You have to teach them how to stop being inhuman.
— Eldridge Cleaver
The first thing a criminologist learns about the criminal mind is, it always chooses to go astray.
As Georges Bataille observed, the need to go astray, or be destroyed is an extremely private, distant, passionate, turbulent truth.
I can think of no better illustration of this truth than the crimes of Luis Majorca who started his criminal career by satisfying his senses and ended it by becoming a ghoul.
I'm Detective Superintendent Alan Marks of Scotland Yard and my partner is Rebecca Mitchell. We were investigating an illicit drug operation in south London and netted a local surgeon in one of our early morning raids.
Honestly, we were both puzzled that a well-to-do surgeon would endanger his professional status by such risky living.
“Whatever were you thinking, Doctor Majorca?”
He looked at me with hollow eyes and I knew by his expression his life had slipped out of control.
“I began injecting myself with Demerol for chronic back pain and I then I got mixed up with Cocaine.”
When arrested he had less than two grams in his possession and it was his first offense. As for the Demerol, he had legal access to the drug, but he was caught with syringes and several vials.
After he was processed, I remembered Rebecca’s remark. “He’ll probably have his license suspended for a year or two and then, be able to practice medicine again, if he stays clean.”
She proved to be a prophetess and within two years the good doctor returned to his upscale London practice and continued his lavish lifestyle.
The story might have ended there, but Luis Majorca was under the sway of other demons.
We received a call from Mrs. Liliana Majorca asking us to see her at her residence. Liliana was a beautiful woman, a former Biologist who seven years ago gave up a promising career to marry Luis.
On the way out to the Majorca residence in Surrey, Rebecca was commenting on the number of domestic calls the police attended over the last few years at their mock Queen Anne mansion.
“Some of those houses are over 10,000 square feet,” she was saying, “but conspicuous wealth is no haven from problems—the Majorca’s were experiencing more that their share of trouble in paradise.”
“I wonder what was causing all the tension?”
By way of response, she began reading off the file. “Luis Majorca: charged for drink driving, possession of two grams of a prohibited substance—looks like Cocaine again—and it looks like the charges resulted in the loss of his medical license.”
“Phew! It’s a wonder how he’s been paying the bills on the castle in the woods.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “He looks like your typical rich playboy—he’s probably got another sideline besides surgery.”
We passed an oriental antique shop, an art gallery and various sports clubs for cricket, archery and tennis.
I whistled softly at the high-end ambience. “Looks like a country club atmosphere within commuting distance of London.”
As we pulled into the circular drive of the imposing manse, Rebecca shook her head, “There’s an old saying—behind every great fortune, is a great crime—wonder what Luis has been up to?”
“I’ve got a feeling we’re about to find out,” I replied.
Liliana Majorca was a very gracious woman, but she had a furtive look in her eyes. I had seen the look before in the wives’ of career criminals or the spouses of syndicate bosses.
We were served tea and biscuits and Liliana was charming, but extremely agitated.
“Luis has never physically abused me—I’m sure you noticed the domestic calls, but he never laid a hand on me. I’m afraid the abuse I’ve suffered is more the emotional kind.”
Rebecca nodded knowingly. I maintained silence.
“I found out Luis had several affairs—all around the time he was first arrested for possession of drugs. I thought it was all behind us, when his license was reinstated—but within a few years, he was in trouble again and finally, permanently disbarred from practicing medicine.”
I sympathized with her, “I’m sorry to hear that Mrs. Majorca—it must be difficult—especially bringing up a young daughter.”
“Chari is five and unaware of her father’s troubles. It’s mostly impacted me, I’m afraid—his infidelities have never ended—but that isn’t why I called you.”
“Why did you call us?” Rebecca asked quietly.
“I’m horrified to tell you—what I’ve learned is beyond comprehension.”
“You can confide in us, Mrs. Majorca,” I reassured her.
“My husband began a new business—a legitimate business wherein he obtained a license to deal in tissues, organs, bones and body parts—all used to aid people. He won back my admiration. I thought what he was doing was heroic.”
I was perplexed. “I don’t understand what the problem is, Mrs. Majorca.”
She began dabbing at her red eyes with a balled up Kleenex.
“Luis dealt with funeral homes and would take the human tissue, bones and organs and ship them to hospitals here and in North America to be used for transplants, skin grafts, dental implants and even the restoration of sight.”
“It sounds admirable,” Rebecca offered.
“It wasn’t,” Liliana hissed. He was illegally taking materials from corpses—some infected with all kinds of diseases such as Cancer, Hepatitis and even Aids.”
Rebecca’s gaze met mine—her eyes were wide with horror.
“He made me sign certain forms—I had no idea what they were or what I was witnessing to—but he assured me it was ‘just business’. I had no idea until today, when he finally confessed the truth to me.”
“Where is your husband now, Mrs. Majorca?” I asked.
“I have no idea. He asked me if he should flee. I told him stay and fight—if he did something wrong, he should defend himself.”
Rebecca interrupted, “But he didn’t take your advice, did he? He’s fled.”
She nodded. “How this came about was a fluke—a body in a suspected poisoning case was exhumed and the coroner discovered the bones of both legs had been removed and replaced with PCV pipe.”
Rebecca gasped, “but why?”
Liliana shrugged helplessly. “He told me the price per gram of bones is almost double the price of gold.”
“My God,” I said, “the man has no conscience.”
“He’s a modern day ghoul,” his wife wailed, “ a sophisticated grave robber. He told me he’s sawn corpses in half—using a power saw and hammers.”
Rebecca excused herself and hurried out of the room. I sat in stunned silence.
Liliana continued her story.
“He flew us to Disneyland for a vacation and when we returned, we were met at the airport and served with papers. The investigators are now at his London clinic searching through his files and papers—it won’t be long before they find out he’s been doing all this illegally.”
“But he couldn’t have carried out the work there,” I prodded, “he must have some other clinic—someplace where he took the corpses to dismember them.”
She shook her head. “The only clinic he ever mentioned was near Nottingham Place.”
“Nottingham Place—isn’t that near The Princess Grace Hospital?” I asked.
“Yes, I think so. He called me from there once or twice.”
Rebecca came back in looking pale and shaky.
I patted her arm sympathetically and whispered, “Call headquarters and get them to give us a list of private health clinics in a five mile radius around The Princess Grace Hospital.”
Two hours later, we found Luis Majorca’s clinic, near a family funeral home.
We obtained a warrant and searched the premises, but Luis had fled. What we discovered was truly horrifying.
There were stainless steel tubs and sinks and strainers for allowing blood to drain. There was putrefied flesh and tissue everywhere—but what appalled us most, was the array of blood stained power tools stacked haphazardly on an old metal shelf.
A detailed investigation revealed over a three -year period, a thousand bodies had been illicitly obtained and subjected to various indignities.
The worst part was notifying the relatives of the deceased—they were subjected to a second shock of grief and mourning. Some weren’t even certain the ashes they were given after cremation of their relatives, belonged to their loved ones.
A year has passed and we’re still seeking Luis Majorca. When he’s found, he will undoubtedly be given a life sentence of twenty-five years with no possibility of parole.
Some days I think about him and wonder what caused him to go astray. I’m still profoundly disturbed by his indifference to human suffering.
Luis Majorca is one of our most wanted men, but capturing and punishing him will not be sufficient to atone for his despicable acts.
Thomas Hobbes said it best: he that is taken and put into prison or chains is not conquered, though overcome…
He is still an enemy