Although Butch was larger, Roger wasn’t a bit scared of him. He’d been a kick boxer and had studied martial arts when he was younger, so he knew his speed and agility would even whatever odds there were between them.

  “You’re a fucking pussy,” Butch snapped, spitting again as he rolled away from his attacker, holding his ribs as he climbed to his feet. “You had to sucker punch me because you know I’d whoop your ass otherwise!”

  “What the fuck ever!” Roger yelled, advancing toward Butch once again.

  Butch backed up a couple of steps and pulled a switch blade out of his pocket. He opened it deftly and held the small, shiny blade in front of himself.

  “Keep comin’, you dumbass,” he taunted. “I’ll shred you into rainbow ribbons your boyfriend can wear in his hair.”

  Roger let out a frustrated roar and charged Butch, putting his shoulder into the man’s already bruised ribs.

  Butch dropped the knife as his breath was knocked out of him and he hit the ground hard.

  They wrestled around, punching, kicking, head-butting, and assaulting each other any way they could.

  Neither of them heard the advancing vehicle, intent only on the damage they could do to the other.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Jennings screamed, climbing out of his car and rushing over to the fighting pair. “Stop it! Stop it right now! We don’t have time for this childish shit.”

  He grabbed the shoulders of the man on top, which happened to be Roger, and pulled him back, finally getting some attention.

  After one more swift punch to Butch’s face, Roger yanked himself free of the other man’s grasp and stood, panting and bloody.

  Butch was in much worse shape, lying on the ground, disoriented, blinking rapidly, and shaking his head.

  “Why the hell were you fighting?” Jennings asked, kneeling beside Butch so he could check him out and make sure he wasn’t seriously hurt.

  “He…” Roger paused to swallow and gasp in some air, “…kept saying I was gay.”

  Jennings looked up at Roger with a disbelieving expression on his face that said: Really?

  “Well, since you had to be so immature about it,” Jennings snapped, “you’ll be working by yourself for the rest of the day. Butch will need to get some extra rest so we can do the harvest tomorrow.” He paused and shook his head. “Damn it, Roger, you know better than this. I can’t believe you couldn’t control yourself because of a stupid taunt.”

  “Whatever,” Roger said, and kicked Butch’s knife toward his prone body. “Here’s your pig sticker, you little bitch.” He wiped away the trickle of blood coming from his nose and got back to work on the contents of the truck, ignoring the other two.

  ***

  “This is the last one,” David said, stepping through the automatic doors to the last hospital on their list. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Croce nodded and headed over to the reception desk where two women were chatting; they looked up at her when she spoke.

  “We need to talk to your medical examiner,” she said, and motioned to McCoy, who’d come to join her at the desk after checking his cell phone for messages. “This is Agent David McCoy and I’m Agent Croce with the FBI.” She pulled out and opened her badge to show them her credentials.

  The women seemed a bit flustered at first and then directed them downstairs to the morgue.

  “Thank you, ladies,” David said, smiling at them politely.

  They nodded their heads and watched the agents as they walked away.

  “They’ll be talking about this for a year,” Croce said, pushing the down button on the elevator. The door opened instantly with a ding. She stepped inside and David followed. “Those ladies sit there all day with no action and then the FBI visits the morgue.”

  David laughed and pressed the button for the basement. “At least we’re brightening their day.”

  “I guess you could call it that,” Croce said with a snort.

  The elevator came to a shuddering halt and the door opened. They stepped out onto the tiled floor of the dimly lit corridor.

  “Why do they always light these places like this?” Croce asked. “It makes things seem creepy.”

  “You haven’t met many medical examiners, have you?” David asked, looking at the woman sideways. “They feel more comfortable in the dim light.”

  They paused and peered through a large window looking in on a utilitarian room sporting lots of stainless steel. In the middle of the room was a slightly overweight, balding man standing over a dead body lying on the table in front of him. He spoke aloud while pulling out organs and weighing them.

  “You’re right,” Croce said. “He does seem to be at ease here.”

  McCoy looked at her and nodded.

  “Let’s ask him some questions,” he said.

  He walked over to the closed door of the morgue room and pushed a small button on the intercom in the wall.

  The medical examiner’s head shot up and he looked at them with a frown. He raised his hand in a “one minute” gesture and continued doing what he was in the middle of before turning off the recorder, taking off his mask and gloves, and washing his hands. He then made his way over to the door and let them in.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, glancing from McCoy to Croce.

  “I’m Agent David McCoy from the FBI,” he said, flashing his badge. “This is Agent Hannah Croce. We have some questions for you…” He paused, waiting for the man to give his name.

  “Miles Gardner,” he said.

  “Thank you,” David said. “We have some questions for you, Mr. Gardner, and need to take a look at your records for the past month.”

  Miles frowned. “I’ll answer all the questions you want, but don’t you need a search warrant, or court order for the records?”

  David reached into his jacket, pulled out a folded white piece of paper, and handed it to Miles.

  He took it and opened it, scanning it quickly.

  “It seems you have everything in order,” Miles said, handing the paper back. “Come on in.”

  David nodded and stepped through the door; Miles backed up to allow him to enter.

  Croce stepped inside as well, before the door was closed again.

  “Mr. Gardner,” David started, “have you been approached by anyone interested in acquiring or disposing of human organs?”

  “No,” Miles said, sitting down in the rolling chair in front of his desk and folding his arms. He didn’t sit squarely on the chair and it almost roll out from under him, but he grabbed it right away. He scooted onto the chair better and refolded his arms.

  David watched the man and noticed that he didn’t flinch at the idea or ask why. He’d just answered no and became nervous.

  Interesting, he thought, frowning.

  “You don’t seem surprised at the question,” he said, watching the medical examiner.

  “What else would the FBI want to ask about at a morgue?” Miles retorted, glancing around the room. “It’s not like there’s much else here.”

  Croce snickered.

  McCoy wasn’t convinced it was that simple.

  “Where are your records?” he asked.

  Miles stood up quickly, sending the chair he’d been sitting on sliding across the room only to be stopped when it slammed into another piece of metal furniture.

  The loud clang in the sparse room was almost deafening and they all cringed.

  “Sorry,” Miles muttered as he pulled the top drawer of his filing cabinet open. “I do that a lot.”

  Croce caught David’s attention and rolled her eyes; he smirked.

  Miles withdrew a small stack of files and handed them to David.

  “Is this all of them?” David asked, frowning at the pile, which was smaller than he’d expected.

  “Yes, that’s all of them,” Miles answered, scratching his bald head.

  McCoy glanced over at Croce and raised one of his eyebrows.

  Croce nodded and walked
past Miles to check the files in the filing cabinet to make sure nothing was being omitted. She nodded at McCoy, coming back over to stand beside him as he looked through the files in his hands.

  “Thank you for your time,” David said, and handed the files back to Miles. “You have a good day.”

  Croce frowned in confusion. The questioning at the last hospital had taken a lot longer than this one, and they’d kept the files until they could make copies at the administration office of the other hospitals. She couldn’t figure out why he’d just handed them back to the medical examiner. She knew better than to voice her concerns in front of the man they were questioning though.

  “No problem,” Miles said, putting the files away and closing the drawer.

  “We’ll show ourselves out,” David said, walked over to the door, opened it, and exited; Croce followed him, still frowning.

  Neither of them spoke until they were in the elevator.

  “What’s going on?” Croce asked. “You didn’t make copies of the files or even read them—we didn’t collect evidence. And you didn’t ask many questions.”

  “Something feels off,” David said. “We’re going to the security center to see if he’s had any visitors. Hospitals have cameras in hallways and elevators.” He pointed to a corner of the ceiling, and for the first time, Croce saw a small camera lens there. “We can see what he’s been up to. If he was smuggling parts we’ll be able to see it, even if he’s been using the ambulance delivery entrance.”

  “Nice,” Croce said.

  David nodded. “I’ll bet the security cameras have caught something.”

  When they stepped off the elevator on the main floor, they headed back to the reception desk, where they were given directions to the security center.

  “Now they’ll really be talking,” Croce mumbled as they headed to their new destination.

  “Let them talk,” David said, hoping they would find something on the tapes that would confirm his hunch that something illegal was happening on the premises.

  He checked his phone again as they moved along the hallways, turning every now and again to follow the signs to the emergency room, which the security office was located beside.