People with influence or money do not have a better chance of getting a transplant. Computers suggest the best possible match for each available organ based on bipod type, size, illness of patient, and time on the waiting list."
Patricia Chou leaned forward, a slender finger ex?tended to emphasize her point. "But what about the recent media coverage of famous people getting transplants?"
"I think you'll find that media coverage is the point to that question, Ms. Chou. They're getting the cover?age because they're famous, not because they've had a transplant. Hundreds of people have transplants and never make the news. I assure you, my wife would still be alive today if I could have bought her a transplant."
"Your wife, Rebecca, died of chronic kidney failure?"
"That's right." He had to swallow before he could go on, and Celluci, who over the years had seen grief in every possible form, was willing to bet it was no act. "Three years on dialysis, three years waiting for a match, three years dying. And my wife wasn't alone; approximately one third of all patients awaiting trans?plants die. Which is why I'm an active supporter of the British Columbia Transplant Society."
"But in this time of cutbacks, surely the cost of transplants ..."
"Cost?" His gaze swung around and locked on her face. "Ms. Chou, did you know that if all the patients waiting at the end of last year had been able to receive kidneys, health care savings would exceed one bil?lion dollars?"
Ms. Chou did not know, nor, from a certain tight?ening around her eyes, was she pleased at being inter?rupted. "To return to the public's fears, Mr. Swanson, what about the possibility of organ-legging?" Her emphasis made the last word hang in the air for a mo-ment or two after she finished speaking.
"That sort of thing is an impossibility, at least in any first world nation. You'd have to have doctors willing to work outside the law, expensive facilities, you'd have to contravene a computer system with massive safeguards-I'm not saying it couldn't be done, merely that costs would be so prohibitive there'd be no point."
Good answer, Celluci allowed. Although slightly less than spontaneous. Swanson had obviously been ex?pecting a variation on the question.
"So from a purely marketing standpoint, there'd be no profit in it?"
"Exactly. You'd have to hire thugs to procure un?willing donors and I imagine that a reliable thug, pro?vided you could find such a creature, doesn't come cheap."
She ignored his attempt to lighten the interview, "So the body found floating in the harbor, a body that had a kidney surgically removed, had nothing to do with organ-legging?"
That, Celluci realized, was where she'd been head?ing all along.
Mr. Swanson spread his hands, manicured nails gleaming in the studio lights. "There are a number of reasons you can have a kidney surgically removed, Ms. Chou. The human body only needs one."
"And you don't believe that someone needed one of his?"
"I believe that this kind of yellow journalism is why there's a critical shortage of donated organs and peo?ple like my wife are dying."
"But wouldn't someone be willing to pay... "
The screen returned to black, and Henry put the remote back on the coffee table.
Celluci, who hadn't even been aware he was in the room until he'd crossed directly into his line of sight, attempted to relax a number of muscles jerked into knots by Fitzroy's sudden appearance. "Did you have to do that?" he snarled.
"No, I didn't." The implication of Henry's tone sug?gested that he'd achieved exactly the effect he'd in?tended. "Where's Vicki?"
Glancing over Henry's shoulder and then disre?garding Tony's silent warning from the kitchen, Celluci drawled, "She's gone hunting."
"Hunting." It was an emotionless repetition that nevertheless held a wealth of meaning. "You knew it was going to happen when you asked her to come out here."
"Yes." With his fingers laced tightly together lest he lose control of his reaction and put his fist through the glass, Henry walked over to the window and stared down at the lights of Granville Island. "I knew it was going to happen."
"But that doesn't mean you have to like it."
"You needn't sound so superior, Detective."
"Superior? Me?"
In the kitchen, Tony winced. He wondered if surviv?ing a number of years as a cop created a personal belief in invulnerability or if that belief was necessary before starting the job. Whichever it was, Detective Sergeant Michael Celluci seemed to be having one heck of a good time flirting with death.
"I told her that you deliberately provoked her at?tack." Not as relaxed as he appeared, Celluci watched the muscles across Henry's back tense and untense beneath the raw silk jacket. If it came to it, he knew he couldn't survive an all-out attack. Or even a half-strength attack for that matter-proven the last time he and Henry had tangled.
"If you're attempting to divert my attention from Vicki to you, Detective, the sacrifice is unnecessary. If we are to lay this specter, we have no choice but to work together. It seems I must allow the possibility that we can overcome our territorial natures."