"How did Friday night play out?" Pete asked.

"Marshall cut to the ocean using the public access lane yonder, intending to approach your house from the beach." Gullet indicated a pathway several lots down. "Imagine his delight at seeing Doc Brennan parked right there on the sand."

Unconsciously, my hand went to my throat. "Why was Daniels following Marshall?" I asked, fingers tracing the welt Pete had dubbed my "organic necklace."

"Daniels's experiences with law enforcement have been less than optimal. Distrustful of cops, and worried that Marshall was working to set him up, Daniels decided to collect proof of his own. He intended to dog Marshall until he found hard evidence the guy was dirty."

"Why didn't Daniels use his own car?"

"Figured Marshall might spot it. Miss Honey keeps a vehicle on the mainland, so Daniels took auntie's and left his own at the marina."

"And prior to Marshall's arrest and his own interrogation, Daniels never suspected a thing?" I still found that incredible.

"I told you. RN or not, the guy's got the IQ of okra."

"Why was he so hostile at his interview?"

Gullet shrugged. "Hates cops."

"What about Herron and his cronies at God's Mercy Church?"

Gullet shook his head. "Long as he stayed on budget, Marshall had total autonomy running the clinic. Appears the GMC folks hadn't a clue what their physician was up to."

"Any word on Shorter?" I'd already learned that the Cessna was gone when Tybee arrived at the airfield Friday night.

"Lubbock PD bagged him at ten forty P.M. yesterday. That's what I'm here to tell you."

"Shorter flew to Texas?" I asked.

"He's got an ex living in Lubbock."

"Is he cooperating?" Pete asked.

Gullet did a "so-so" hand waggle. "Shorter claims he operates a legal shuttle and charter service. Admits to making deliveries for Marshall, but denies knowledge of the cargo. Way it worked, Marshall called one or two days in advance, then brought a cooler to the airfield at a prearranged time. Shorter flew to Mexico, landed in the desert outside Puerto Vallarta, and handed the cooler over to a Mexican named Jorge. Marshall paid ten thousand dollars cash per trip. Shorter says he didn't ask questions."

"Why the quick bolt on Thursday?"

"Shorter says Marshall's arrest spooked him, given his past legal problems."

We were quiet for a moment, considering that. I spoke first.

"Given Shorter's history, the most likely scenario has him running organs from Charleston to Mexico, and drugs from Mexico into the States."

"Lubbock's on the same page, so they contacted the feds. DEA's tossing the plane. Shorter so much as waved a joint over a wingtip, they'll nail him. Besides, his story won't hold up. There's evidence that the tail of the plane has been painted over several times, probably to put on phony registration numbers for the illegal flights. And the Mexican authorities don't have him logging in to enter Mexican airspace."

"Has Marshall described how the scheme worked on the other end?" Pete asked.

"Marshall would phone Rodriguez when he found a clinic patient who was a match for one of Rodriguez's recipients. The victim was always homeless, or someone whose disappearance wouldn't be noticed.

"On the Mexico end, Rodriguez would place his call, and the recipient would hop a flight to Puerto Vallarta. On the Charleston end, Marshall would make his hit, and Shorter would overnight express the organ south."

"How did Marshall hook up with Shorter?" Pete asked.

"Shorter lives in the same complex as Daniels. The two popped an occasional beer, swapped stories. Daniels shared some of Shorter's history with Marshall, or maybe Marshall overheard Daniels talking about a pilot with a record. In either case, Shorter sounded like a good candidate for the new enterprise. Marshall researched the guy, dropped bait, Shorter bit."

"Daniels never learned that his neighbor was muling for his boss?"

"Hadn't a clue."

"How much do you think Shorter really knew?" I asked.

"Marshall's version pretty much confirms Shorter's claim that he was simply a courier. Says Shorter never asked about the contents of the coolers."

"Right," I said. "The honorable pilot never suspected he was running contraband."

Gullet shrugged. "Ten thousand smackers buys a lot of disinterest."

"What about Rodriguez? Was he in the loop on how Marshall was obtaining the organs?"

"Big-time. According to Marshall, the two were hatching plans as early as ninety-five."

"Rodriguez and Marshall graduated med school in eighty-one. How did they reconnect?"

"The two kept in touch. Knowing his old classmate had also become persona non grata in the medical profession, after his release from jail in ninety-one, Marshall called the only other crooked doctor he knew, then headed to Mexico. Rodriguez had been working at the Puerto Vallarta spa for a couple of years by then, and running a small private practice on the side. One thing led to another, and the two cooked up what they thought would be a low-risk money machine. They'd limit themselves to a handful of supplementary donors per year, score one or two hundred thousand per organ, lay low the rest of the time.

"The only question was where would Marshall work his end of the venture? Within months, GMC posted an opening for its Charleston clinic, and, given the salary, the organization wasn't too fussy about applicant credentials. Marshall managed to produce some forged documents and got a medical license in South Carolina. Rodriguez began buying used surgical equipment south of the border. Within a few years, they were ready to roll."

"Has Rodriguez been located?" I asked.

"Not yet. But the federates will get him."

"And charge him with what?"

"The Mexican authorities are putting considerable thought into that."

"Rodriguez will deny knowledge of the murders, claim he was assured the organs were legally obtained."

"Marshall is saying Rodriguez masterminded the whole scheme. Also claims he wasn't Rodriguez's only supplier."

"Marshall pled guilty to eleven counts of murder," I said. "How do we know there weren't more victims?"

Gullet leveled the Ray-Bans at me. "My gut tells me there were. Marshall's probably giving us the MPs we know about, and tossing in Godine for credibility."

A couple of details still bothered me.

"Lester Marshall is a painstakingly meticulous man. How could he have been so careless with those shells?"

"I suspect he's going to ponder that question frequently in the coming years." This time Gullet actually did grin. "Marshall says he bought a bag of shells the day he murdered Willie Helms. Was hoping to find something good among the assortment. Best as he can figure, one shell found its way into a cuff or pocket, maybe at the market, maybe while walking back to the clinic. That one ended up with Helms. He remembers viewing the shells under a scope, then leaving them in his desk drawer for a short time. He thinks the packaging must have been torn."

"So one shell drops from Marshall's clothing onto Helms's body. Another rolls into a desk hollow. Marshall doesn't notice either."

Gullet nodded. "Marshall was more shocked than anyone that those little buggers turned up. Had to do some fast thinking to weave shell planting into his Corey Daniels setup scenario."

"Foiled by a mollusk," Pete said.

"Who dialed Cruikshank from Marshall's office?" I queried detail number two.

"O'Dell Towery."

"The cleaning man?"

Gullet nodded. "Towery's slow, but he remembers because it was outside his ordinary routine. Says Marshall instructed him to use his office phone at a specified time. Said he was expecting a message and wouldn't be able to make the call himself at that time. Told Towery that if no one answered, he should just hang up and give the slip with the number back to Marshall the next day. Marshall had an alibi elsewhere for that time. If problems arose, the call would at least muddy the picture, at best throw suspicion on Daniels."