“Then tell me what it is,” I pressed. “I have a right to know. For chrissakes, I’m caught in the middle of this thing!”
“Which is exactly why I want you out of their reach!”
Santou immediately knew that he’d said the wrong thing; he lowered his head and his fingers plowed through a tangle of dark hair, where a renegade band of silver strands glistened like hidden treasure. It was obvious that he was struggling over just how much to tell me.
“Look, there’s a worldwide market in a commodity that’s only recently made a blip on our radar screen. It’s based on supply and demand, just like everything else. There’s a good possibility that the United Christian Patriots are implicated in this, and that they’re seriously involved in its trafficking. Does that help to answer your question?”
He had to be kidding. It didn’t even begin to start.
“Then you don’t deny that they’re also involved in the bear gallbladder trade,” I pressed, determined to verify that fact.
Santou looked at me and the muscles in his face sagged, as if he knew precisely where all this was headed.
“Don’t do it, Rachel. Stay the hell out of this one. You have no idea of the hornet’s nest you’re about to step into.”
“That’s just the thing, Jake. I already have.”
Santou’s hooded eyes held mine, as determined as a cobra hypnotizing its prey, and I was instantly filled with guilt. I pulled my gaze away, but Jake wasn’t about to let me go that easily. He pushed a strand of hair away from my eyes and replaced it with a kiss. It was enough to open the floodgates, and I fell into his arms in a rush to escape my indiscretion. This was the man who had come to embody my dreams and desires, someone who accepted my rash decisions and mistakes. He was my lover, my confidant, and my best friend. But most of all, Santou was my sanctuary in the face of despair and frustration.
“What’s wrong, chère? Is there something you want to tell me?”
I swallowed my tears and shook my head. Jake’s inborn Cajun melancholy spilled over, filling the entire cab. It was clear that he strongly suspected I had betrayed him. A slight dip tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing an endless well of sadness. The last thing I wanted was to add to that. Yet I was afraid I already had.
“Listen, chère. I know you’ve been going through a hard time lately, what with your mother’s recent death. It’s also true that I haven’t always been there for you. We’ve both got careers that demand way too much of our time. But I want you to know there’s no one else in my life. Nor do I ever want there to be. There’s a bond between us that’s stronger than either of us realizes. Please don’t jeopardize that by getting caught up in something fleeting. I don’t want to lose you, Rachel. You mean far too much to me.”
I could barely breathe, let alone speak, as though a heavy weight were pressing on my chest. He was right. My mother’s death had hit me harder than I’d have ever imagined—forcing me to reassess my life. I had decisions to make—what was important and what wasn’t, who I wanted to be with, and how to spend whatever time I had left. I clearly knew that I didn’t want to spend it alone.
I remained mute, neither confirming nor denying his suspicions. Santou finally grew tired of the wait. His fingers lingered on my throat as he leaned over and kissed me.
“I need to get back to Dixon. We’ve got things of a sensitive nature in the works.”
“Jake, just give me a hint as to what it involves,” I pleaded. “Come on. I deserve at least that.”
Santou’s shoulders drooped ever so slightly. One more push and I felt sure he would cave.
“Just satisfy my curiosity and I’ll stay out of your way.”
Santou’s eyes homed in on mine. “All right, then. I’ll tell you this much. We suspect the United Christian Patriots have become a source for viruses to be used in biological warfare. If so, they could be selling the stuff to any number of terrorist groups around the world for big bucks. Is that enough information to satisfy you?”
I had to admit, it was pretty damn good. It also tied in with something that Rafe Lungren had let slip—that his catalogue planned to offer a vaccine to be used against biological warfare.
“Do you mind if I get back to work now?”
I silently shook my head.
“All right, then. Drive straight to your friend’s house and stay there. Do it for my sake, if for no other reason.” With that, Santou got back in his car and drove away.
Is that enough information to satisfy you?
As the words played over and over in my mind, I silently answered Santou’s question—of course not. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. No matter what else, one thing was undeniable: the FBI was determined to take over what was rapidly developing into a high-profile case, using Kyle Lungren’s suicide to push Matt and me out of the way. And though I still loved Santou, I was damned if I’d let that happen.
Eighteen
I slowly drove toward Sally’s house, chafing at both Santou’s and Running’s instructions. Get out of the way, go home, play it safe. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Equally frustrating was that nagging doubt had begun to take seed inside me. There was something about Santou’s theory that just didn’t make sense.
I decided to turn my thoughts to trying to figure out the puzzle. The first step was to go back over the information I’d gleaned from Benny. He’d claimed that a valuable resource was being exploited on the Blackfeet reservation. Then I replayed what Santou had told me. The commodity had a worldwide market based on supply and demand. I racked my brain, trying to figure out what was on reservation land that could be so highly prized, aside from those items I already knew about—untapped oil and gas, along with bear galls.
My mind wandered as I drove, determined to solve the enigma, when a grizzly materialized off in the distance, silhouetted by the late afternoon sun. He lifted his massive head and sniffed the air. Then the griz turned his attention in my direction and looked directly at me.
Though I knew I was perfectly safe, an acrid taste filled my mouth and a primal chill zoomed up my spine. The reaction was one of pure, unequivocal fear when faced with such a powerful creature. It came from man’s ongoing struggle to stay alive, and the fact that only the fittest would survive.
Zap!
It was as if I’d been struck by a mental bolt of lightning. My fingers turned clammy and I broke into a cold sweat as I realized what the reservation had as an endless commodity! Remembering Elizabeth Come-By-Night’s disappearance, I immediately felt sick. There was only one way to discover if I was on the right track. I swerved around and raced back toward the Indian Health Services clinic, convinced that the answer lay with Doc Hutchins—and determined to prove my theory correct.
The place was closed and shuttered, which I’d expected since it was Sunday. Still, I couldn’t afford to take the chance of being discovered if I hoped to find proof of a potentially horrifying crime.
I waited and watched, patient as a trapdoor spider, not making a move until I was fully certain no one was around. Then I snuck to the back of the building in search of a window to jimmy. The security in this place was pathetic; I easily pried one open and climbed inside.
I could have sworn I heard the rustlings of spectral patients as I slid to the floor and walked down the hallway. Ghostly echoes of their groans kept pace with my steps. I quickly headed for Hutchins’s office, fearing what I would find.
The puke-green walls looked exactly the same, only now I felt as sick as their color. The fact that the room was an empty slate only added to the villainy that I suspected was going on.
Tread lightly, leave no prints.
Hutchins had done just that, if he were truly guilty of crimes almost too unbelievable to be imagined. I headed straight for the locked cabinet and picked it open. This time, I began to go through each separate folder with the utmost diligence. If there was something to be found, I wasn’t going to miss it.
Once again, I pulled out
the file labeled General Health, but Elizabeth Come-By-Night’s sheet was no longer inside.
Joshua Crane. Martha Tall Bull. Sally Crossbow.
Those were the patients whose most recent medical workups had now taken her place. Their statistics had been neatly typed up and all were declared to be in excellent physical health. My eyes focused on Sally Crossbow’s name. I cursed myself for not yet having been back in touch with her; the one consoling factor was knowing that Hal was now at her house.
You’re wasting precious time with useless worrying. Get back to the work at hand!
I carefully examined the other files marked Blood Type, Sex, and Age. Every man, woman, and child within them was listed as a “fit specimen,” bearing no physical deficiencies or debilitating illnesses. I continued to thumb through folder after folder until I began to wonder if I might not be crazy. Nothing out of the ordinary was to be found anywhere. Who was I to take potshots at the militia when my own paranoia appeared to be completely out of control? If I had any brains at all, I’d skedaddle out of the building right now, while my job was still intact.
I was about ready to give up, when I saw some delinquent files between the last divider and the back of the cabinet drawer. Loosening the metal plate, I slid it forward and released them from their solitary confinement. The first manila folder was labeled Active. I opened it up and took a peek.
Laying on top was Elizabeth Come-By-Night’s missing file. Inscribed were her weight, height, and measurements, along with age, sex, and blood type. Everything appeared to be exactly the same as before. However, an additional page had been attached to the back of her records. I flipped to the sheet and found the results of her latest blood test, along with those from a tissue exam. But of far more interest was information regarding her DNA. Then my gaze dropped to the bottom of the page, where a handwritten notation had been scribbled.
Liver requested for Y. Matsumoto.
Lungs needed by 2/12 for J. Fernando
Perfect DNA match with M. Brewster for kidney
Urgent rush on heart for A. Osala
The room began to spin and my mind shut down at the sight of the ghoulish grocery list, refusing to believe what I saw. My trembling fingers reached for the second file, labeled Closed Cases.
Inside was a graveyard of the dead.
Harley Thunder. Doris Swiftdeer. Ira Blackman. Helen Running.
These were the records of those people who had either died under mysterious circumstances or were still presumed to be missing.
The file revealed not only which organs had been taken from the victims, but also listed their recipients.
There could no longer be any doubt as to why Elizabeth was missing.
I feared I was about to black out when my cell phone rang. The sound shot a mega-dose of adrenaline straight to my heart. I fumbled as I tried to answer, and nearly disconnected the caller.
“Rachel? It’s Matthew.”
My brain told me to speak, but no words would come out.
“Are you there?” he asked, his voice filled with tension.
His worry helped jerk me out of my stupor. “Elizabeth? Did you find her?”
“Yes, we’ve got her. That’s under control.”
A wave of relief rushed over me to fill my limbs with exhaustion, and a sob rose in my throat.
“The reason I’m calling is because I want to fill you in on some information I just received. That guy you were asking about, Robert Zarem? My contact says he’s a secretive figure who heads a small private hospital over in Whitefish. The place is a ritzy facility known for catering to a wealthy, international clientele.”
My heart stopped, knowing perfectly well what I was about to hear.
“During the day they do a brisk plastic surgery business, but what goes on at night is a far different story.”
“Tell me exactly what you’ve learned!”
“My informant knows a janitor who works there. He says the facility really bustles from midnight until around six A.M. The hospital has an entire floor designated just for late night surgeries. The odd thing is, there’s only a skeleton staff on duty during those hours. I guess the reason is the fewer people involved, the fewer questions that can be asked.”
“What about after surgery?” I asked with excitement. “Are those patients moved to another area in the hospital then?”
“Nope. They all recuperate in private rooms on that same floor. Whatever is going on is shrouded in total secrecy—and that’s the problem. I haven’t been able to verify what I’ve heard; this information is coming from an employee who could be disgruntled and has it in for the place. But there’s one thing that I do know for sure. Zarem’s no nip-and-tuck Dr. Look Good. The guy’s a transplant surgeon.”
My heart began to beat as fast as an Indy 500 race car, and I looked at the files in my hands. They held all the verification that was needed. Hutchins was an organ broker at the very least. At the very worst, he was a cold-blooded butcher dealing in modern-day cannibalism.
“Matthew, I’ve discovered some medical files that tie into that,” I said urgently.
“Medical files? What are you talking about?” Matthew asked. “Exactly where are you?”
“I’m in Hutchins’s office. I broke into the Indian Health Services clinic.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, and I immediately knew I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind? Get the hell out of there right now!” Running erupted.
But it was already too late. An insidious sound slithered down the hall and into the room, where it raced up my spine like fingernails on a chalkboard. An elongated, eerie creak curled around me, as if a patient had just exhaled his last dying breath. Either IHS had a very active rodent population, or I was about to receive some unwanted company.
“I’m leaving right now.”
I abruptly hung up, switched off the ringer, and stood perfectly still. I remained that way for a good couple of minutes. Then I placed the phone and files on Hutchins’s desk and tiptoed ever so quietly to the door. I slowly poked my head into the hallway. Everything appeared to be in order. I held my breath and listened, but heard nothing further.
You’re losing it, Porter. The only things in this building are some pissed-off ghosts and your own whopping case of nerves.
I turned back into the office to gather the files, and noticed something I hadn’t seen before. Perhaps it was the way the late afternoon light hit the opposite wall, but I could have sworn I detected the outline of a door.
I walked closer, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks. There it was—a separate panel painted the same color as the rest of the room, but without any doorknob. The barest sliver of space ran along the top, bottom, and sides. This had to be the entrance to some sort of hidden room. Perhaps it was a closet that had long been forgotten, or a cubbyhole where illegal narcotics were kept.
I carefully listened once more. There wasn’t a sound. Logic insisted that time was of the essence; the prudent thing to do was get out of this place right now. However, behind that door might very well lie more secrets. I had no intention of leaving until I found out.
I ran my fingers along all four of its sides, but couldn’t determine how to get the damn door open. Stepping away, I rubbed my palms over my eyes, wishing I had a battering ram. Then I stared at the office wall once again.
The experience was somewhat akin to gazing at an M.C. Escher painting. Aminuscule hole now appeared in the door where none had previously appeared to be. All I needed to do was trip the lock and the door should open. I dug out my Leatherman, only to discover that none of the blades would fit.
Shit! What was I supposed to do now?
What you do best, of course. Snoop around until you find something else.
That made sense. There was still one place left to look. I hotfooted it over to Hutchins’s desk and pulled open the drawer. It was just possible that a set of keys might be lying inside.
But al
l it held was an assortment of junk, from loose paperclips to decaying rubber bands to a couple of unwrapped sour balls. Then I spotted something that just might work. Tucked away in the back were long, thin, needle-nosed scissors, with a tweezers-like apparatus on its end.
It was a mosquito hemostat clamp, used by doctors for closing off veins during surgery. I knew because my mother had been a nurse and used to have one just like it. She’d found the clamp handy for threading needles and getting into tight spaces. I walked over to the concealed door and stuck the scissors snout in the hole. Then I probed around until the tweezers clamped onto the lock. The slightest twist of my wrist, and the door clicked open. I reached in and felt along the wall until my fingers hit a switch. A quick flick, and harsh white light brusquely flooded the room.
It’s strange when one’s nightmares spring to life. My demons usually arrive in the dark, but death plays by its own set of rules. I found myself standing in the entrance to a makeshift morgue.
My limbs grew cold as though I were already a corpse, docilely waiting for the first bite of the knife. I imagined myself laid out on the table, a virtual market of body parts for harvest. A series of bold red lines had been drawn on my flesh, marking precisely which organs were to be taken. My eyes, kidneys, and lungs were for sale to the highest bidder. I wondered just how much a human body was worth. Then I blinked, and the illusion vanished. Only the lingering scent of antiseptic remained, tainting the air. I took a deep breath and immediately felt nauseated.
Buck up, Porter! You’re the hotshot, remember? You actually think you’re gonna solve this case!
I turned to find Kyle’s headless ghost standing beside me.
It’s all in your mind. He doesn’t exist. Stop wasting time and pay attention to what’s in front of you.
But Kyle’s ghost doggedly followed along. I tried to calm my nerves by cataloguing everything I saw. There was a stainless steel table that was just the right size for a body. An assortment of surgical instruments was neatly arranged on the counter. Beside them were syringes, along with three small medicine vials. I walked over to examine their contents.
A Killing Season Page 21
