Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

"Meaning?"

"If it is organized-if it is a business just as You've suggested-then this surgeon must have some way of identifying, of selecting his donors."

"Meaning?" she asked, wanting to hear him think this through aloud. She could feel his enthusiasm. She almost had him. "Listen, either they're stealing them, in which case Chapman and these others are innocent victims, or they're buying them, contracting them from people either desperate for money or sympathetic to their cause or both. Like your Egyptian farmer, right? Unfortunately, we don't know which. We need to establish that first. We need to know their game plan. How do they identify their donors? That comes first."

"These organs are perishable goods," she reminded. "There are time factors involved."

"Do they kidnap the donor, steal some kid off the streets? That's a hell of a risk to take."

"They're runaways. Who's going to notice?"

"But why take that kind of risk if you can cut a deal instead? What if the donor comes into the plan willingly? That makes a lot more sense."

"Cindy Chapman's a victim, Lou," Daphne said obstinately. "We don't know that. What if she offered to sell her kidney? What if it was voluntary? Runaway teenagers are not exactly long on cash."

"I don't believe that.

Why use electroshock if they're part of your conspiracy? She sure as hell didn't volunteer for that."

"Don't get all high and mighty, damn it. Your point is well-taken, okay? I agree with you. The electroshock doesn't fit. Okay?"

"You agree with me, but you won't help me."

"I will help you.

All I can."

"But you won't take it to the lieutenant?"

"I can't get that involved. Not yet, anyway." He looked down, wiped some drool from the baby's mouth. "Extenuating circumstances." He added quickly, "But I will help."

"if Cindy Chapman dies, then will you take it to Shoswitz for me? Is that what you need, a fresh victim? She's in bad shape, you know." "You can really piss me off when you try."

"Good. I'm trying real hard."

"I noticed. Have you run Chapman's clothes through the lab?" he asked.

She had been withholding this and another file from him, hoping to time their delivery correctly and. sink the hook. Leave it to him to ask, she thought. "Courtesy of the Professor," she explained, referring to the head of the department's forensic sciences unit. She handed the first of the two files to Boldt. "He rushed this for me." It was the state lab's preliminary hairs and fibers report. "I used your name," she added reluctantly. She pulled both files to the table top, handing him only the one.

He opened it and read. The top of the page listed the identification numbers followed by how they had been received, in this case hand-delivered by Sgt. Daphne Matthews, SPD. The next section was divided into two columns: EVIDENCE DESCRIPTION and CONCLUSION. Boldt scanned the conclusions. He suggested, "Lamoia could handle this."

She answered quickly, "As good as his instincts are, John is about ten years short on experience and a lifetime short on manners. He just doesn't have the qualifications you do."

He waved a finger at her. "You're playing with me again. "I "Don't you wish," she teased. "Not in your wildest dreams., It provoked a grin. "What do you know about my dreams?" he teased right back. "Animal hairs found on her jeans," he said. "We dismiss them. Too common. Blood type O-positive." He rummaged through the other files before him. She filled in, "These other three were also type O-positive." She indicated the stack next to her. "And when you read these medical stories, you'll understand why. Type O is the biggest blood group, the biggest market."

He glanced up, understanding. "They're all four the same blood type. They select their donors by blood type! That's our lead!"

"The Professor forwarded the animal hairs to the U-Dub," she said, meaning the University of Washington, "to attempt to identify the particular breeds," "You're getting off track!

It's the blood group match that's important. Let's stick with that for a minute!"

"The animal hairs are important too."

"I can't get too excited over some animal hairs. We all have pets, and if we don't, our friends do. Most of us come in contact with pet hairs on a daily basis."

"Most of us," she agreed, handing him the last file, "but not Cindy Chapman."

He started to say something but caught himself and opened the file containing a copy of Cindy Chapman's hospital admission forns. Scanning the contents quickly, he said, "You have been busy."

"Allergies," she hinted. She watched his eyes track down the form. "Allergic to house pets," he read aloud. "Severe reactions. Shallow breathing, elevated pulse rate." It was how she felt at the moment. "There's no way she would have voluntarily been in a situation that would literally cover her clothing with animal hair."

"That's good police work, Daffy," he said, complimenting her, but she could sense a reluctance in him. "But …?" she said, waiting. "But it's too broad a field. Too difficult to trace."

"It was the Professor's idea to run them over to the university, not mine. There were some white hairs that sparked his interest."

"The Professor will run down any hair or fiber. It's his job. It doesn't mean it's worth getting excited about."

She was excited. She hated to admit it. She also hated it when he was right-when he could read her so easily. She had long hours invested in this. She wanted something to show for it. How could guys like Lou Boldt stay with an investigation without victories along the way? Miles spit out his pacifier. Boldt plugged it back in.

Boldt said, "I'd say we focus on this blood group overlap.

That's the closest thing to hard evidence we have, and it isn't much. Animal hairs won't convince Shoswitz you have a case."

"We have three victims-four, including Cindy," she complained, masking her relief at his use of we, "Unfortunately, we can't choose the evidence these people leave behind."

"Dixie says each file indicates that there was some physical evidence stored from each autopsy. Tissue samples, that kind of thing. They do that for the unsolveds and John Does. He's having the evidence brought up. He seemed pretty optimistic. — "Dixie's always optimistic."

"He says that surgeons sometimes leave 'signatures' in their work. Style. Technique. He's going to review and compare autopsy photos when he has the time."

"That would help," Boldt said, "but knowing his workload I wouldn't count on it being very soon." He reviewed the files again. "So we're looking for a surgeon. That's another avenue worth pursuing. When in doubt, take the direct route."

"Not necessarily just surgeons," she corrected him.

He nodded. "A surgeon, another kind of specialist who wishes he were a surgeon, a medical student, an impersonator-a fake, a retiree. But of all of these, a surgeon is still the most likely. Can you draw up a profile for us?"

She nodded. She could feel him committing to the investigation.

She wanted to hear it spoken. She wanted to snare him beyond any chance of retreat. She asked, "How many surgeons are there in Seattle? And of these, how many are transplant surgeons? A handful. And if we were both to question them-I mean you and I together-you could ask your questions and I could ask mine and we just might find this person. There are certain traps I could lay-psychological traps-that he might fall into."

"You don't want to tangle with somebody like this, Daffy. I don't have to remind you of that, His cruelty hit her hard. Involuntarily, she tugged her collar up higher on her neck as she glared at him, hiding that scar. For an instant she hated him. "There was no need for that," she snapped. "Sometimes you're just another insensitive ape. You know that?"