Stocking Talk
Lots of women these days don′t like to wear nylons. I totally don′t get this. (P.S. Wearing shoes without nylons makes your feet smell.) Stockings even out your skin tone and don′t have to be uncomfortable.
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
″I′ve found out that the human-organ racket is fishier than my last name,″ Fish said.
″You mean it′s fishier than this crab cake? This dish tastes like last week′s haul from China.″
″I told you to order the steak burger. It′s the only thing here that′s decent, other than the booze, that is.″
I was pretending to nibble the early-bird plate at Fish′s favorite hangout, a sports bar named Hail Mary′s.
Fish was finishing up his second drink of the day even though it was only four o′clock. To keep up with him I ordered another club soda with lime, much to the amusement of our plump-armed waitress.
″I know there are some bad operators out there who get illegal body parts,″ I said to Fish across the table of our padded booth, ″but you make the entire human-organ business sound criminal, like sex trafficking. Don′t forget about all the people who are waiting for kidneys and hearts. I mean, some people die before they get a transplant. What about them?″
″Those people are the ten percent of the iceberg that′s above the waterline. Underneath, you have scumbags out there stealing body parts, paying broke people for kidneys. And even worse.″
″So please enlighten me, Fish. Exactly which part of this racket is related to what happened to Jana Miller′s body?″
″Here′s your answer.″ He slid a manila folder across the polished wood table.
I opened the file and scanned its contents. The folder was filled with pages of blurry printouts. They appeared to be copies of the fronts and backs of bank checks.
″Okay, I′m looking at a bunch of checks that were made out to some guy named Sateesh Kumar,″ I said, trying to make sense of it. All the checks were written for large amounts.
Fish tapped his fingertips on the papers, leaving wet fingerprints. ″Look at the-″
″Hey, don′t get these copies of the checks wet.″ I snatched away the papers. ″In case I need to get cut shots of these later for a story.″
Wiping off his hands on a crummy napkin, Fish said, ″This guy Sateesh travels overseas a lot. He′s hooked into a ring of thugs that kidnaps children. These kidnappers hold them in poverty-stricken places like the Ivory Coast and parts of South America.″
″Why?″
″Why do you think? For their organs.″
″Whoa. Wait a second, Fish,″ I countered. ″I′ve heard of people stealing human organs from dead bodies, but you′re talking about living human beings. About children, for God′s sake. Stop it.″
Fish knocked back the last of his drink. ″You′re a reporter, aren′t you? Don′t be so fucking naive, Kate,″ he said. ″Some of these children are being held-alive-for their body parts.″
″They take the organs… the kidneys, you mean? Surgically?″
″I suspect it′s even worse than anyone knows. These animals could easily be killing the children, once they have them under their control. Even if they stay alive, they′re put into the sex-trafficking business.
″We′re talking about body snatchers, Kate,″ he said. ″Modern-day, walking vampires-they don′t value human life at all.″
The thought of children being kidnapped-being harvested-for their bodies and organs made me literally sick to my stomach. I shoved my crab plate aside.
″Why do you think Sateesh Kumar is involved in something horrible like this?″ I asked, staring across the table at Fish.
″His rap sheet, for one thing,″ he replied. ″In terpol has a big file on Sateesh. I heard he′s been holed up around here someplace. Shacked up with a hot-looking babe.″
″Bullshit, Fish.″
″What? You mean you′ve heard she′s not hot?″
″No. I mean if you and the cops know so much about Sateesh, why′s he free to walk around Durham?″
″Maybe they haven′t caught up with him yet,″ he said.
″Well, I′m not buying this yet.″
The waitress appeared at our table again.
″Another club soda for you, miss?″ she asked me.
″Actually, I think I′ll take a whiskey sour this time.″
The waitress nodded knowingly. ″Sure thing,″ she said. ″Everyone goes for the booze after talking to this pier rat long enough. Right, Fish?″
″Right, Pris,″ he said, rattling his ice cubes at her. ″And you know me…″
″Got it. Another hard one on the rocks.″
″Yup.″
As Pris returned to the bar, I considered the checks in my hand. ″But even if your information about Sateesh is correct, what could be the connection between Jana′s murder and her heart valve being stolen, I′m wondering?″
″Probably none,″ Fish replied. ″The stolen valve was just one of life′s weird coincidences. Jana′s body turned up in County Morgue at the wrong place, wrong time. But at least this crime we can track.″
Jana′s death seemed to be riddled with weird coincidences. That′s exactly what Luke had said about Anaïs Loring of the Newbodies being murdered six months before Jana-just a coincidence. Another dot of color on the canvas.
Fish, who′d been watching me think, added impatiently, ″Take a look at some of these parties who wrote checks to Sateesh. That′ll give you a good idea of who′s supporting this scumbag.″
″New Wave Technologies,″ I read the name slowly out loud. ″Prana Centers. Dr…″
With unsteady fingers, I picked up the printout of the check to study it more closely. There was no mistake.
″What are you looking at?″ Fish asked.
″Hang on a second.″
That second was all the time it took for my heart to fall to the floor of my chest. On its way south it collided with an upsurge of bile, which flooded my mouth with a rancid taste of crab.
Written in flowing black ink, the signature at the bottom of the check read:
Dr. Xavier Medina