Original Parts

Original Parts

 

  Homicide detective Nate Leeman rubbed the back of his aching neck as he stared at the victim. The body was face down with a large, single bullet-hole in the back of the head. Blood pooled around the skull. Chief Coroner Belle Davis carefully placed one of the lifeless fingers against a small, black box. A moment later, the device beeped. Davis looked up at Nate. “Who was he?” asked the detective.

  Davis read the data on the box’s small screen. “Ted Phillips,” she continued. “He was 96-years old, a computer programmer for more than 70 years. Had a wife named Susan, three children and four grandchildren.” Davis carefully turned the body over and examined it. “He’s missing both artificial kidneys that were implanted three years ago. They are a hot commodity on the black market for people without health insurance.” Davis hit a button and a sheet of paper emerged from the box. She handed the printout to Nate. “Here’s his address.” She closed the box and put it into her leather briefcase. The man’s eyes were still open and they stared straight ahead with the dull gaze of the dead.

  Nate glanced at the group of onlookers who stood on the other side of the yellow police tape. Six uniformed officers kept the vultures at bay. News crews filmed the proceedings while pedestrians took pictures with their camera-phones. Nate felt acid churning in the pit of his stomach. This was the fifth such victim in four weeks.

  “Can you estimate the time of death?” asked Nate. The question came out as a matter of rote. He felt the bitter chill in the air as the cold wind blew over them from the lake. He immediately regretted asking it as he already knew what the answer would be. Nate chewed on his bottom lip as he took in the horrendous scene before them.

  Davis sighed. “The cold temperature out here makes any reasonable guess impossible,” she said. She directed her assistant to load the body onto the stretcher. Nate watched the corpse disappear into the back of the coroner’s vehicle. He flinched as the back door slammed shut. Nate took a deep breath and turned toward the night club that was a few hundred feet away. From inside, he heard the rollicking sound of partyers and electro-music.

  The detective shoved his frigid hands into the pockets of his overcoat. He saw a slim figure approaching him through the crowd. Det. Penny Segel stopped in front of him with a frustrated expression. Her right hand firmly gripped her cell phone, which doubled as an electronic notepad. “No luck,” she said, without being asked. “A bartender remembered seeing the victim when he ordered a drink around 10 pm, but he didn’t notice if anyone was with him. No one recalls seeing him leave the club.” She took a cigarette out of a pack and lit it. Then she pointed the pack toward Nate. “Want one?” she asked.

  Nate waved a hand at her. “No thanks. They’ve done enough damage already.”

  Penny shrugged. “Why don’t you just get a new set of lungs?” she asked. “Our medical plan covers them.” She inhaled deeply and blew the smoke over her right shoulder. Nate started to walk toward his car as the onlookers dispersed. Penny strode along beside him. “I know we’ve talked about this before. Why don’t you get some upgrades? You certainly could use them.”

  Nate stopped quickly and glared at her. Penny’s face whitened. “God gave me all the parts I need to live,” he said. He tapped his chest. “And they’re in decent working order after all these years.” He continued walking and Penny followed him. When they reached his vehicle, he coughed into his right hand before looking at his partner. Despite his assurances, he found himself breathing heavily.

  Penny finished her cigarette and tossed it onto the street. “You don’t sound so good, old man,” she teased. She glanced down at his feet before finding his eyes again. “Your legs are wobbly and I bet your feet really hurt.” She paused and softened her tone. “All I’m saying is that it doesn’t make sense to put yourself through that agony when you can simply replace what doesn’t work anymore. We have a difficult job. Why make it harder on yourself?”

  Nate didn’t answer her. They got into the car and he drove in silence with Penny in the passenger seat. They reached the Phillips’s home in twenty minutes. The Colonial-style dwelling was nestled in a working-class neighborhood. Nate pulled the car into the driveway and turned off the engine. He sat for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he led his partner to the front door.

  Nate rang the doorbell. He heard slow footsteps inside before the door opened. A woman in a yellow bathrobe blinked rapidly as she examined the visitors. “Mrs. Susan Phillips?” asked Nate in a calm voice. The woman nodded and asked who they were. The police officers showed their badges as Nate introduced himself and his partner. Mrs. Phillips leaned back against the front door with a look that showed she expected the worst. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your husband was murdered this evening.”

  The widow fell forward and Penny quickly caught her. Then Penny guided the woman into the house where they rested on a comfortable couch. Mrs. Phillips cried for some time as Penny did her best to comfort her. Eventually, she calmed down enough to speak coherently. She asked about the details of the crime. Penny carefully chose her words as she delicately explained what happened.

  “Mrs. Phillips, do you know anyone who might have wanted to harm your husband?” asked Nate. The widow shook her head, saying that Ted was a popular person. “Has your husband received any unusual calls or had any unwanted visitors?” he asked. Again the answer was no. Nate studied the surroundings. The house was tidy, with fresh vacuum cleaner marks on the rugs. Pictures of family and friends lined shelves and the tops of bookcases. Nate caught the scent of fresh flowers from a setting on a coffee table.

  The detectives stayed with Mrs. Phillips for a half-hour before excusing themselves. Nate left his card with the woman in case she needed to contact them. Penny followed him out of the home as they walked toward their car. “I never get used to that,” said Penny, after the front door closed behind them. Then she stopped suddenly and took out her weapon. Nate turned to see what had her attention. He saw a short figure lurking by the side of the Phillips’s home. Without a word, he drew his gun and moved quickly toward the intruder.

  When he was a few feet away from the prowler, he shouted to the suspect to freeze. The figure dashed away, forcing the detectives to give chase. Nate and Penny raced after the individual, but the fleet-footed person was too fast for Nate. After running for three blocks, the detective stopped near a trashcan and bent over, sucking in air as fast as he could. Penny swept passed him and continued on with the pursuit. Nate finally caught his breath and rejoined the hunt. He turned a corner and found the suspect on the ground in front of a grocery store. Penny stood over the prowler with her gun pointed at him. Nate quickly cuffed the runner and pushed him against a nearby wall.

  The detectives questioned the man at the scene, but he refused to talk, so they loaded him into the back of their car. Penny drove to the police station without saying anything to her partner as Nate sat beside her. They brought the suspect to a cell and shoved him inside of it. Penny marched to her desk without looking at Nate. He sighed and went to his own desk. Before he could sit down, a tall, muscular man in a dark, blue suit approached him.

  “Is that a suspect in the body-parts murders?” asked the man. Nate silently shook his head. He kept his eyes down as Captain James Forrest hovered over him. “Then who in the hell is that?” asked the captain. “And what leads do we have?”

  Penny cleared her throat before answering their boss. “We found this guy outside the home of Ted Phillips, our latest victim, after we spoke to Ted’s widow,” she said. “I don’t think he’s our guy, captain.” Forrest asked her why. “He’s not very bright and he’s as edgy as a squirrel. I think he’s just a peeping Tom. But we’ll finger-print him anyway. He may be wanted
for something else.” She indignantly crossed her arms.

  Nate looked up at Forrest and nodded in agreement. Forrest lowered his eyebrows as he studied his detectives. Then he glared at Penny. “Is there something else, detective?” he asked her. She shifted uncomfortably as she leaned against Nate’s desk. “Well, let’s have it.”

  Penny stood up straight. “We had to pursue the suspect on foot before we caught him,” she said slowly. She rubbed her hands against her pants. Nate swallowed hard. “I managed to take him down after a few blocks,” she added, pressing her lips together.

  “I see,” said the captain. Then he addressed Nate. “And where were you, Det. Leeman?”

  “I was following Penny and the suspect.” He looked down at his desk, hoping that would satisfy Forrest. It didn’t. When he looked back up, his boss stared at him, wanting more. Nate sighed. “I had to stop along the way to catch my breath,” he admitted.

  Forrest nodded. “Det. Leeman, may I see you in my office, please?” Forrest stormed off without waiting for an answer. Nate shook his head before marching toward the private room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Penny slump into the chair behind her desk.

  Nate closed the office door behind him. He stood in front of Forrest’s cluttered desk, while the captain sat in a chair behind it. “How old are you, detective?” asked the captain. Nate clenched his fists at his side and said that he was 58-years-old. “58?” repeated Forrest. Nate nodded. “And do you know how old I am?” asked Forrest. Nate said that he did not know. Forrest rose to his feet. “I’m 92-years-old, detective.” He slowly circled behind Nate. “That’s right. I’m thirty four years older than you are and yet I look like a man twenty years your junior.” He stopped and sat back down in his chair. “Do you know why that is?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t really say, sir,” replied Nate. He looked straight ahead, focusing on a picture of the captain, which hung on the wall behind Forrest. Nate knew exactly where this was heading. It was well-worn territory.

  “It’s because I take care of myself,” continued Forrest. “And I take advantage of the advances science has to offer.” He put his right hand on his chest. “I have a replacement heart, two new kidneys, two young lungs, and the arms and legs of a twenty-year-old athlete.” He rested his hands in his lap. “Like most people, I am in nearly perfect condition.” He paused and stared at Nate. “What replacement parts do you have, detective?” he asked.

  “None, sir,” Nate replied, proudly. “I have all original parts.” He slid his hands into his pants pockets to hide their shaking. His legs hurt and his feet were sore. He blinked a few times and hoped that this would be over soon.

  Forrest leaned toward him. “Why?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Why would you want to have the body and organs of an old man when you can have what everyone else has? I just don’t get it.” He then folded his hands and rested them on his desk.

  Nate shrugged. “I don’t know sir.” He paused, trying to find a way to explain it. “It just doesn’t seem right. We weren’t meant to have spare parts like a car or an airplane.” He took his wrinkled hands out of his pockets and raised them to his face. “This is what we were given and this is what we should use for as long as we can,” he said.

  Forrest stood back up. “Detective, I know you are leading the investigation of the series of body-parts killings we’ve had in the last few weeks.” He rubbed his chin with his right hand. “However, I think it would be a good idea to assign a new lead to the case.” Nate began to protest, but Forrest cut him off with the wave of his hand. “It seems to me that anyone in their right mind would jump at the chance to physically improve themselves. Since you have not done so, I’m assigning you to desk duty while you attend counseling to find out why you are so opposed to self-improvement.” He wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Nate. “Call Dr. Cho Han in the morning and make an appointment.”

  Nate rolled his eyes as he looked at the phone number. “Sir, this really isn’t necessary. I’m a good cop and I don’t need any help. Maybe just a little more time in the gym.” He took a step toward the captain. “C’mon, this is ridiculous. I deserve better than this,” he said.

  “Dismissed, detective,” said Forrest. Nate turned and stomped out of the office. He slumped down in the chair behind his desk. Penny was busy typing on her computer. He knew that she had to tell the captain what had happened but that didn’t temper his anger. Nate took a deep breath and trudged out of the police station with the phone number still in his hand.

  Nate spent the next morning reading and filing dry police reports while his mind focused on his former murder investigation. He agreed with Belle Davis. This was most likely tied to the black market, which left scores of possible suspects. Between filings, Nate scanned his own list of digital records that he kept on criminals, but no one stood out. He couldn’t think straight. He needed to be on the street and not stuck at his desk in the dank squad room.

  After consuming a hot dog and a can of soda for lunch from a street vendor, Nate walked over to Dr. Cho Han’s office for his appointment. He knocked on the brown door and entered after hearing a muffled greeting. Dr. Han did not rise from his chair and he kept his eyes on a report on his desk as Nate entered. Nate stood uncomfortably for a moment until the psychologist closed a folder and nodded at the detective. “Please have a seat,” said Dr. Han, pointing to the only other chair in the room.

  Nate sat down and the two men stared at each other in silence. The detective nervously rubbed his hands together. “Nice office,” he said, softly. The room was smaller than Forrest’s office, with the desk in the center and four bookcases crammed against opposite walls. A scent of cedar filled the air and Nate wondered what gave off the smell. Dr. Han continued to stare at him without speaking. “I’ve never had therapy before,” said Nate. “I’m not sure how this works.”

  Dr. Han nodded slowly. The psychologist was a slender man of Asian descent with perfectly clear skin on his serious face. He interlocked his fingers and rested them on his desk. Nate noticed that the man was studying him, much like the way Nate has studied suspects in interrogation rooms. “Why are you here?” asked Dr. Han in a barely-audible voice.

  Nate shrugged. “I was ordered here by my captain,” he replied. He looked down at the file in front of Dr. Han and guessed that it was his. “It should be there in your report.” Nate tapped the folder with his right index finger before leaning back in his chair. The doctor did not noticeably respond to Nate’s actions. The detective began to wonder if Dr. Han was apathetic or if his lackadaisical tone was part of some psychological trick.

  “Yes, I have read your file,” said Dr. Han. He opened the folder and moved some pages around. “You have an excellent performance record, detective,” he said. “You have been given three accommodations for bravery in the line of duty, and you’ve received high marks on your annual reviews.” He closed the folder and looked over at Nate. “And yet here you are in my office and you don’t know why. How curious.”

  “Why do you think I’m here, doctor?” asked Nate, trying to turn the issue back to the psychologist. Dr. Han chuckled, which surprised Nate. The detective began to lose patience with this frustrating fencing. “Look, if you don’t think I need to be here, I can go,” he said, rising from his chair. “I have things to do.”

  “Sit down, please!” snapped the psychologist. The frost in the doctor’s voice caught Nate by surprise. The detective did as he was told, but he kept his eyes fixed on Dr. Han’s face. The doctor leaned toward his patient. “How old do I look to you, detective?” asked Dr. Han. Nate rolled his eyes. He said he had no idea. “I’m 78-years-old,” answered the doctor. “Yet I have the robust organs of a man half my age. With luck, I will live to be over 110 years-old.”

  “I wish you the best with that,” replied Nate.

  Dr. Han laughed again. “I’m sure you do.” He reopened the file, clicked the top of a pen a
nd made a notation on one of the papers. “Don’t you want to live that long?” he asked, looking back up at Nate.

  Nate nodded. “Sure. I’m in no hurry to die,” he replied.

  “That’s good to hear,” replied Dr. Han. “But something confuses me. If you want a long and happy life, why do you insist on lugging around ancient body parts?” He locked eyes with Nate as the question hung in the air. “You are an intelligent person. If your car gets a flat tire, you replace the part. Why not do the same with your own body?” asked the doctor.

  Nate rose and slowly drifted toward one of the bookcases. Not surprisingly, he found various volumes on psychology. There were also books on history, art, politics and philosophy. He touched the binding of one book before turning to face Dr. Han. “We are more than the sum of our parts,” he said softly. Dr. Han nodded in agreement. “But what are we if those parts are not really ours? Are we still people? Are we still human?” he asked.

  “Those are surprising questions from someone in your field,” said Dr. Han. He glanced down at the file for a moment. “But I see that you haven’t always been a police officer. You were a priest for nearly a decade. Why did you leave the priesthood?” he asked.

  Nate sighed. “I didn’t agree with everything the Catholic Church taught. I thought there was more room for flexibility and diversity. My superiors were not happy with my open-mindedness, and they let me know that. So I decided to move on,” he said.

  “And you joined the police force,” said Dr. Han. “That’s a bit of a radical change, don’t you think?” Dr. Han spoke more calmly, and Nate noticed the change in his demeanor. The detective wondered if the doctor was finally warming up to him.

  “I’m not just a police officer,” insisted Nate, as he sat back down. “I think about more than just solving crimes. I also ponder bigger questions. Though I’m not as religious as I used to be, I still do believe in God. I think he has a purpose for each of us, a way he wants us to be. By replacing the very parts of us that He gave us, we lessen ourselves.” He took a deep breath. “We weren’t meant to be on this planet longer than our natural bodies allow. It robs us of our humanity.”

  Dr. Han smiled and jotted down more notes. “That is very interesting. But where would you draw the line, detective?” The doctor tapped his pen against his desk. “Should we not inoculate ourselves against diseases? Should we