″Here′s your answer.″ He slid a manila folder across the polished wood table.
I opened the file and scanned its contents. The folder was filled with pages of blurry printouts. They appeared to be copies of the fronts and backs of bank checks.
″Okay, I′m looking at a bunch of checks that were made out to some guy named Sateesh Kumar,″ I said, trying to make sense of it. All the checks were written for large amounts.
Fish tapped his fingertips on the papers, leaving wet fingerprints. ″Look at the-″
″Hey, don′t get these copies of the checks wet.″ I snatched away the papers. ″In case I need to get cut shots of these later for a story.″
Wiping off his hands on a crummy napkin, Fish said, ″This guy Sateesh travels overseas a lot. He′s hooked into a ring of thugs that kidnaps children. These kidnappers hold them in poverty-stricken places like the Ivory Coast and parts of South America.″
″Why?″
″Why do you think? For their organs.″
″Whoa. Wait a second, Fish,″ I countered. ″I′ve heard of people stealing human organs from dead bodies, but you′re talking about living human beings. About children, for God′s sake. Stop it.″
Fish knocked back the last of his drink. ″You′re a reporter, aren′t you? Don′t be so fucking naive, Kate,″ he said. ″Some of these children are being held-alive-for their body parts.″
″They take the organs… the kidneys, you mean? Surgically?″
″I suspect it′s even worse than anyone knows. These animals could easily be killing the children, once they have them under their control. Even if they stay alive, they′re put into the sex-trafficking business.
″We′re talking about body snatchers, Kate,″ he said. ″Modern-day, walking vampires-they don′t value human life at all.″
The thought of children being kidnapped-being harvested-for their bodies and organs made me literally sick to my stomach. I shoved my crab plate aside.
″Why do you think Sateesh Kumar is involved in something horrible like this?″ I asked, staring across the table at Fish.
″His rap sheet, for one thing,″ he replied. ″In terpol has a big file on Sateesh. I heard he′s been holed up around here someplace. Shacked up with a hot-looking babe.″
″Bullshit, Fish.″
″What? You mean you′ve heard she′s not hot?″
″No. I mean if you and the cops know so much about Sateesh, why′s he free to walk around Durham?″
″Maybe they haven′t caught up with him yet,″ he said.
″Well, I′m not buying this yet.″
The waitress appeared at our table again.
″Another club soda for you, miss?″ she asked me.
″Actually, I think I′ll take a whiskey sour this time.″
The waitress nodded knowingly. ″Sure thing,″ she said. ″Everyone goes for the booze after talking to this pier rat long enough. Right, Fish?″
″Right, Pris,″ he said, rattling his ice cubes at her. ″And you know me…″
″Got it. Another hard one on the rocks.″
″Yup.″
As Pris returned to the bar, I considered the checks in my hand. ″But even if your information about Sateesh is correct, what could be the connection between Jana′s murder and her heart valve being stolen, I′m wondering?″
″Probably none,″ Fish replied. ″The stolen valve was just one of life′s weird coincidences. Jana′s body turned up in County Morgue at the wrong place, wrong time. But at least this crime we can track.″
Jana′s death seemed to be riddled with weird coincidences. That′s exactly what Luke had said about Anaïs Loring of the Newbodies being murdered six months before Jana-just a coincidence. Another dot of color on the canvas.
Fish, who′d been watching me think, added impatiently, ″Take a look at some of these parties who wrote checks to Sateesh. That′ll give you a good idea of who′s supporting this scumbag.″
″New Wave Technologies,″ I read the name slowly out loud. ″Prana Centers. Dr…″
With unsteady fingers, I picked up the printout of the check to study it more closely. There was no mistake.
″What are you looking at?″ Fish asked.
″Hang on a second.″
That second was all the time it took for my heart to fall to the floor of my chest. On its way south it collided with an upsurge of bile, which flooded my mouth with a rancid taste of crab.
Written in flowing black ink, the signature at the bottom of the check read:
Dr. Xavier Medina
Chapter 40
Your Nighttime Skin Routine-It′s Good for the Skin, Good for the Brain!
Washing your skin at bedtime is important on many
levels. It removes impurities from your skin, and it also
serves as a signal to your brain that it′s time to relax.
This helps you wind down and release the stress from
your day.
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
The address on the upper-left portion of the check was that of Medina′s office in Durham. There was no mistake. It was my Medina.
″This check,″ I said. ″It′s signed by someone I know. Dr. Xavier Medina.″
″Who′s he?
″A local plastic surgeon. A very well-known guy. He does charity work with children in Africa and South America,″ I said.
″Oh, yeah?″ Fish snorted into his drink. ″I′ll just bet he does. Does he steal their livers, too?″
I noted the check number and date. Three months earlier, Medina had written a check to Sateesh Kumar for $999. If what Fish was saying about Sateesh Kumar was correct-that the man was a ″modern-day vampire″ who plied his trade in illegal human organs-then Medina might be involved with a criminal.
Leaning back from the table, I said, ″It′s hard for me to believe that your information about Sateesh Kumar is true, Fish. In fact, I don′t believe it. Xavier has a wonderful reputation. He can′t be involved with anyone like that.″
″Oh, it′s Xavier, is it?″
Grabbing the check from me, Fish made an elaborate show of examining it, then said, ″Tell me the truth, Kate. Are you sweet on this guy? Because you sound like someone who′s fucking someone.″
″Certainly I′m not,″ I said, as the tips of my ears began to burn. ″I′m just saying-what if your information about Sateesh is wrong?″
″And what if it′s right? Your honey-doc could be doing business with a world-class criminal.″
″I′m going to find out,″ I said. ″Right now.″
I reached under the table for my laptop. I was pleased to discover that Hail Mary′s had free Wi-Fi. I did a quick search for several Sateesh Kumars, cross-referencing the names with information from Fish′s file.
I looked at him. ″According to what I′ve just found,″ I said, ″the Sateesh Kumar who has an Interpol record has been sitting in prison in Chad for the last five years. And this check that was written by Xavier Medina was drafted two months ago. To a local Sateesh. On a local bank. So it can′t possibly be the same Sateesh Kumar, right?″
Fish stared at the check for a long moment, then shrugged. ″Maybe.″
″Maybe, my ass. And for your information, Mr. Potato Head, Sateesh and Kumar are both common names in India. There are probably a half million guys walking around with that same name.″
″Hey, I didn′t beat up anyone, did I?″ Smiling, Fish lifted his drink in a peace toast. ″We′re just doing a little partner research here.″
″Hmmph.″
″And speaking of research,″ he said, ignoring the fact that I was continuing to fume, ″Remem ber you asked me a while back to look into a rich stoner kid? The Putnam kid?″
″Chaz? Yeah-what about him?″
″Well I just got a callback from a pal at a credit agency. After I called to ask him about Chaz, he discovered that the kid is running a one-man server farm for fraudulent credit cards. My friend has already called the authorities to get him shut down. It′ll take some time, though.″