Blood Debt (21 page)

“Yes? Can I help you?”

It was a woman's voice and not a very old woman at that. Vicki directed a neutral stare at the intercom grille. “My name is Vicki Nelson. I'm a private investigator and I'm looking for Michael Celluci.”

“Michael Celluci?” The surprise in her voice didn't seem directed at the name itself but rather at hearing it again.

“Yes. I have reason to believe he came to see you today. He's my partner, and I have a feeling he's in trouble.”

“Just a minute, please.”

Okay, Vicki, if this woman's a part of the kidney scam, you've just leaped into the frying pan. That was bright.

The door creaked open.

But at least I've gotten inside
.

Bolts slammed back into place behind her and a figure in a loose smock appeared silhouetted in the light at the end of the short hall.

“I'm Dr. Seto. I run this clinic. Please, come into the office.”

By the time Vicki rounded the corner, her eyes had adjusted to the light. “Oh, my God . . .”

Dr. Seto frowned, lifted her hand off the back of an old wooden desk chair and pushed a silken strand of ebony hair back behind one ear. “I beg your pardon?”

Unaware she'd spoken aloud until the doctor had reacted, Vicki mumbled an apology, thankful she could no longer blush.
If you're one of the bad guys, Celluci's in big trouble. The stupid ox is a pushover for short, beautiful women.
“You, uh, weren't what I was expecting.”

The doctor sighed, nostrils pinched together, used to and irritated by the reaction her looks evoked. “Detective-Sergeant Celluci didn't mention he was working with a private investigator. Perhaps you should show me some identification.”

“You should've checked it before you let me in,” Vicki pointed out, reaching into a side pocket on her shoulderbag.

“I would have if you'd been a . . .”

“Man?” Vicki finished, handing over the folded plastic case.

“Yes.” Obviously annoyed with herself, Dr. Seto glanced at the ID and passed it back.
Now we're even
, her expression said as clearly as if she'd said it out loud.
Let's get on with it.
“I assume the detective is missing?” When Vicki nodded, she leaned against the edge of the desk and folded her arms. “He was here this morning, about 11:30. He grabbed one of my street kids who was trying to walk off with a box of condoms. We had lunch together. I showed him around the clinic. I got busy and he left.”

You had lunch together?
“You don't know where he went?”

“No.”

You had lunch together!
“Are you sure?”

“I didn't actually see him leave. I had patients come in.”

Okay, so they had lunch together. Big deal. The man has to eat.
Vicki stared at a poster of an ulcerated stomach, knowing that if she looked at the doctor she'd rip the answers from her by force. “You don't happen to remember what you and the detective discussed over lunch, do you?”

“Nothing much. Mostly we made small talk.”

Small talk?
Celluci had never managed to keep small talk from becoming an interogation in his life. Or for as long as she'd known him, which was all of his life that mattered.

“You know, comparing Toronto and Vancouver.” The extended silence had made the doctor nervous. “He never said that he was working on a case; I assumed he was on vacation.”

“Technically, he is. He's just helping me out.”

“You've known him for a long time?”

Whatever else had gone on between them, the tone of that question made it clear that Dr. Seto was not responsible for Celluci's disappearance. If she was going to knock him out and toss him in the cellar, it wouldn't be because she wanted his kidneys. Vicki turned around—she couldn't help herself—caught and held the doctor's gaze. “Yes. A very long time.”

Dr. Seto blinked, swayed, and put a hand on the desk to steady herself. For a moment, she'd felt as though she were falling into silvered darkness, buffeted about by waves of raw energy barely under control.
I've got to get more sleep.
“I'm afraid I can't help you find him,” she murmured, straightening. “I just don't know where he went after he left the clinic.”

Logically, he'd have gone to the other clinics—but which ones in which order? The trail was hours cold. Vicki shoved aside a numbing sense of futility and rummaged in the depths of her purse for one of Henry's cards. “Thanks for your time. If you remember anything else, could you call the cell phone number?”

“There really isn't anything else to remember, Ms. Nelson.”

“
If
, Doctor.”

“Very well. If.”

“I thought Victory was waiting back at the condo for Celluci to call.” “Maybe he called.”

Tony snorted. “Maybe she got tired of waiting.”

“I wouldn't doubt it.” Head cocked toward the window, Henry sifted through the lingering scents of the Eastside and the equally pungent although infinitely more pleasurable scents of Chinatown, trying not to react to the certain knowledge that another stalked his territory. “It's strongest here.” Teeth clenched, he eased the car over the curb.

Tony stared past him at the dark windows of the East Hastings Clinic. “You think she went there?”

“I think that's her at the corner.”

Even squinting, Tony could make out only a vague shape. “Hey, why're you getting out of the car?”

Henry smiled darkly. “Maneuvering room.”

Although she'd known that the only way Celluci would still be at the East Hastings Clinic was as a prisoner, Vicki found herself infuriated by his absence. A prisoner she could've freed! “When I catch up to him, he'd better be in manacles, or I'm going to stuff the nearest pay phone up his . . .”

She whirled to face the breeze, hands out from her sides, weight forward on the balls of her feet.

“Did he call?”

“No.”

Henry nodded slowly. It was, after all, the answer he'd expected. “You got tired of waiting.”

“I found notes he'd left that indicated he might be here, at this clinic.”

“And was he?”

“No.” She spat the word out onto the street between them, her anger switching from Celluci to Henry, just because he was there. In another moment, she'd be diving for his throat; she could feel herself tensing, preparing for the attack.

He braced himself, control made easier because the one who maintained control would win. “That isn't helping, Vicki.”

“You think I don't know that?” she snarled. “And you have no idea how much it pisses me off that I can't get angry with you without attempting to kill you.” A raised hand cut off his reply. She stood motionless, forcing the memory of how it had been after the slaughter to re-evoke calm. To her surprise, it worked. Mostly. “So,” she stepped forward, heading for the car, “any luck finding Tony's witness?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Henry fell into step beside her, a prudent arm's length away. “The ghost's name was Doug. We had a little chat with his pimp.”

“Who you killed.” It wasn't a question; she could hear death in his voice. The part of her that still remembered the person she'd been wondered where such casual justice had been all the years she'd tried to get that kind of scum off the streets.
He was sitting in his condo writing romance novels. Never mind. Sorry I asked.
“Did he tell you anything?”

“Only that someone's paying lots of money for special people.”

“Special as in the same blood type as the buyer of the kidney?”

“Perhaps. But how would they find out?”

Vicki waited until a truck roared past, then nodded toward the clinic. “Access records.”

“What? Through Hackers for Hire?”

“If you can buy a kidney, Henry, you can certainly afford to buy someone with that kind of rudimentary hacking ability.” She told him about her conversation with the old woman in the alley. “Sounds like they've bought some muscle with mean cow eyes.”

“Bull.”

“Bull?” Her tone advised a quick explanation.

“It was a joke, Vicki. A man would have
bull
eyes.”

“I think I liked it better when we were trying to kill each other. What now?”

Henry stopped by the car, his hand on the driver's door. “We go back to the apartment and see if Celluci's returned.”

“He hasn't.” Ducking her head, she nodded a greeting at Tony. “If he got back and none of us were around, he'd call on the cell phone.”

Which rang.

“Speak of the devil,” Henry murmured, reaching in through the open window.

Tony mouthed a silent warning as he handed over the shrilly chirping piece of plastic.
If it's Celluci, be polite
.

Brows raised in an exaggerated,
Who me?
Henry flipped open the mouthpiece. “Fitzroy.”

“This is Dr. Eve Seto, from the East Hastings Clinic. I was speaking with a Ms. Nelson a few moments ago; she gave me this number, and . . .”

“Just a minute, Doctor.” Smiling, he offered the phone to Vicki. “It's for you.” His smile faded when he discovered it was almost impossible to let go, to hand over to
another
a possession of his. Snarling, he shoved it back into the car. “Tony, give her the phone.”

Resisting the urge to crush something scented so strongly by another predator under her heel, Vicki raised it to her face. “Hello?”

“Ms. Nelson?”

“I ran into Mr. Fitzroy by accident, Doctor,” Vicki answered the unspoken question. “He was driving by as I came out onto East Hastings.”

“Oh.” Her tone suggested it was an accident she didn't quite believe in. “It's just that I remembered something that happened after lunch. It was a minor thing but I thought you might want to know.”

“After lunch?”

The two men exchanged speculative glances.

“What's she got against lunch?” Tony whispered.

Henry shrugged. He could hear six separate heartbeats pounding up out of the basement apartment across from the clinic, but electronics interfered with eavesdropping.

“Yes. On our way back to the clinic, we saw Patricia Chou outside the Cultural Center and . . .”

“The cable television reporter.”

‘That's right. The detective mentioned that he'd seen her interview with Ronald Swanson and . . .”

“Ronald Swanson, the real estate guy?”

“He's more than just real estate, Ms. Nelson.” Her tone was sharp, possibly in defense of Ronald Swanson, more probably in response to the interruptions. “He's donated money to a thousand causes all over the city. He donated our computer system here at the clinic and was pretty much one hundred percent responsible for Project Hope.”

“Which is?”

“It's a hospice on the edge of North Vancouver where transplant patients wait for kidneys to become available. It's sort of a shrine to his dead wife. A lovely place, quiet, tranquil.”

“Dead wife?”

“Yes, she died of renal failure before they found a donor for her.”

Vicki blinked, a little overwhelmed. “Did you tell this to Celluci?”

“No, but we did discuss kidney transplants although only in light of me actually performing them.”

“Do you perform transplants, Doctor?”

“This is a street-front clinic, Ms. Nelson, what do you think?” She continued before Vicki could tell her. “Funny thing, though, the detective asked me that as well. I may be completely out of line here, but does your investigation have to do with the handless body they found in the harbor, the one missing the kidney?”

“I'm not at liberty to discuss that.”

“Very well. But I'm telling you now, if you're investigating Ronald Swanson, you're dead wrong. The man is continually giving his money away. Around this area, he's practically considered a saint.”

“Not many saints make millions in real estate,” Vicki noted dryly.

“I have no intention of arguing with you about this, Ms. Nelson. I only thought that if you were looking for Detective Celluci, you might want to speak with the people at Project Hope.”

“If I recall correctly, Doctor, you said earlier that you didn't tell him about the clinic.”

“He's a detective, Ms. Nelson.” Her tone suggested he was the
only
detective involved. “In this city, Mr. Swanson and kidney transplants together will lead you right to Project Hope.”

Teeth showing, Vicki thanked the doctor for calling, hung up, and filled the others in on the conversation. “So who's going with me to take a look at Project Hope.”

Henry shook his head. “It's too much of a coincidence, all the pieces falling so neatly into place. I think you're jumping to conclusions.”

“Really,
I
think I'm formulating a hypothesis.” Her eyes silvered briefly. “Which I intend to test by going out to Project Hope and finding out just how long these people are actually waiting for those kidneys. And if I recognize anything in the fridge, I'm going to tear the place apart.”

“Go out to Project Hope? All of us?” Tony's gaze flicked from Henry to Vicki and back to Henry again. “In one car? Is that safe?”

“Good question,” Henry allowed. “Vicki?”

“We'll be fine, she snapped impatiently. “As long as we keep our minds on finding Mike, and there's the possibility of mayhem at the end of the trip.”

“Oh.” Tony closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Speaking as much to himself as to the night, he murmured, “I don't actually think I'm up to mayhem.” Another deep breath, and he got out of the car, turning to stare across the roof at Henry. “I'll, uh, go back to the condo, and if he checks in, I'll call you.”

They stayed that way for a long moment. “If you're sure,” Henry said at last.