Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Arthur Taylor looked up from his desk at St. Thomas’ and stood with a smile. “Morning, Henry.” He reached out to shake hands, then clapped his shoulder. “It’s good to see you up and about.”
“Happy to be up and about,” Henry was quick to agree.
Arthur studied him closely, as if to determine how he truly felt—or perhaps he was simply pleased to see with his own eyes that Henry was indeed alive and well.
“Really good to see you.” His friend patted his shoulder heartily, this time making Henry wince.
“Oh, my apologies. I confess that I was horrified to learn you were hurt by the bomb at the Yard. Heard you struck your head, among other injuries.”
“Yes. Cracked some ribs. Hurt my shoulder. Needless to say, it was an unpleasant experience I’d prefer not to repeat.” Henry touched the side of his head where the bump still remained, a temporary reminder of the blast, not that he needed one. At least his hat didn’t bother it much.
“I can’t imagine.” Arthur shook his head, brow furrowed. “To set not one but three—and then another yesterday! And three in February. It’s unbelievable.”
“Yes, and unfortunately Amelia was caught in the last one—luckily without harm.” Henry drew a deep breath, only to be reminded why that was a poor idea.
Horror widened Arthur’s eyes. “Oh no. I’m sure she was shaken.”
“Most definitely.” Henry grimaced, the memory of his panic returning. “We both were.”
“Any idea who’s behind them?”
“I’m sure you can guess or have read about it in the newspaper.
” Henry hesitated to say more when it was an ongoing investigation—and not one he was supposed to be working on.
“We did bring in a suspect from the scene yesterday, but he’s the first person to be arrested in the latest bombings.
I would hazard a guess that more are involved. ”
“Where’s this Special Irish Department or whatever they’re called?” Arthur’s outrage made Henry feel less guilty for his own. “Shouldn’t they be hot on the trail?”
“Perhaps they are.” Though, as Henry had told Amelia, he had his doubts. “Time will tell.”
“Yes, well, with more time, we’re more likely to see yet another explosion.”
Henry couldn’t help but agree. He’d thought the Fenians would wait until suspicions and fear died down before setting another bomb; that had been their pattern in the past.
But they seemed intent on increasing their activity.
“Unfortunately they’ve become quite adept at bombmaking,” Henry admitted. “Setting delayed timers and the like.” That required a special knowledge only a few had. A scientist, an inventor with ill intent.
But how did one find a person or persons with those skills?
He didn’t have an answer, but it started by looking into the background of the man they’d arrested the previous day. He only wished he’d be allowed to pursue the case.
“Terrifying to think about.” Arthur lifted a brow. “How’s the headache? I’m assuming you have one.”
“A little better each day. I hope that within a couple more days, I’ll be fully recovered.”
His friend examined him closely. “That’s promising, but don’t be surprised if it takes another week or two. You might also feel more fatigued than usual and have difficulty concentrating.”
Henry couldn’t deny it, though the confirmation from a medical man was less than welcome. A week or two like this was impossible to consider. “The physician mentioned those symptoms, and I’ve certainly experienced them.”
“Must’ve been a serious blow to your head.” Arthur’s expression tightened. “I would suggest limiting your physical activity as much as possible.”
Henry smiled. “My ribs insist that I refrain from chasing suspects.” Not without help, anyway.
“Understandable—so listen to them. This is one of those times when it’s better not to push yourself. It might slow your overall recovery.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Even if he was already tired of hearing it.
“How much laudanum are you taking?” Arthur asked with a scowl.
“None since the first night, in the hospital. I don’t care for the way it makes me feel.”
The surgeon nodded. “As long as you’re sleeping well and the pain is manageable, I would avoid it.”
“Anything else I should know?” Henry preferred to hear any additional warnings from Arthur rather than the gruff physician who’d tended him. Bad news was always better from a friend.
“Have you experienced confusion?”
He considered the question for a moment, knowing he could be honest with his friend. “Temporary memory loss but not confusion.”
“A relief to hear.” Arthur’s expression showed his approval. “Let me know if that changes.”
“Thank you, I will.” Henry glanced at the files on the surgeon’s desk. “Any chance you were able to look at Mr. Dunn? I know you haven’t had much time to do so.”
“I made him a priority and just finished.” Arthur sat at his desk, and pulled forward the top file on the small stack.
“I can’t say I blame the coroner for not catching anything out of the ordinary.
Signs of cancer were evident, but not as prevalent as I would’ve expected to have it noted as the cause of death. The body was quite…emaciated.”
“Emaciated from the fasting? The poor man.” Henry sank into the empty chair to listen to what else Arthur had found. “As if having cancer wasn’t enough.”
“It’s evident he died from cardiac arrest, but even that isn’t as interesting as the hypodermic needle puncture in his arm. I might have missed it if you hadn’t told me to look for it.”
That caught Henry’s attention. Just as Mr. Olson had mentioned. “What do you make of that?”
Arthur shrugged. “Not particularly unusual in medical care. That is, until one considers the treatments the sanatorium offers. They don’t mention anything that involves injections.”
“So what are they doing with the needles?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t notice any sign of injections on the other sanatorium patient I examined, but of course I don’t think I looked for it.” He paused for a long moment. “There are many things which could be injected that would kill someone.”
“No obvious poison or the like in his system?”
“Not arsenic or any other common ones, no.”
But there were so many, weren’t there? “The real question is, what would you say the cause of death was?”
“Unfortunately, inconclusive. It seems unlikely cancer was the reason, as it wasn’t that advanced. But I can’t say for certain.”
Frustrated, Henry considered his options.
He’d hoped for evidence of wrongdoing so he could pursue the case.
But now what? His instincts still insisted wrongdoings were occurring at Hollowgate Heights.
The time had come to take a closer look at the sanatorium and this Dr. Thorne.
Hopefully, Director Reynolds would agree.
Henry left Arthur and walked the short distance to the Yard, realizing he had more questions than answers at this point. Perhaps a conversation with the Director would prove helpful.
“Morning, sir,” Henry said after knocking on Reynolds’ open door.
“Field.” His superior took stock of Henry as if to confirm his recovery was progressing.
Henry liked to think it was, though his headache had yet to depart. To hear from Arthur that it could last another week or two was disheartening.
“I just came from the surgeon at St. Thomas’ who completed the second postmortem on the potential victim, Walter Dunn.”
“And?” Curiosity lit his eyes.
Henry’s jaw tightened. “Inconclusive, unfortunately. Signs of cancer, the cause of death noted in the original report, were evident but there was a puncture in his arm from what was most likely a hypodermic needle.”
“What was he injected with? Arsenic?”
If only it were that simple. “Not arsenic. But Mr. Taylor doesn’t know.”
“Unfortunate.” Reynolds tapped a finger on his desk as he considered the matter, then looked back at Henry. “What are your thoughts on the case?” He leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as if waiting to be convinced.
Henry considered his words carefully. “There are too many small details that don’t add up with the sanatorium and the care they offer.
Sudden deaths, unexpected changing of wills, needles when no treatment plan includes them, a doctor who didn’t train where she says.
I remain convinced that something is amiss.
The former patient I spoke with did mention another patient who died suddenly, so I’d like to see if we can speak with their family.
It might be worthwhile to compile a list of any others who died while at the sanatorium and look into their finances.
” It sounded like a long shot, even to Henry’s ears; but money seemed the most likely motivation, so following it could prove helpful.
The Director considered the information for a long moment. So long Henry braced himself for disappointment. “If you feel that strongly about it, then let’s proceed.”
Henry stilled in surprise. ‘Feel’ wasn’t a word his superior used often, or ever. After worrying for so many years that he hadn't inherited the famed ‘gut instinct’ of his father and grandfather, he had fought against any feelings in cases. And now here was his superior encouraging it.
“Your instincts have been solid in the past, Field. Make sure they prove the same on this case.” The Director picked up a report from his desk, signaling the brief meeting was over.
A welcome wave of confidence surged through Henry, and he nodded but didn’t take his leave. He had one last question. “Sir?”
Reynolds glanced up, his expression less than encouraging. “Yes?”
“The suspect we arrested yesterday for the bombing—”
“The case has been turned over to the Special Irish Branch.”
Irritation surged through Henry. He had doubts as to what actions, if any, the department was taking. “Surely it wouldn’t hurt for us to look into the suspect’s recent activities and acquaintances.”