Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [42]
Picking up a marker, I tapped it against the board. “If it was Hassenfeld trying to scare me off again—”
“Again?” Kate asked.
“I have to assume it was he who knocked me out at the hospital. He had the body strength to load me into the drawer.”
Kate shook her head. “I wouldn’t make that assumption yet, even though it might give you peace of mind. A woman with help could have managed it.”
A dim memory stirred. “You’re right. At one point I thought I heard voices raised in argument.” I drew a question mark under the column I’d made for the hospital. I had already listed the administrator’s and pathologist’s names.
“A diversion.” Carling straightened.
“What?”
“The call. What if someone did know about Annette’s condition? What better way to distract you than to push her mentally into the deep end?”
My fingers tightened around the marker. “All my other cases right now are pretty standard, your bread-and-butter thefts, assaults and DUIs. The only unusual case is the Whitman one.”
Kate shook her head. “Ladies, don’t go zooming in on one tree yet. Let’s linger on the forest for motive a while longer.”
“What else is there?”
She rose, walked over to me and grabbed the red marker. In big letters she wrote one word: Revenge.
“Your role in the discovery at the funeral home was all over the news, Nicole,” Kate said in a quiet tone. “Anyone you prosecuted in the past or was unhappy with your representation could have made the call.”
I stared at her. “Damn, the list of suspects could be in the thousands, and I can’t access my files at the state attorney’s.”
“We can have Melissa go through our files and compile a list of possible disgruntled clients since we started the firm. The court docket is gradually going online, so we can have her review and pull together the information on your prosecutions.”
“Besides,” Carling interjected, “if I know you, you’ve maintained notes on many of those cases at home.”
“Okay, so we set Melissa to Dumpster diving into my past files.” I turned my attention back to the board. “Now all I have to do is find a thread on the organ ring to follow. I read up on a few of the ones that have been busted in other states.”
I began making notes on the board. “The ring needs a source of supply, which are the hospitals, morgues, crematories and funeral homes. Normal incentive is financial. One ring paid a thousand dollars a body.” I drew another column.
“Then they recruit what are called ‘cutters,’ people who remove the tissue and bones. Those people would need some medical knowledge, but could be nurses or paramedics. By the way, it turns out the ice cream truck driver, Joe Poellinger, had been a medic in the military, discharged for dishonorable conduct. However—” I tapped the board, “—the organs would have to be removed when the person is alive or just expired to be viable. My bet is the ring has doctors on the take.”
Kate studied the board. “Doctors make a lot of money. I can’t imagine the pay being high enough to take the risk.”
I thought of Hassenfeld and his divorce. “Not all are plush and there can be other motivating factors such as blackmail.”
“Good point.”
“Then there is a collection and distribution point where the ‘merchandise’ is sold. They need refrigerators and freezers.”
Carling appeared beside us and grabbed a marker. She scrawled legitimate corporation? and then delivery company. “Unless they’re a strictly online or overseas market operation, they must be selling to medical research facilities and other places in need of bone and tissue. That means they’re dealing in the guise of a legitimate enterprise right under the nose of federal regulation.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. She grinned. “You’re not the only one who can research. If they’re shipping, then they have to be using one of the delivery companies.”
Kate drew a line from