Always Kiss the Corpse (35 page)

Haines sat back and smiled. “I'm glad you said transgendered people, not transsexuals.”

“Yes, I understand the difference.” A good thing to say, but did he truly? He'd read somewhere on the Transgender Café that some trans people figure the thing that's wrong with them isn't their gender, it's their sexuality, the physical part of it all. In that sense, Sandro was in fact being transexualized. It was all too complicated.

“Good. Then let me tell you what we can do for you.”

Noel leaned forward, as if for greater intimacy. The chilly room seemed even cooler. “May I take notes?”

For a moment Haines said nothing. Then he smiled. “Still the journalist, are you?”

Noel forced his own smile. “Old habits die hard. I remember best when I have a pen in hand.” He took out notebook and ballpoint. The stare from Haines seemed less than friendly.

“Very well. Have you consulted with or had any treatments from another transgendering clinic?”

“I'm at the beginning of all this.”

“Good, good. First, it'll be necessary for you to have two psychiatric evaluations over a period of four to six months. We'll need consensus in the reports to go ahead with a sexual reassignment procedure. We can suggest several excellent people. You'll choose among them.”

“The evaluation lasts that long? Why?”

“It's a complex path you're starting on, Mr. Ferguson. SRP is irreversible. We can't have you changing your mind once it's too late.”

“Of course,” said Noel in a tiny voice.

“So if the psychiatrists agree you're an appropriate candidate, we'll begin the hormones. You're not HIV positive, are you? Or have any venereal diseases?”

“No no, nothing.”

“That's good. We can't perform SRP on anyone like that.” He glanced at Noel. “And you're not overweight, good good. For your height, we'd have a hard time if you weighed over a hundred ninety pounds. Weight?”

“About a hundred sixty.”

“Good good.”

“Oh, I remember. I've read there are choices.”

“Right. Much depends on how deep you want your new vagina to be. Which partly depends on the length of your penis, since one gets transformed into the other.”

Haines' smile asked Noel how long his penis was without actually putting this into words; fine, since there'd be no word response either.

Haines waited a moment and went on. “We try to make sure the new vagina is at least between six and eight inches deep. The longer your penis, the more material we have to build you a deeper vagina, right?” Now he didn't pause for an answer. “If you've got a little fella and you want a deeper entryway, we graft. We can take skin from your abdomen, or your scrotum. Abdomen grafts leave little scars, but it's good thick skin. Scrotum grafts are thinner but there's no scarring and you won't be needing your scrotum anyway.”

Noel was sure he'd forgotten how to breathe.

“If you want to have sex in your new vagina, we recommend a deep one, and that'll mean grafting. And then there's building a clitoris, and your new urethral opening, as well as labioplasty for the full female look. But usually we do that last bit in the second stage, a few months down the line.” He squinted at Noel. “Would you like a glass of water?”

Noel nodded. The word
Yes
would not come.

Haines brought Noel a paper cup of water from the cooler. “If I may say so, Mr. Ferguson, you look uncomfortable.”

“No no, I'm fine.” He took a small sip.

“Actually, I suspect you really haven't thought this through very well.”

Shit. “No, honestly, I'm just very nervous, I often am.” Damn, all his investigative reporting skills had fallen apart. Damn!

“Very well then. Our aim is to be as clear as possible, so you can come to terms with all of it. As I said, after the operation there's no going back. So. What else can I tell you?”

Something different had happened with Sandro. Chelsea's question. Both of them must have gone through this, god! “I'm not sure.”

“Good, good. And you understand our fee structure?”

“I think so. Now—”

“Unfortunately we will need to receive full payment in advance. In the early days we had a couple of unfortunate circumstances.”

“Oh?”

“Procedure completed, but the client could not or would not pay. All very messy.”

“I see.” Come on, Noel, just ask. “Uh, Dr. Haines—”

Haines glanced at his watch again. “Yes?”

“I know I want to become Nelly Ferguson, more than anything I've ever wanted. But it all sounds so gruesome. Isn't there another way?”

“Another way?” Haines flexed his fingers against each other. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, all that cutting. If Nelly's already inside me, can't you bring her out without the cutting, and blood?” Come on, Noel, pull yourself into the detective inside you, that's what you're here for. “I mean, one of the transgendered people I talked to had a friend, he was going through this process. Here, I think. And I heard, the friend said he was being transgendered without all the cutting?”

For at least half a minute Haines studied Noel in a silence that chilled Noel further. Then he sighed, shook his head, sighed again. “With some men there are the beginnings of certain medical procedures.” Another head shake.

Careful, Noel. “Uh, medical?”

“It demands a specific kind of chemistry. For some men—” He shrugged.

“Would I—?”

Another squint from Haines, looking Noel over with profound medical scrutiny. “It's hard to know, Mr. Ferguson. Very hard. There'd have to be a whole other series of tests, and even then— It's hard to know.”

“But—possible?”

“Many things are possible.” Haines stared into a middle distance somewhere beyond Noel's right ear. “And many aren't.”

“I see. And, how do we proceed?”

“You'll have to consider what I've told you, Mr. Ferguson. And when you're ready, just give us a call.”

“I see.” Noel nodded. Time to go. Suddenly he felt a whole lot better. “I call you.”

“When you've considered.”

“Yes.” He breathed deeply. The scented air clung to his palate. His taste buds cringed. “I'll consider.” He pushed his palms against the leather arms of the chair, and stood.

“Would you like my receptionist—?”

Noel forced another smile. “Thank you. I'm fine.” He took a test step. Only a little rubbery. “I'll call.” He took five steps, grabbed the door handle and turned to Haines. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Haines made no attempt to stand.

“Goodbye.” Noel stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed. His armpits dripped. He rubbed his chin, then his brow. Chilly, both. At least the air here didn't have that sweet rancid smell. So there was another way to do a sexual reassignment. The rubber in his legs had hardened. He walked to the lobby, the front door, and out. He just barely heard Dawn Deane calling, he hadn't signed the form!

≈  ≈  ≈

Mary Teeseborough House was literally a house, two-storey brown clapboard. Kyra parked, strode up the stairs. A man in a security company uniform lounged by the front door. He looked her over, and decided she was harmless; maybe. “Howdy, ma'am.”

Kyra, trying to look helpless, gave him a faint lip twitch. He held open the door.

Inside was a receptionist, about sixty, gray hair pulled into a chignon. “May I help you?”

“I'm here to see Dr. Albright, please.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes,” lied Kyra.

The woman looked at her computer screen. “You must be Concordia Lopez.”

“Yes.”

“Concordia Lopez is seventy years old and has only one eye. I don't think so.”

Damn. Kyra smiled, she hoped ingratiatingly. “You win.” She hauled out a Triple-I card. “I'm a detective. It's important I see Dr. Albright about a case I'm on.”

Chignon looked up at Kyra. “It's important Dr. Albright see the rest of her appointments. These women need medical care. However, she's leaving at four.”

Kyra consulted her watch. Just after three. She looked at the overflowing waiting room; not everyone was here for an abortion. Women in advanced pregnancy, women with toddlers, older women, teenagers. “Thank you,” she said with the chagrin she felt. “I'll catch her elsewhere.” Kyra slunk out.

“Bye, ma'am,” the security guard said.

Kyra drove away. And, a block later, stopped. Was she being bull-headed in wanting to talk to Albright? No, she needed to. Noel's information said this was the gynecologist who headed the research team. Their research for Bendwell, precisely what was it?

Before any waiting, pee. She drove to a Taco Time/Pizza Hut, used the washroom and bought a large coffee. Back at Teeseborough House she sussed out the parking lot. How would she know Albright? Leaving at four was her only clue.

Promptly at four a short plumpish woman in a drab brown suit and high heels clicked from around the back of the clinic into the parking lot. Kyra belted up. The woman got into a blue Acura and headed off, direction Coupeville. Going home? But she zipped by the turn-off and continued. And continued. The Acura slowed, turned left through a gateway in a wire fence topped with barbed wire. Kyra followed. Behind the fence was a long, low building. The Acura parked, Kyra parked next to it. The woman got out and locked. Kyra got out. The woman headed to the building—

“May I have a moment, Dr. Albright,” Kyra said.

The woman stopped, startled. She looked Kyra up and down. “Yes?”

Kyra thrust a Triple-I card at her. “Kyra Rachel. Detective. My partner and I are looking into the Sandro Vasiliadis case. I'd like to ask a few questions about WISDOM's research.”

“This is extremely unusual.”

“But important.”

“Who are you working for?”

“I'm not at liberty to say. You understand.” Kyra smiled, again toothily. “I've heard that WISDOM has received a grant from Bendwell Pharmaceuticals to follow up some research. What research is that?”

“I don't talk about research.”

“Is this your lab?”

“What business is it of yours?” Dr. Albright's eyes sparked. “Excuse me.” She turned on her heel, marched across the gravel parking lot and let herself in a door. It slammed behind her.

≈  ≈  ≈

Noel needed to speak with the coroner, get some clarification on the drug analysis, but once again the morgue was shut tight. Still, the talk with Haines behind him, he felt strong again—just leaving that interview gave him back his control. He took out his cell and called Kyra. They agreed to meet for an early dinner. Samson's? Sure. Then Noel drove to Coupeville's library and with the help of a generous young librarian searched newspapers for any information about WISDOM. He found nothing. A discreet organization.

≈  ≈  ≈

At five-thirty, menus open, Kyra told him about Albright's refusal to talk. “And you?”

His eyes, stern, fell on her. “I am happy in the body I was born into.” He watched her elaborately unfold her napkin. “The description of the surgery was difficult. However, when I pushed, Haines didn't say it had to be surgery. He was unforthcoming with details. But,” Noel picked up his menu, “he hinted.”

The more her partner understated, the more upset he must have been. Maybe still was. “How could it happen?”

“Damned if I know.”

“We'll find out.” She smiled, “I discovered where the lab is.”

“Lab?”

“Their research, remember? Bendwell Pharmaceuticals. Money.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

The server arrived. They buried themselves in the menus. He stood patiently. Not many diners on a Monday night.

“The T-bone steak,” said Noel. “Medium rare.”

“The sole, please. And a bottle of—no, a half bottle.”

Noel looked at her. “Merlot,” he finished. The waiter left. “A half bottle? After this afternoon, a bottle apiece.”

“We still have work to do.”

“What work?”

“We need to find out what's going on in that laboratory. What they're working on.”

“I'll get back on-line and—”

“It won't be there. Too new. Unpublished.”

“Then how? You said that researcher-doctor wouldn't talk to you.”

“I know. So we take a look in the lab, right? See if something there connects with what they were doing to Sandro.”

“What, just walk in?”

“Nope.” She smiled.

“Oh no, Kyra. No way. No no no.”

“It's okay, I'll do it. You'll stand guard. We'll take your rental and leave the Tracker here.”

“You're not breaking in. Please, Kyra.”

“One of us has to. And you won't.”

“And not you either.”

“No choice.”

“But what are you looking for?”

“If they're manufacturing a transgendering drug, the lab's the only place that'll tell us.”

“We could work through the pharmaceutical company.”

“Get serious.”

“Can't we do this without—?”

“No way I can think of. Can you?”

He had nothing to say.

Their wine arrived, and was poured. “To a hard day, not yet over,” Kyra toasted. They sipped. “We'll have more wine at home.”

While they ate, Kyra described the outside of the lab, the gate in the fence, the building.

“There'll be a security alarm,” Noel said.

“So? Mike told me a couple of things about them.”

“I think you're crazy.”

“If this is where they manufacture the drugs, we'll find out what they are.”

Noel cut a tiny slice of steak, chewed, swallowed; his appetite had dissipated.

“I'll keep my phone on. If there's trouble outside, warn me.”