Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [12]
“You know her?”
“Of course. She’s a paramedic—damn fine one too—and our paths have crossed on occasion.”
I glanced at the artwork. Dr. Hassenfeld smiled. “Are you wondering what a guy like me is doing in a place like this?”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“I was a cardiovascular surgeon until I had a stroke a few years ago. Couldn’t operate on the living anymore so I switched to the dead. Not as glamorous or well-paying, but I get no complaints if my hands shake.”
I didn’t know what I would do if I couldn’t be an attorney anymore. The idea didn’t bear thinking about. I kept my tone neutral. “Makes sense to me.”
“Besides the pay’s decent and I need the money to pay my ex-wife who is hell-bent on siphoning off all my assets.” He spread his hands in a ‘what can you do’ movement. “So why are you here about the Whitman baby?”
Sam intervened. “Somewhere between the hospital and the funeral home, someone removed her heart, liver and kidneys.”
I shot him a startled glance. The medical examiner must have made quick work last night. Claire had only noted the depression suggesting the heart had been removed. I didn’t look forward to telling her other organs had been taken.
The doctor sagged in surprise. “What?”
“Also her chart’s missing,” I added.
Sam sidled up to me and said in a low voice, “Give you a point to fixate on and you’ll stick to it to the ends of the earth.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but the doctor shook his head. “Naw, the chart will show up. Those things go missing all the time.”
Sam gestured at the body storage cubicle in the other room. “The baby came to you intact?”
“And she left the same way. With all her internal organs.” Hassenfeld frowned.
“You’re an expert, Doc,” Sam said. “What do you think could have happened to the organs?”
“I can’t even begin to speculate.” The other man rubbed his face. “The Depp Funeral Home has a good reputation, but it wouldn’t be the first time something went wrong during the embalming. However, they would have notified the family.” The doctor’s mustache quivered. “This is downright gruesome.”
“Ever hear of the black market in organs, Doc?”
Hassenfeld’s laser-sharp glance cut to Sam. “That old urban legend? It’s a myth promoted by bogeymen. I hope you’re not barking up that tree and scaring off potential organ donors.”
“What were your findings as to cause of death?” I interjected. A black market in organs? I didn’t know where Sam was going with his questioning but there was only one thing I was interested in. Easing Claire’s mind.
“Officially, I can’t be conclusive. Either apnea or suffocation,” Hassenfeld said. “As to whether the baby got tangled in her blankets or a pillow was placed over her face, I can’t say. I noticed no evidence of ecchymosis—bruising, that is. But then again, I wasn’t doing a full-blown autopsy. At the time the baby came to me, there was no suspicion of foul play. I just did a routine exam to complete the death certificate.”
“Did you have to cut the body open at all?” I asked.
“No. No reason to.” He rose, walked around the desk and settled into his chair. “Your people,” he addressed Sam, “didn’t call until after I’d released the body to the funeral home. Next time an infant’s death is deemed suspicious, the police need to react faster.”
So unless the medical examiner found something Dr. Hassenfeld had missed, the police had nothing but circumstantial evidence, I thought with relief.
A tall Hispanic woman dressed in a black suit entered the room. Although her smile was gracious, suspicion glinted in her eyes. “Hello. I’m Dr. Rosa Cruz, the hospital administrator.”
Sam and I shook hands with her as we indentified ourselves.
“A nurse advised me that a police officer and an attorney were here asking questions. Is there a problem?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sam went with the blunt approach again. “I’m investigating the organ theft and desecration of Rebecca Whitman’s body.”
Paling, the administrator raised a hand to her throat. “Dear God.”
Dr. Hassenfeld grabbed a white lab coat from a hanger. “That’s only the