‘Are they legal, though?’
‘Of course,’ Gianna replied. ‘But I’m afraid you’re right to imply there’s an illegal market. We would never have anything to do with it, though.’
Troy felt as if he was under some sort of test and his new partner was the silent examiner. He imagined Lexi assessing his verbal tussle with this slick and clever manager. ‘Is it … you know … quite common? Does it happen a lot?’
‘Desperate people will part with considerable sums of money so, yes, it’s out there. You see, the human body provides a rich and long harvest.’
‘What do you mean?’ Troy asked.
‘Think of what it offers and when. There are useful parts from before birth until after death. From female eggs — especially majors’ eggs — through to skin, hearts and kidneys as soon as the old owner no longer needs them. Some are more valuable than others. Of the common transplants, a lung costs the most. Then it’s heart, liver, kidney, cornea, and eggs in that order. On top of that, genetics enters into the reckoning. If a woman’s young and healthy, tall, good-looking, athletic and musical, she’ll get a higher price for selling her eggs because that’s what the clients value most.’
‘You know a lot about it.’
Gianna’s eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘It’s my job to know — without getting personally involved in the illicit trade. You’re welcome to look around anywhere you like — apart from sterile treatment areas, of course — and check our records if you wish, with the exception of confidential files.’
On the surface, Gianna Humble gave the impression of being helpful and open, but Troy realized that she would reveal only a little. He guessed that the confidential files were the ones he most wanted to see. ‘We’d like a tour, for sure — and as much information on your clients and sources as you can give us — but first … These people whose body parts get harvested illegally. Who are they? Where do they come from?’
‘Mortuaries mainly, I believe,’ she answered. ‘Rumour has it that certain overseas prisoners are executed for their organs as well.’
‘What about people who’ve killed themselves?’
‘I’m not aware of that. But …’
‘Yes?’
‘It makes a perverted sort of sense. If someone were helping people to commit suicide, they could make sure the method doesn’t damage the valuable organs and then remove them quickly. After all, the deceased don’t need them.’
Troy said, ‘People thinking about killing themselves aren’t in it for money.’ Thinking aloud, he added, ‘I suppose their friends and family might be, though. Someone could assist a suicide, take the valuable bits, pay the relatives or whoever, and then sell the organs on the black market.’
Gianna shrugged. ‘Sounds feasible, but it’s all guesswork.’ She got to her feet, saying, ‘I’ll show you around.’
While she escorted them along clean, quiet and classy corridors, Troy asked, ‘Why are you here? I mean, tucked away in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Our clients recover much quicker in a relaxed atmosphere. They appreciate tranquillity.’
It was certainly peaceful. No one was rushing around with patients on trolleys. Two nurses walked from one room to another, talking quietly to each other. At the far end of one passageway, a man was mopping the floor almost noiselessly. There were no alarms or sirens, no traffic noise, no obvious emergencies. Faint regular bleeping noises sounded from some of the side-rooms. Everywhere was the reassuring whiff of disinfectant.
‘Have you transplanted a right hand recently?’
‘No. A left, yes, but not a right.’
Gianna took them into a reception area at the back of the building. ‘This,’ she announced, ‘is where all our tissue arrives. Out of a specialised delivery van, straight through that hatch and into here where the barcodes and details are double-checked.’
Troy and Lexi looked around. It was a simple room containing a large chiller, two computer terminals, various medical tools and small pieces of equipment. ‘So,’ Troy said, ‘you don’t get whole bodies.’
‘No. The organs arrive — usually from hospitals — in sealed sterilized containers. Each is barcoded at source.’
‘Have you ever heard of a major getting an outer body part by accident?’
She laughed dismissively. ‘It can’t happen. We have strict procedures. From here they go to a sterile area for visual and analytical checks. Some are used as soon as the tests are complete. Some are chilled until the recipient is prepared.’
‘But could a mix-up happen? Somewhere else?’
‘Not in any hospital adhering to the right and proper guidelines. If there was a rogue clinic — an underground one — I suppose the standards wouldn’t be so rigorous.’
‘Do you know any illegal places?’
‘No,’ she answered tersely.
‘Where’s your nearest competition?’
On her way out of the room, she replied, ‘I don’t regard other clinics as competition. And I like to think we’re unique around here.’
Following her, Lexi said, ‘You must have very experienced doctors.’
‘We used to have two house surgeons. Ely Eight and — appropriately enough — Blade Five, but we lost Ely to retirement. When necessary, Blade brings in specialists to assist with particular transplants. But, yes, he’s highly skilled.’
Troy knew by instinct that Lexi was wondering who was capable of removing the heart, liver and kidneys of L4G#1 with a sharp knife or scalpel. He hung back by the window for a moment, watching a smartly dressed and broad-shouldered man walking away from the clinic’s rear exit. His baseball cap seemed out of place.
‘Come,’ the manager said. ‘I’ll show you all our records — at least the ones without patients’ confidential details.’
‘We could force you to hand everything over,’ Troy told her.
‘To get a warrant,’ she replied, ‘you’d have to have good evidence we’d done something wrong.’ She spread her arms. ‘There’s no such evidence — because we haven’t.’
SCENE 6
They’d visited the water treatment office, the yachting club and every farm in the area and learned nothing more. Tired and hungry, they’d wolfed down their main courses and were finishing off their meal with puddings. Troy tucked into ice cream and Lexi had a plateful of chocolate-dipped candied ginger crickets.
Troy swallowed a mango-flavoured mouthful. ‘Maybe the Rural Retreat’s got a hidden basement for illicit transplants.’
‘Or — what did Kofi say? — bizarre medical experiments.’ Lexi glanced down at her vibrating life-logger and read the incoming message. ‘The weapon search didn’t turn anything up.’
Troy groaned, because any investigation was a lot easier when forensics had the murder weapon. ‘At least you’ve got the measurements you need to pin down when the latest body was left in the wood, haven’t you?’
‘Yes. And the footprint data.’
‘The last meal he had,’ said Troy. ‘Locust burger. Is that common?’
‘As common as … chips. Which he also had. So you can’t trace him through a restaurant or kitchen where he got it.’ Tapping her life-logger, Lexi said, ‘I’m requesting a list of all known patients who’ve had a hand transplant.’
‘That fits. I’d really like to talk to whoever’s got Dmitri Backhouse’s,’ Troy replied. ‘And if someone helped him to die … I’ll check out suicide chat rooms.’
Grinning, Lexi said, ‘That’ll be a right good laugh.’
Troy grunted. Changing the subject, he asked her, ‘Do you speak outer?’
‘Not very well. English got forced on us at school. Rotten language.’
‘Is it?’