Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 763 & 764, March/April 2005

I sent copies of the files to Dr. Cannon and to myself at Lane Terry & Associates, just in case I ever needed them. Then I got on-line and did some quick research on the illegal traffic in organs and body parts, from its current very lucrative practice back to the days when medical students were obliged to do a bit of graverobbing in the eighteenth century in order to provide their own cadaver for dissection. Later, they hired professionals called “resurrection men” who had seen a market in sparing students this nasty rite of passage. A little dark humor for — I glanced at the clock — the stroke of midnight. I wondered if Sean waited faithfully outside, but somehow I knew he was still there. My eyes felt full of gravel. Probably that stupid Goth/vampire mascara on top of fatigue, and I was trying to remember if I’d already drunk the Red Bull I’d stashed away in the office fridge when I heard someone coming.

It might be Sean, or the cleaning crew, or a late-working student, or maybe that modern graverobber Nick Ludlow. I shut everything down and stepped away from the desk, knowing what it would look like with me at his computer. The last thing I wanted to do was go back There, but that was the obvious place to hide, being at the rear of the office suite, unless I wanted to brazen it out by sitting at my own desk, pretending to be working. I imagined that getting into one of the unoccupied drawers might work, if I could figure out how to close it — and open it again — from the inside. I started for the Cold Room.

“My, Ms. Terry — you’ve certainly been working overtime,” said Dr. Cannon’s familiar voice.

“You — scared — me,” I managed to gasp while hyperventilating. “Didn’t you get your messages?”

She looked amused, also well groomed despite probably being on her feet since eight A.M. — come to think of it, so had I. I wondered if some paranormal force handled her schedule and why I didn’t hate her on principle. I explained to her what I’d found. She looked impressed and smiled broadly. “To look at you, so young, you’d never guess that in this short time — well, let’s get this wrapped up. Why don’t you stay a little longer and put together a final report for me while I get some paperwork off my desk?”

“I was just starting to write one, and I can tough it out if you can,” I said bravely, even though I was dead on my feet. Fear and its release can really be exhausting.

She went straight to her office, where I could hear her rummaging around and clacking away on her keyboard.

I wrote the report as fast as my whacked-out mind could manage. Everything made sense now. The worse Ludlow’s records were, the easier it was for him to hide how many cadavers were being sold. Before I could pop the report off to her I felt Dr. Cannon behind me. She was in a hurry to wrap things up.

“I’ve been reading your other report off the screen,” she explained. “I think we’ll just leave it at that, and I’d like to handle Mr. Ludlow administratively rather than turn this into another medical scandal. I’m sure you understand.”

I kind of resented Dr. Cannon not wanting to bring charges against Ludlow, but of course it wasn’t my call. One of the crappy things about investigative work was that you couldn’t rat out your client and stay in business very long. You kept a lot to yourself, and moral compromises were part of the job. Still, she was letting a bad guy walk — and I was looking the other way.

My big mouth, acting on its own, hazarded an opinion: “I guess a lot of crime gets covered up because nobody at the top wants to be embarrassed. I think you ought to bring charges against Ludlow, show the world that you don’t share in his corruption.”

She seemed to give that some thought. “Well, yes, involving the authorities remains an option, but it will require some persuasion. You know how bureaucracies work.” She gave me a little smile, looking for the first time a bit vulnerable and tired, and reached into her pocket for an envelope. “I think this should more than cover your work,” she said as she handed it to me. “Now, I want to handle personally this individual matter of the other client’s donation. Can you tell me enough for me to help?”

I knew Sean would have no objections if it meant getting things straightened out. “Ludlow gave them someone else’s ashes. The person’s remains are still here, on the premises.”

She looked alarmed. “Where? In the Cold Room?”

“Where else? But I can tell you this much for sure. They’re going to want the body back so they can—”

“Of course, but are you certain? I knew Nick was dishonest, but this is beyond terrible. I’m sure the university will want to make a formal apology. And I’m ultimately responsible to them. If I hadn’t been distracted with other things—” she glanced at her expensive watch as though time were to blame — “I’d have kept a better eye on him. Now, I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable, but would you mind showing me which cadaver it is?”

“Don’t worry; Ludlow doesn’t know which one it is,” I said. “He isn’t going to get back in here, is he?” I was afraid he’d cause the body to disappear before Sean could lay claim to it, so he could deny the whole thing.