Body Harvest (4 page)

‘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.’

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?’

‘What are you eating?’

Troy looked down. ‘Ice cream.’

‘Yes. It’s a stupid language when you can’t tell the difference between your pudding and “I scream”.’ She mimicked a silent scream. ‘Then there’s “I sing” and the stuff on a cake.’

Troy nodded and smiled. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘It’s even tricky to tell the difference between “new displays” and “nudist plays”.’

Troy laughed. ‘I’ve never been to a nudist play. Sounds revolting.’

After the meal, Lexi settled into a chair and calmly closed her eyes. She took five deep breaths and relaxed into meditation.

With a sigh, Troy turned on his computer and went online. He knew he’d have fifteen uninterrupted minutes.

According to the police files on Dmitri Backhouse, he’d visited a suicide chat room under a username of Backdown. Troy scrolled through endless entries, reading Backdown’s gloomy contributions and looking for any other user who’d encouraged him to die.

There was nothing obvious. Some contributors discussed methods of dying, mostly focusing on
degree of pain and certainty of success. Some visitors were endlessly optimistic, probably part of a caring charity, pleading with visitors to seek help. Others were supportive of the decision to end life, but they stopped short of promoting it.

It was clear from his postings that Dmitri Backhouse had lost his faith in God. Like an outer, he saw nothing but the laws of nature. And that had destroyed his sense of worth.

‘If there’s nothing after death, why am I bothering to live? What’s the point? Eighty pointless years. I don’t get it.’

Three visitors had responded almost immediately.  

‘Take heart. Outers have no faith. They still lead fulfilling lives.’

‘No road goes on for ever, but they all pass through interesting places before they come to an end.’

‘The point is to help others. There are many ways of doing it. Some are surprising.’

It was the third message that grabbed Troy’s attention. Was it referring to donating organs after death? It had been posted by someone with a username of Charon Angel.

That triggered something in Troy’s memory. He’d heard of Charon. Two minutes of online research told him that, in mythology, Charon was the ferryman
who carried the souls of the dead across the River Styx to the underworld. He was the guide between the land of the living and the land of the dead. And he always required payment.

Troy was still staring at the information on the legend when Lexi stirred. Looking up, he said, ‘All systems back up and running?’

‘Mmm. How’s it going?’

Troy shook his head grimly. ‘This job really depresses me.’

Lexi looked surprised. ‘Does it? But you’ve hardly …’ She stopped when she saw Troy break into a mischievous smile.

‘Razor-sharp mind after you’ve turned it back on again, eh?’ he said.

Lexi nodded. ‘You’re going to play a suicidal role online. You want our bad guy to notice your postings and get in touch – if he exists.’

‘Exactly,’ Troy replied.
‘I’m a waste of space. Someone else could do so much more than me
. At least, that’s the sort of thing I’m going to write. My body’s the bait.’

‘Good idea. Dangerous tactic.’

‘I don’t mind a bumpy ride – as long as it works.’

Lexi turned towards her own terminal. Her forensic software soon identified the tread of Avril Smallcross’s walking boots among the three sets of
impressions near the burial site. The computer defined Unknown Shoeprint 1 as trainer-type, 29.6 cm length (size 12), manufactured by Adibok, no significant wear on either tread. Unknown Shoeprint 2 was smaller: standard walking shoe/boot, 26.2 cm length (size 8), unknown manufacturer, both heels worn, chipped rubber in centre of left shoe.

Putting the graph of round-the-clock temperatures on screen, Lexi assumed that the conditions hadn’t changed much in the last few days. She added into the equation the extent of maggot development and L4G#1’s body temperature when she measured it yesterday. And she calculated that L4G#1 had died on Friday evening and been dumped in the wood very shortly afterwards.

‘It’s warmer than average for April,’ she said. ‘The maggots have lapped it up. I’m pretty sure all the action was on Friday night.’

‘Someone used the cover of darkness to dump the body, then.’

‘More than likely.’

The experimental music wafted around the room where Lexi relaxed with friends. An outer boy said with a grin, ‘So, you’ve got a new partner in crime. A major. Watch your back is all I’m saying.’

Lexi smiled. ‘He’s on trial with me. And my guess is he’s not the back-stabbing type.’

A girl sucked her forefinger to wet it, dunked it in the pot of termites and then popped them into her mouth. ‘Brain the size of a termite’s,’ she teased, licking her lips.

‘He might not be as stupid as you think. We’ll see.’
Lexi alternated between the bowl of crispy-fried bugs and the live food, pausing only to flick a carapace out from between her teeth.

Another girl exclaimed, ‘You don’t
like
him, do you? A major!’

Lexi shrugged. ‘I doubt it. Too early to say. But I’ve known a lot worse.’

‘Have you seen what they do after they’ve had a few drinks?’

‘Hey. Just because I’ve got a major partner doesn’t mean it’s my job to defend them,’ Lexi replied. ‘But they’re not the only ones who make a nuisance of themselves.’

‘Have you heard – or seen – how their females go to the toilet? They sit down! Yes, they actually come into contact with it. Hygiene, please!’

Grimacing, Lexi said, ‘So do the boys. On occasions.’

‘Yuck.’

‘Gross!’

Lexi laughed. ‘And you know how they have children, don’t you?’

Almost together, the outers cried, ‘Don’t go there!’

Grandma was tinkering around in the kitchen. ‘How’s it gone, honey?’ she called out.

‘Okay,’ Troy answered.

‘Is it an interesting case?’

Troy put his head round the door. ‘You don’t want to know the details.’

‘Too true. And what about your partner? Do you get on okay with him?’

‘Her.’

‘
Her?
’ Straining, she let out a grunt as she bent down to lift a large shepherd’s pie from the oven.

Removing his jacket, Troy entered the kitchen with a smile on his face. ‘Yes,
her
.’

‘Oh, well. And is she … you know … an
outer
?’

‘Yes. Lexi. She’s cool.’ He draped his coat over the back of a chair. ‘Smells good,’ he said. He hesitated and then added, ‘The dinner, not Lexi.’

Grandma put the large dish down on the table and began to smother the meal in brown sauce. ‘I’ve always thought it’s best not to mix with outers.’

‘They’re just like us, Gran. Give or take the cooked cockroaches. Anyway,’ he added, ‘it’s policy to pair up major and outer.’

‘They commit most of the crime – and a lot of it’s aimed at us,’ said Grandma.

Troy had heard her opinion many times. It was a widely held view in the major community. He guessed that Lexi knew many outers who believed the exact opposite. ‘It’s not true, Gran. The figures say majors commit crimes against outers just as much as the other way round. Major-on-major and outer-on-outer crimes aren’t exactly rare, either.’

‘So you say.’

‘That’s why a major/outer pair looks into all serious crime,’ Troy said. ‘Better to form a duo than sing solo. And there’s something else.’

‘What’s that, honey?’

‘Sorry, but I’ve already eaten. With Lexi.’

‘With Lexi, eh?’ she replied, glancing at him. She didn’t quite manage to disguise the hurt in her expression. ‘I dread to think what was on the menu. Never mind. You can have your share tomorrow. It’ll keep.’

A counsellor had already broken the news to the Backhouse family that Dmitri’s body had been found. Now, Troy wanted to talk to Dmitri’s daughter, Coral. He felt that he could extract a clearer picture of Dmitri Backhouse from someone not far from his own age. But Coral was not at home. The counsellor had advised her to go into school as normal, because he believed that routine and lessons would take her mind off the terrible news about her father.

Shepford was laid out like most other cities. It had a commercial hub and concentric rings of
neighbourhoods. At the city’s heart were shops, the entertainment complex, industry, Crime Central, the temple, the sports centre and schools. Separated by strips of parkland, there were six zones of housing. Four were dominated by majors and two by outers.

Approaching Coral’s school, it was clear to Troy and Lexi that there was a scuffle taking place between students on the playing field. When they were close enough to see what was going on, they realized that Coral Backhouse was at the heart of the punch-up. They both raced towards the brawl.

Blessed with superior fast-twitch muscles, outers were better sprinters, even if they didn’t have the strength of majors. Lexi got to the fight first and waded in straightaway. Inside a circle of students, Coral was facing three outer girls and putting up a good fight, despite being outnumbered. Lexi grabbed the leading outer, locking her arms expertly behind her back. At the same time, she yelled, ‘Oi! Stop. Detective!’

Troy arrived and grasped Coral in the same way, defusing the situation. ‘Show over!’ he shouted. ‘Go on. Back to classes.’

‘Except for you three,’ Lexi said to the outer girls.

‘And you, Coral,’ Troy added.

Coral twisted round. ‘How come you know me?’

‘Photographs,’ Troy said.

A teacher flew out of the nearest building and dashed towards the group. ‘What’s going on? Who are you? You can’t just walk in here and …’ Glancing at Lexi and Troy, he noticed their life-loggers and his protest faded away.

With a wry smile, Troy said, ‘Oh, yes, we can.’ He paused before adding, ‘We need to talk to Coral. You can take the other three and get their side of the story.’

The teacher marched back towards the school building, shepherding the outer students.

Lexi laughed. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ she said to Troy. ‘Overruling a teacher.’

Letting go of Coral, Troy admitted it. ‘They told me what to do for years. Now it’s my turn.’ Then he faced Coral and asked, ‘What was that all about?’

‘Nothing,’ she answered.

‘I was always having fights like that – over nothing I’d admit to a teacher. But I’m not a teacher. My name’s Troy, by the way. And you were giving it some welly with a nifty right-hand jab.’

Surly, she didn’t reply.

‘Let me guess,’ said Troy. ‘They were outers, right? And if they heard about your dad … Were they teasing you about him?’

She didn’t utter a word, but there was surprise in her eyes. She almost gasped at Troy’s insight.

‘Not all outers are like that,’ Lexi told her. ‘Not many at all.’

Coral glanced from Lexi to Troy. Apparently persuaded that she had a sympathetic audience, she muttered, ‘The counsellor said he didn’t kill himself.’

‘It’s true,’ Troy replied. ‘I’m sorry, but we’re a murder investigation.’

She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t murder,’ she insisted. ‘He’d been threatening to do himself in for ages. I bet he got someone to do it for him.’

‘That’s still murder,’ Troy told her. ‘Have you got anyone in mind?’

‘No. He didn’t have any friends and no one in the family would’ve … you know.’

‘What about someone he’d met on the internet?’

‘I don’t know but, near the end, he spent a lot of time online. It’s what he did instead of sleeping.’

‘I’d like to get my hands on his computer,’ said Lexi.

‘Mum told the police. His laptop’s gone. He took it with him, I suppose. All we know is, he called himself Backdown online.’

‘How did you get on with him?’ Troy asked.

‘He wasn’t the easiest … I hated the long periods
of silence and panic attacks, but … He’s my dad.
Was
my dad, I mean.’ Coral shrugged. ‘No one gave me a choice.’

Troy nodded. ‘You love what you get, though, don’t you?’

‘Sort of. Yeah.’

‘You’d want to know who killed him and why.’

‘Yes.’

‘So,’ Troy said, ‘you can help me and Lexi sort it out. Think back to just before he disappeared. Anything unusual happen?’

‘What sort of thing do you mean?’

Troy took a long breath. ‘Anything. Maybe he said something strange. Any weird behaviour? Did you see him surfing any freaky sites?’

Coral leaned her head to one side while she thought. ‘Well …’

‘What?’

‘I lost my mobile and I was desperate to see an email. Dad wasn’t around so I turned his laptop on. I didn’t really look but there was a message about fishing.’

‘Phishing with a ph,’ Troy asked, ‘or fishing with an f?’

‘The watery sort. Only, I don’t think he’s ever done it before, so it was kind of freaky. But I thought …
Whatever. It’s not against the law if he wants to torture poor defenceless fish.’

Troy nodded slowly. ‘Thanks. That’s … interesting.’

Lexi glanced at her partner. He had clearly seen some link with the case.

‘The message came from … I don’t know, but Angel was part of the name. It caught my eye.’

‘Charon Angel?’

‘Something like that, yes.’

‘That’s useful as well,’ said Troy.

‘Is that it?’ Coral asked. ‘Because I’d better go in and find out how much trouble I’m in. By now, those girls will have made up all sorts about me.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Troy replied, ‘after I’ve had a few words with the Head.’

‘Will you?’

‘Promise. You’ve been punished enough already.’

Before leaving, Troy told the head teacher about the death of Coral Backhouse’s father. He insisted that Coral had been provoked into reacting. She needed support more than punishment.

Walking out of the school grounds with Lexi, Troy was still thinking about Coral’s troubled relationship with her dad. He said, ‘We’re all victims of our parents’ failings.’

‘Not me,’ Lexi replied. ‘Not any outer.’

‘Oh yes. What’s it like not to have a real mum and dad?’

Lexi shrugged. ‘What’s it like to
have
a real mum and dad?’

Getting into the car, Troy didn’t answer. Instead, he said, ‘It must be weird to have paid people looking after you.’

‘Huh. Professional nannies are paid because they’re good at it. They don’t have failings. A mum and dad might be rubbish at bringing up children. I doubt if Dmitri Backhouse was great.’

‘Even so …’

Lexi butted in. ‘Outers are cooperative breeders – we share out caring for our babies. You do it in families – even ones that aren’t any good at it. You just let them get on with it, instead of changing things to make it better.’

Over the last few hundred years, the population of outers had crashed because outer women slowly lost the ability to carry a pregnancy. Their numbers began to increase again only when they learnt to reproduce differently. Compatible eggs and sperm were brought together in an artificial womb, nurtured into outer offspring and raised by nannies. For outers, friendship and romance were nothing to do with producing the next generation.

‘Anyway,’ Lexi added, ‘what about
your
parents? What are their failings? What have they passed on to you?’

Uneasy, Troy glanced at her and said, ‘Let’s get back to the case.’

Lexi instructed the onboard computer, ‘Shepford Crime Central.’ Then she gazed at Troy for a few seconds before saying, ‘All right. What’s the fishing angle all about?’

‘Look. I’m Dmitri Backhouse, thinking of killing myself. You’re someone who knows about me from the internet and you want body parts. What are you going to do?’

‘Set up a meeting.’

Troy nodded. ‘Where?’

Lexi thought for a few seconds. ‘Somewhere without witnesses or cameras.’

‘Like the place where you go fishing. A reservoir with platforms at the edge, maybe.’

Lexi smiled. ‘Okay. I see where you’re going. But …’

‘That’d be the reason you know it’s a good place to bury a body. That’d be the connection I was after.’

‘So what? Even if you’re right, how does it help?’

‘I’m no expert,’ Troy replied, ‘but I think you need a licence to go fishing.’

‘So you want a list of everyone around here with a fishing licence that covers Langhorn Reservoir?’

‘Exactly.’

‘What if this internet friend’s fishing illegally – without one?’

‘I just think he’ll have one. He wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself – or
herself
– by getting caught for something trivial.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘If we got a list, I bet you’d want to examine all their shoes.’

‘That could be hundreds – or even thousands. Anyway …’

‘What?’

‘It’s all speculation,’ said Lexi, as the car pulled up outside Crime Central.

‘True,’ Troy agreed. ‘Maybe it’s a stick I’ve grasped the wrong end of.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s down to your fancy forensics to prove me wrong or right.’