Blood Work

38

IN THE MORNING, after Graciela and Raymond were gone and the house was quiet, McCaleb opened his leather bag and spread all of the accumulated paperwork in six stacks across the coffee table. While contemplating it all, he drank a glass of orange juice and ate two untoasted blueberry Pop Tarts that he guessed were meant for Raymond. When he was done, he set to work, hoping his involvement in the paper would keep his mind off things beyond his control, mainly Jaye Winston’s investigation of the names on the list.

Despite that distraction McCaleb could feel the flow of adrenaline start to kick in. He was looking for the tell. The piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit before but would make sense now, that would tell him the story. He had survived in the bureau largely by following gut instincts. He was following one now. He knew that the larger the case file was-the larger the accumulation of facts-the easier it was for the tell to be hidden. He would go hunting for it now, in a sense looking for the perfect red apple in the stack at the grocery store-the one that when pulled brings the whole pile down and bouncing across the floor.

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?”

“Right. Cordell’s and Kenyon’s were not harvested.”

“I know. I’m not talking about that. But there is always a waiting list, right?”

“Yeah, always. I waited almost two years because of the blood type.”

“Well, maybe someone just wanted to move up the list.”

“Move up?”

“You know, they were like you, waiting, and they knew it would be a long wait. Maybe even a fatal wait. Weren’t you told that with your blood type there was no telling when a heart would become available?”

“Yeah, they told me not to get my hopes up.”

“Okay, so maybe our guy is still waiting but by taking out Gloria Torres, he has in effect moved up one notch on the list. Improved his chances.”

McCaleb thought about this. He saw the possibility. He suddenly remembered Bonnie Fox telling him that there was another patient on the ward who was in the same situation McCaleb had been in. He wondered now if she meant literally the same situation, waiting for a heart that was type AB with CMV negative. He thought of the boy he had seen in the hospital bed. Could he be the patient Fox meant?

McCaleb thought about what a parent would be willing to do to save a child. Could it be possible?

“It could work,” he said, his adrenaline returning and the monotonal quality of his voice gone now. “What you’re saying is that it could be somebody still waiting.”

“Right. And I am going to go to BOPRA with a warrant to get all their waiting lists and their blood donor records. It should be interesting to see how they respond.”

McCaleb nodded but his mind was skipping ahead.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he said. “It’s too complicated.”

“What is?”

“The whole thing. If somebody wanted to move up on the list, why take out donors? Why not just knock people off the list?”

“Because that might be too obvious. If two or three people needing heart or liver transplants in a row get hit, it’s bound to raise a question somewhere. But by hitting the donors, it’s more obscure. No one noticed it until you came along.”

“I guess,” McCaleb said, still not sure he was convinced. “Then if you’re right, it could even mean the shooter’s going to hit again. You’ve got to go down the list of AB donors. You’ve got to warn them, protect them.”

That possibility brought the excitement back. It was jangling in his veins.

“I know,” Winston said. “When I get the warrant, I’m going to have to tell Nevins and Uhlig, all of them, what I am doing. That’s why you have to come in, Terry. It’s the only way. You have to come in with a lawyer and lay this all out, then take your chances. Nevins, Uhlig, these are smart people. They’ll see where they went wrong.”

McCaleb didn’t respond. He saw the logic in what she was saying but was hesitant to agree because it would be putting his fate in the hands of others. He would rather rely on himself.

“Do you have a lawyer, Terry?”

“No, I don’t have a lawyer. Why would I have a lawyer? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He cringed. He had heard countless guilty individuals make the same statement before. Winston probably had, too.

“I meant do you know a lawyer who could help you?” she said. “If you don’t, then I can suggest a few. Michael Haller, Jr. would be a good choice.”

“I know lawyers in case I need one. I have to think about this.”

“Well, call me. I can bring you in, make sure everything is handled right.”

McCaleb’s mind wandered and he was inside a holding cell at the county jail. He had been in the lockup on interviews as a bureau agent. He knew how loud jails were and how dangerous. He knew that innocent or not, he would never surrender himself to that.

“Terry, you there?”

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about something. How can I reach you to arrange this?”

“I’ll give you my pager and my home. I’ll be here until probably six but after that I’m heading home. Call me anywhere, any time.”

She gave him the numbers and McCaleb wrote them down in his notebook. He then put it away and shook his head.

“I can’t believe this. I’m sitting here talking about turning myself in for something I didn’t do.”

“I know that. But the truth is a powerful thing. It will work out. Just make sure you call me, Terry. When you decide.”

“I’ll call you.”

He hung up.