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thirty-five percent of active, registered US
tissue banks had never been inspected and of those that had been,
the FDA had yet to shut a single one down over concern about
illicit activities.
    Could it really be that simple? Human
tissue went to waste in Alistair’s hospital every single day. For a
long time, he’d mourned its loss, frustrated that nothing could be
done. Was this the answer he’d been searching for? Illegal or not,
the process ensured that any useable tissue would be recycled and
used again.
    Like Charles Shillington had said, it meant
making the blind see, helping lame people walk… And that was only
the beginning. It might not help Alistair’s mom, but someone would
get the benefit. Many someones. How could he not want to be part
of that?
    And if he made a little—okay, a lot of
money—on the side, where was the harm in it? Desperate people got
the transplants they needed and he got to put his kids through
school with less financial strain than otherwise. It seemed like a
win-win situation. Besides, it wasn’t like he
hadn’t already broken the law in the name of the greater
good.
    The idea of harvesting organs in addition to
those they had consent to remove, struck him late one night when he
was suturing closed a legal donor’s chest. He’d silently bemoaned
the fact that so many useable organs were heading straight for the
grave and wondered what could be done about it. It was late May.
Winter had been fast closing in and with it came a naturally
occurring increase in the number of deaths. The timing couldn’t
have been more perfect. It was then that the idea formed into a
plan. By early July, he’d recruited Richard and had been acting on
it ever since.
    When Samantha mentioned
she’d noticed the rise in the number of donor bodies, he’d almost
choked on his Diet Coke. While most of the bodies he
illegally harvested from went to funeral homes and crematoriums
scattered around the inner city, a small number of them ended up in
the Glebe Morgue. He’d hoped that they’d slide by unnoticed; that
with the number of forensic pathologists on staff, the rise in
donor bodies wouldn’t cause anyone to become alarmed, but it
appeared he hadn’t been so lucky.
    Either that, or Richard Davis hadn’t done as
he’d promised. The deputy coroner had assured Alistair at the
outset Richard would make certain the bodies Alistair handled would
personally be autopsied by him. That way, none of his staff would
be any the wiser. After Sam’s comment, it was now obvious that
hadn’t happened. The last thing he needed was to have his own
sister asking questions, or even thinking about it, at all.
    If he accepted Biologistics’ offer, he’d be
forced to illegally harvest the tissues of many more patients in
the future. The company expected him to sign a contract and a quota
would be specified. Now that Samantha’s suspicions had been raised,
it would be safer to ignore the autopsy cases and concentrate his
efforts only on the bodies being sent directly to the funeral homes
and crematoriums. There was much less likelihood an undertaker
would put his mind to the fact that he was seeing way more bodies
with surgical scars than he had in the past—if he thought about it
at all. As well, there was no call for any paperwork to accompany
those bodies.
    The more Alistair pondered it, the more it
seemed like a good idea. He’d have done it from the outset if
Richard hadn’t promised he’d look after him, in return for a small
fee and Alistair hadn’t taken him at his word. As far as Alistair
had been aware, the arrangement had worked and they’d both walked
away satisfied. Alistair had quietly and illegally set about
increasing the donor rates and Richard had endorsed them and
collected his money.
    But for now, with Samantha possibly asking
questions, it was just too risky to continue to involve the city
morgue and its staff. He’d call Richard and tell him the deal was
over and hopefully that would be the