The Body Mafia by Stacy Dittrich Read Free Book Online Page B

Web site.” He stood up.
    “One more question, Doctor. How long have you been employed by LifeTech, and what is the last procedure you performed in Mansfield?”
    “I have been employed by them for five years, and the last procedure I performed was back in March. It was a dental removal from an inmate who hanged himself in his cell. He was thirty-five.”
    “Was he at Mansfield or Richland Correctional?”
    “Mansfield—maximum security. I believe his name was Richert Saldivar.”
    He walked to the door and opened it. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but that’s all the time I have for today.”
    “Did you speak with Dr. Schmidt?”
    “Yes, I did, and he has a full schedule today andcouldn’t meet with you. I’m sure if you contact his office you can make an appointment. And before you ask, Dr. Schmidt hasn’t performed a tissue removal in Mansfield for well over a year.”
    I thanked Dr. Esposito, ignored his wife as I walked out, and sat in my car, thoroughly troubled by the interview. He had controlled it, undeniably. He had told me exactly what he wanted me to know and nothing else. The county coroner confirmed the suicide of the inmate in March when I phoned him, so basically, I had zero on Dr. Esposito. Throwing my cell phone on the passenger seat, I was shocked to see him walk out of the front of the office building and get into a sleek, black sports car parked near the front. Apparently, he didn’t have an appointment after all. Without thinking, I slowly turned my car around and began to follow him.
    “Do you have everything ready to go?”
    “It’s set for Friday. After that, it should be smooth sailing, Sal.”
    “Good. What about her?”
    “Only what I told you today. She’s nothing to worry about, especially after Friday. Also, the quarterly shipment is in.”
    “Make your plane reservations, first class. You deserve it.”
    The man smiled—even though he had to go to the Philippines. He hated the Philippines, especially that dirty, retarded messenger boy. What did they call him? Tao-Kek? Something like that. It didn’t matter. One of these days, Tao-whatever-the-fuck would die. He would take pleasure in snapping the little fucker’s neck. The man couldn’t believe how the boy smiled at him when he gave him the list,as if they were old chums. Never again. He would make it look like an accident, and no one would think any differently or, quite frankly, give a shit. Certainly, the boy’s boss wouldn’t care. He could find another boy in the street within five minutes.
    He had to be in the Philippines within twenty-four hours to ensure the quality of the shipment—his third trip in less than two weeks. With the new, larger order, the man was getting tired of traveling. Nonetheless, he needed to get back to the states quickly. There was the other matter that needed to be taken care of.
    Dr. Esposito gave me no reason to be skeptical. Everything he’d said was factual, and his only downfall was a pompous attitude. In spite of this, my suspicion began to grow. Driving onto the interstate, he was unmistakably headed toward the city. Fifteen minutes later, we were pulling into the Warehouse District, a thriving area downtown made up of nightclubs, restaurants, offices, and storage facilities.
    He pulled into a three-story parking lot that was adjacent to a large warehouse. I furiously looked everywhere for some sort of business name or corporation, but found none. The only thing to do was jot down the name of the restaurant across the street; this would at least give me a landmark. Cleveland Police could tell me later what they had listed for the warehouse. I waited at the side of the building for an hour before submitting to my hunger pangs and taking a front window seat at the restaurant.
    It was another hour and a half before I realized I needed to go. Dr. Esposito, it seemed, did not intend to leave any time soon. On my way home, Cleveland Police informed me they had the warehouse listed