“Murdered? What are you talking about?”

“She was murdered.”

“How?”

“I don’t know exactly. She got caught in the middle of a robbery in some convenience store up in the Valley. Shot in the head. She died and I got her heart.”

“You’re not supposed to know anything about your donor. How do you know this?”

“Because her sister came and saw me on Saturday. She told me the whole thing… It sort of changes things, you know?”

Fox sat on the hospital bed and leaned over him. A stern look came over her face.

“First of all, I had no idea where your heart came from. We never do. It came through BOPRA. All we were told was that an organ was available with a blood work match to a recipient we had on call and at the top of our list. That was you. You know how BOPRA works. You watched the film during orientation. We get limited information because it works best that way. I told you exactly what we knew. Female, twenty-six years old, if I remember. Perfect health, perfect blood typing, perfect donor. That’s it.”

“Then I’m sorry. I thought maybe you knew and just held that back.”

“I didn’t. We didn’t. So if we didn’t know who and where it came from, how did the sister know who and where it went? How did she find you? This could be some kind of a scam she’s-”

“No. It’s her. I know.”

“How do you know?”

“The newspaper article last Sunday, that ‘Whatever Happened to…’ column in the Times Metro section. It said I got the heart on February ninth and that I’d been waiting a long time because my blood type was rare. The sister read it and put it together. She obviously knew when her sister died, knew her heart was donated and knew she also had a rare blood type. She’s an ER nurse up at Holy Cross and figured out it was me.”

“It still doesn’t mean you have her sister’s-”

“She also had the letter I wrote.”