Fletcher told Karim about Corrigan’s vial of pills, how the two medications were used in conjunction to treat hand tremors and alleviate surgical anxiety. How Corrigan had been scheduled to perform surgery — a fact confirmed by Jenner. How’re your hands holding up? Jenner had asked Corrigan on the phone. You ready for surgery?
Then Fletcher told Karim about the ornate dining-room table and the words Jenner had spoken to his companion, Marcus, while inside the house: Call Rick on your way, tell him to keep everyone at the hotel.
They might as well hop back on their jets and go on home, Marcus had replied.
‘Private or chartered planes aren’t subject to the same security as commercial flights, as you well know,’ Karim said. ‘If people had flown in to collect organs, they would be ushered back to their private jets or chartered planes without having to undergo any searches. They could fly away with their organs properly packed and cooled with no one the wiser.’
‘Your Baltimore contact who searched the buildings, did he find any coolers or medical equipment?’
‘The buildings were empty. What about the house in Dickeyville?’
‘Organ harvesting requires specialized surgical equipment. I didn’t see anything.’
‘So if Corrigan was telling you the truth — that there were at least three other victims who were still alive — then he was performing the surgery in another location.’
‘Which is all the more reason why we need to speak with Nathan Santiago. These people are shutting down their operation.’
‘I understand and share your frustration, Malcolm, but I’m not a magician. I can’t wave a wand and make Santiago wake up and start talking. He’s near death as it is.’
Fletcher opened his netbook.
‘What are you doing?’ Karim asked.
‘I placed a GPS transmitter inside Corrigan’s throat.’
Karim smoked, waited. Fletcher pressed keys and moved a finger across the netbook’s track pad. Fletcher stared at the screen, his eyes narrowing in thought. Then he went back to typing.
A moment later, he leaned back in his chair, propped an elbow up on the armrest and rubbed a latex-covered finger across his bottom lip.
‘What?’ Karim asked.
‘The signal is no longer transmitting,’ Fletcher said.
48
On the computer screen Fletcher saw the route the transmitter had travelled, where it had stopped broadcasting.
‘Malfunction?’ Karim asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ Fletcher said. ‘It was transmitting perfectly before I left for New Jersey. I need you to look up an address for me: 9611 Washburn Road in Baltimore.’
Karim turned to his keyboard. Typed and clicked the mouse button repeatedly.
‘Address is in West Baltimore,’ he said.
‘Is it a funeral home?’
Karim eyed him curiously. ‘How did you know?’
‘Does it offer cremation services?’
‘Hold on… Okay, here’s the website. Funeral home is called Washington Memorial Park… Yes, it offers cremation services.’
And now we have the reason why the GPS tracker stopped transmitting its signal, Fletcher thought. The device was destroyed when Gary Corrigan’s body was cremated.
‘How did you know?’ Karim asked again.
‘I didn’t. The ashes inside the closet made me think of it. To obtain the ammo from Sacred Ashes, you need to be able to provide ashes. Someone with access to a crematorium could do it — and easily forge the necessary death certificates.’
‘This business of making ammo using human ashes, what do you think that’s about? Why does she — or he — do it?’
‘Part of their revenge fantasy, I suspect. Does the funeral home’s website contain the names of the owner or owners? Photographs?’
‘I’m looking right now… No. There’s nothing listed under the contact page, no names or personal photographs. There are, however, pictures of the facility. It’s set in a wooded area, has its own adjoining cemetery.’ Karim looked away from the screen and said, ‘What if the other victims are somewhere on the grounds, maybe even in the funeral home itself?’
‘We won’t know until we perform a search.’
Karim glanced at his wristwatch.
‘Have your Baltimore contact do it,’ Fletcher said. ‘If these people are shutting down their operation, we can’t afford to waste any time.’
Karim nodded in agreement and reached for his phone. While he conducted his conversation, Fletcher ruminated on the bedroom closet containing the killing shrine.
Eleven garment bags and eleven sets of cremated remains tucked in bags behind the footwear. The highball glass contained a small trace of ash — human, not cigarette, ash. The closet did not smell of cigarette smoke. The woman in the fur coat sprinkled cremated remains in her bourbon and ingested her former victims as she sat in her chair, staring at the clothing and reliving… what? The kidnapping of the parent? She had also used the ashes to place three separate orders with a company that specialized in adding cremated remains to gun ammunition. She didn’t keep the ammo inside the closet. And what was the reasoning behind the custom-made ammunition? What purpose did it serve?
Fletcher didn’t have an answer, just an idea that led back to his original theory that all the victims were connected. One thing was clear: the woman in the fur coat and, possibly, her male partner were motivated by revenge.
And the children… after you harvested their organs you cremated their remains, didn’t you? But what did you do with their ashes?
Karim hung up the phone. ‘My contact is going to look into the funeral home,’ he said. ‘Now let me tell you what I found on Gary Corrigan. He has a record. After he graduated from the University of Maryland School of Medicine, he completed his residency at Saint Agnes, also in Baltimore. He stayed on and worked there as a cardiac surgeon until early 2000, when a routine audit showed he was shorting patients their medications, most notably Valium.’
‘He must have been using Valium to treat his hand tremors or surgical anxiety. Or both.’
‘You said he was using a beta-blocker and that other drug.’
‘Propranolol,’ Fletcher said. ‘The medical cocktail is relatively new.’
‘So he tried self-medicating with Valium and got caught. Why not just seek treatment?’
‘Because the hospital would have to disclose it or face possible lawsuits. And would you want a surgeon who suffered from hand tremors?’
‘Good point,’ Karim said. ‘In any event, the hospital didn’t sweep the matter under the rug. Saint Agnes brought Corrigan up on charges. After his arrest, the medical board revoked his licence to practice. Judge didn’t give him any jail time, just fined and ordered mandatory drug counselling. Corrigan entered a rehabilitation unit in Maryland that specializes in addiction within the medical community — drug addiction, from my understanding, is a common and widespread problem. Three months later, he was released.’
‘His current occupation?’
‘Corrigan worked a variety of odd jobs until early 2001. There’s nothing listed after that year. That’s when he also stopped paying taxes. IRS never caught up with him.’
‘Background?’
‘Married in ’93, divorced a year later. No kids. Never remarried. Parents are deceased. No siblings. No debt either. House paid in full. That’s all I have on him at the moment.’ Karim picked up a small remote from his desk and said, ‘Now let’s see if we can find this Jenner bloke.’
49
Karim pointed the remote at the windows. The light-blocking shades began to lower and the office grew dark.
But not the walls. Made of high-tech plasma screens, they glowed a bright white.
‘I found twenty-three men living in Maryland with either the first or last name of Jenner,’ Karim said.
Fletcher got to his feet. ‘I’m interested in a white male, late forties to early sixties.’