“But only for certain diseases,” Platt said.
“No one could have predicted what happened at NAS in Pensacola,” McCleary insisted, shaking his head. “That was one mistake. One out of thousands. And we’ve traced the grafts and bone paste Captain Ganz used. We think it all came from one donor.” He pointed to a document already set among a pile on the table. “One donor who may have been dead longer than twelve hours.”
“Actually, it was more like twenty-one hours,” Platt said.
“We don’t know that for certain.”
“He was dead long enough for his bowels to burst and Clostridium sordellii to start spreading to his tissue.”
“You have no proof of that,” McCleary said.
“What about the donors Joe Black obtained without certification?” Maggie asked.
“Joseph Norris,” McCleary corrected her, “followed procedure as far as I am able to judge.”
“There’s a funeral home in Pensacola,” Maggie told him, “that has two bodies. The Escambia County sheriff says both are homeless men who disappeared just days before the hurricane. The funeral director insists Joe Black brought them there and cut one of them up to be sold and used for educational conferences.”
This time McCleary was speechless.
“Joe Black was making a nice living on the side,” she continued. “Diener by day, body broker during the weekends and on his days off. He admits to using soldiers’ amputated parts when he came up short on an order. He already confessed that he used a few of your donors’ bodies. The surgical conferences paid big bucks and he couldn’t keep up with the demand.”
“You’ll need to check our entire supply,” Ganz said to McCleary. “Norris also admits to making substitutions, replacing healthy tissue with damaged tissue.”
Dr. McCleary nodded, an exaggerated bobbing of his head that told Maggie he would allow the possibility but didn’t agree.
“Come,” he said, and he led them out of the room and down a long hallway. “You want to do this, fine. I’ll show you what you’re in for.”
He slid a key card and waited for the security pad to blink green. He waved the three of them into a huge room that reminded Maggie of a police evidence room, only the shelves were replaced with drawers, one on top of another. Refrigerated and freezer drawers. Rows and rows.
“Would you like to start with the feet?” McCleary said, pointing at one end. “Or perhaps the eyes?”
CHAPTER 67
JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA
Maggie stopped her rental car at the security booth. She handed over her badge and waited while the guard picked up the phone. She lifted her arm to adjust the rearview mirror and a pain shot through her elbow. Actually her entire body hurt. Who knew jumping from a helicopter could be so physically strenuous?
The guard passed back her badge.
“First building to your right. The others are waiting.”
Maggie had gotten up early to catch footage of the storm damage. Charlie Wurth had told her earlier that Pensacola was lucky. At the last minute the storm had suddenly weakened and veered to the right. It made landfall as a category 4, but that was better than they expected. Watching the news reports, Maggie certainly didn’t think Pensacola was lucky. The storm had still ripped apart roofs, blown out windows, and flooded homes. Electricity was out for more than a hundred thousand customers and not expected to be up and running for at least a week.
She had talked to Liz Bailey earlier, too, relieved to hear that Walter and Charlotte were okay. She was especially glad to hear that Walter would retain full use of his left hand, but it would take months of rehab. And despite sounding totally exhausted, Liz seemed to be handling the aftermath of the storm.
A military cargo plane flew low over Maggie’s car, preparing to land. As she parked in front of the building she could feel the vibration. She eased out of the car and was grateful there was only a set of five steps. Ridiculous. She thought she was in good shape. She didn’t like being reminded of dangling from that cable. Without effort she could conjure up the terror. She could hear the wind swirling around her and feel the rain pelting her face.
She needed some sleep, that’s all. Last night she had dreamed of severed hands coming up out of the water and clinging to her. Okay, she needed dreamless sleep. Maybe another of Platt’s massages. That brought a smile.
Inside the door, she had to show her badge again. A small woman in uniform led her down a hallway and into a conference room. Benjamin Platt was in uniform. She didn’t recognize the other two men.
Platt did the introductions.
“Agent Maggie O’Dell, this is Captain Carl Ganz and Dr. Samuel McCleary.”
Dr. McCleary decided to open defensively. “Joseph Norris has been a respected part of this program for almost ten years.”
Maggie could see Platt bristle.