Free The Righteous Men (2006) by Sam Bourne Page A

different context, might have looked elegant, even statesmanlike. (The face
of Charles Darwin popped into Will’s head). But the effect here was to
give Pat Baxter the appearance of a homeless man, one of the winos found
sleeping by trash cans in a park.
    Russell was pulling back the sheet around Baxter’s torso.
    Will could tell he was trying to conceal one thing, probably the bullet
wounds, and reveal something else. ‘Look closely.
    Can you see it?’
    Will leaned forward to see Russell’s finger tracing a line on the dead
white flesh. That’s a scar.’
    ‘In the area of the kidney?’
    ‘I would say so.’
    ‘And that can’t be from that night, right? I mean, it takes ages
to form a scar.’
    Russell pulled back the sheet, stripped off his latex gloves and headed for
a basin in the corner of the room. He began scrubbing, talking over his shoulder.
He was enjoying this.
    ‘Well, of course, it’s hard to be certain, what with the severe
trauma to the skin and viscera.’
    ‘But what’s your professional opinion?’
    ‘My opinion? That scar is, at the very least, a year old.
    Maybe two.’
    Will felt his heart sink. ‘So it didn’t happen that night? The killers
didn’t take out Baxter’s kidney?’
    ‘I’m afraid not, no. You look disappointed, Will. I hope I haven’t
spoiled your story’
    But you have, arsehole, was Will’s first thought. All this chasing for
nothing. Then he remembered what Beth had said on the phone last night.
    ‘There is one last thing that might help. Do you think we could check
Pat Baxter’s medical records?’
    Russell gave him a mini-lecture about patient-doctor confidentiality, but
soon relented. Back in his office, he pulled up the file.
    ‘What are we looking for?’
    The date Pat Baxter had his kidney removed.’
    Russell paused, scanning the pages. Finally: That’s odd.
    There’s no record of a kidney operation.’
    Will perked up. He remembered Beth’s briefing on the phone last night.
‘Anything there about a history of kidney problems, any disease, any
references to renal failure, dialysis, anything?’
    A longer pause now. And then, with a hint of puzzlement, ‘No.’
    Will sensed he and the doctor now had something in common. They were equally
baffled. ‘Does the history speak of any medical problems at all?’
    ‘Some trouble with his ankle, associated with war damage.
    Vietnam, apparently. Apart from that, nothing. I just assumed he was a renal
patient who had to have his kidney out. This certainly appears to be a complete
record. And yet there’s nothing about a kidney. I’ve got to admit,
this has me foxed.’
    There was a light knock on the door. A woman, introduced by Russell as the
media relations officer for the crime lab, opened it.
    ‘Sorry to interrupt, Dr Russell. It’s just we’re getting a
ton of calls on the Baxter case. Apparently, an associate of the deceased
called a talk radio station today saying that he believed Mr Baxter was a
victim of some kind of organ snatching plot?’
    Bob Hill , thought Will. So much for his exclusive.
    ‘Sure, I’ll be with you in a minute,’ Russell said, his
brow tensing.
    Will waited for the door to close to ask what Russell would tell the press. ‘Well,
we can’t give the most simple explanation, that Baxter had a history of
kidney problems. Not now.’
    It was Will’s fault: he knew too much. ‘We’ll think of
something.
    I’ll show you out.’
    Will was pulling out of the driveway when he heard the pounding on his car
window. It was Russell, still in his shirtsleeves and breathless.
    ‘I just got this call. She wants to talk to you.’ He passed his
cell phone through the window.
    ‘Mr Monroe? My name is Gene vie we Huntley. I’m a surgeon at the
Swedish Medical Center in Seattle. I saw the reports about Mr Baxter on the
news and Allan has just explained to me what you know. I think we need to talk.’
    ‘Sure,’ said Will, scrabbling to find his notebook.
    ‘I’m going to need some