Michael Connelly - Blood Work

But as jazzed as McCaleb had been at eight-thirty in the morning, his spirits had immolated by late afternoon. In eight hours interrupted only by bologna sandwiches and unanswered calls to Winston, he had reviewed every page of every document he had accumulated in the ten days he had worked the case. And the tell-if it had ever been there-remained hidden. The feelings of paranoia and isolation were creeping back up on him. At one point he realized he was daydreaming about what would be the best place to flee to, the mountains of Canada or the beaches of Mexico.

At four o’clock he called the Star Center once more and was told for the fifth time that Winston was not in. This time, however, the secretary added that she was presumed gone for the day. In earlier calls the secretary had dutifully refused to reveal where Winston was or give him her pager number. For that he would have to speak to the captain and McCaleb declined, knowing the jeopardy he would place Winston in if it was revealed she was not only sympathetic to a suspect but was actually aiding him.

After hanging up, he called his phone on the boat and played back two messages that had come in during the last hour. The first was Buddy Lockridge checking in and the second was a wrong number, a woman saying she wasn’t sure if she had the right number but was looking for some one named Luther Hatch. She left a callback number. McCaleb recognized the name Luther Hatch-the suspect in the case in which he had first met Jaye Winston. Once he made that connection, he recognized her voice on the message. She was telling him to call her.

As he punched in the numbers Winston had left, he recognized the exchange-it was the same for the bureau offices in Westwood, where he used to work. The phone was answered immediately.

“This is Winston.”

“This is McCaleb.”

Silence.

“Hey,” she finally said. “I was wondering if you would get that message.”

“What’s up? Can you talk?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, I’ll talk, then. Do they know you are helping me?”

“No, obviously.”

“But you’re there because they moved the investigation to the bureau, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, have you had a chance to run those names down yet?”

“I’ve been out on it all day.”

“Do you have anything? Do any of them look good?”

“No, there’s nothing there.”

McCaleb closed his eyes and cursed silently. Where had he gone wrong? How could this be a dead end? He was confused and his mind was running over the possibilities. He wondered if Winston had had enough time to thoroughly run out the list.

“Is there any place or time I can talk to you about this? I need to ask you some questions.”

“In a little while I probably can. Why don’t you give me a number and I’ll get back to you?”

McCaleb was silent while he thought about this. But he didn’t take long. As Winston had said the night before, her neck was way out there for him. He believed he could trust her. He gave her Graciela’s number.

“Call me back as soon as you can.”

“I will.”

“One last thing. Did they go to the grand jury yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“How long before they do?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Bye.”

She hung up before she heard him curse out loud. The following morning they were going to seek an indictment against him for murder. And he was sure that obtaining it would be only a formality. Grand juries were always rigged in the prosecution’s favor. In McCaleb’s case, he knew that all they needed to do was show the Sherman Market tape and then introduce the earring found during the search of his boat. They would be staging press conferences by the afternoon-perfect timing for the six o’clock news.

While he was standing there contemplating his grim future, the phone rang in his hand.

“It’s Jaye.”

“Where are you?”

“The federal cafeteria. A pay phone.”

McCaleb immediately envisioned her location, in an a cove with vending machines off to the side of the cafeteria dining room. It was private enough,

“What’s going on, Jaye?”

“It’s not good. They’re putting the finishing touches on the package they’re going to take to the DA’s office tonight. They’ll take it to the grand jury tomorrow morning. They’re going to seek one murder charge for Gloria Torres. After that’s in the pipeline, they’ll take their time before adding on Cordell and Kenyon.”

“Okay,” McCaleb said, not sure how to respond. He decided there was no sense in continuing to curse out loud.

“My advice is that you come in, Terry. You tell them what you told me and convince them. I’ll be on your side but right now I’m handcuffed. I have information about the Good Samaritan I shouldn’t have. If I reveal it, I’ll go into the shitter with you. “

“What about the list? Nothing at all?”

“Look, that much I did talk about with them. So I would have the time to work the list. I came in this morning and told them in order to be ready to counter your defense, we needed to investigate the other recipients of the organs from Gloria Torres. I said I had a source who would slip us the list of names without us having to get a search warrant, etcetera, etcetera, and they said great. They gave me the day. But nothing, Terry. I’m sorry but I checked out every name. I got nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, I don’t have the list with me but-”

“Hold on.”

McCaleb walked into Graciela’s bedroom, where he had seen the copy of the list he had given her on the bureau. He grabbed it and read the first name to Winston.

“J. B. Dickey-he got the liver.”

“Right, okay, he didn’t make it. He got the transplant but there were complications and he died three weeks after surgery.”

“But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t him.”

“I know that. But I talked to the surgeon at St. Joseph ’s. It was a charity case. The guy was on MediCal and the hospital picked up the rest. This wasn’t a guy with money or connections to a hit man, Terry. Come on.”

“Okay, next. Tammy Domike, one of the kidneys.”

“Right. She’s a schoolteacher. She’s twenty-eight, married to a carpenter and has two kids. She doesn’t fit either It just wasn’t-”

“William Farley, the other kidney.”

“Retired Chippie from Bakersfield. He’s been in a wheelchair for twelve years-since he took a bullet in the spine during a routine traffic pullover on the grapevine. They never caught the guy, either.”

“California Highway Patrol,” McCaleb mused out loud. “He could have friends who could have pulled this off for him.”

Winston was silent for a long moment before responding.

“It seems unlikely, Terry. I mean, listen to what you’re-”

“I know, I know, never mind. What about the eyes? Christine Foye got the corneas.”

“Right. She sells books for a living and just got out of college. It’s not her, either. Look, Terry, we were hoping that one of these people would be some millionaire or a politician or anybody with the juice to do this. Somebody obvious. But it’s just not there. I’m sorry.”

“So I’m still the best and only suspect.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Thanks, Jaye, you’ve been a big help. I’ve got to go.”

“Wait! And don’t get mad at me. I’ve been the only one who has listened to you. Remember?”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Well, there was one other thing, I was thinking. I wasn’t going to tell you until I had some time to check it out. I’m going to start on it tomorrow. I’m working on a warrant for information right now.”

“What? Tell me. I need something now.”

“Well, you were only thinking in terms of who got the organs that became available after the death of Gloria Torres, right?”