Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
“An air embolism? That would create a blockage in a vein or artery and could lodge in the brain or the heart, depending on the circumstances.” Arthur stared at Henry with a horrified expression that had nothing to do with the open cadaver they stood over.
“Lodge?” Henry repeated. “As in, an obstruction?” He’d stopped by St. Thomas’ to speak with Arthur the following morning before going to the Yard, anxious to understand exactly what had been done to some of the sanatorium patients.
Arthur set down his scalpel as he further considered the matter. “Yes, in the circulatory system. It might result in anything from a stroke to respiratory or cardiac arrest.” He shook his head. “Dear heavens. Is that what they were doing?”
Though Henry had asked Arthur’s assistant to step out of the room so they could discuss the case in confidence, he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to make certain no one listened.
It had been a busy night. Mr. Collins sat in a holding cell, as did another nurse whom Fletcher had brought in, but no one else had been arrested as of yet.
The case was still precarious. Henry wanted iron-clad evidence before arresting Dr. Thorne.
Mr. Collins had insisted he wasn’t due to work until the following day, but the nurse’s absence would surely be noticed.
Henry hoped that wasn’t enough to alarm Dr. Thorne.
“According to one staff member, yes, that’s exactly what they were doing,” he revealed in a quiet tone.
“A bit of laudanum to ensure they’re not completely coherent, a quick signature on the amendment of the will which the patient was told was the discharge form.
” He released a quiet sigh, still disturbed by what Mr. Collins had shared in the formal interview.
“The administration of chloroform followed, if necessary. Though not enough to cause concern in an autopsy of an ill patient, and finally, a shot with the hypodermic needle with nothing in it.”
“Air is not nothing,” Arthur countered, eyes flashing with anger, though it wasn’t directed at Henry. “Not when introduced into the vascular system. No wonder cardiac arrest was evident in Walter Dunn’s heart.”
“Is there any way to prove it was caused by air?” Dr. Thorne’s arrest required evidence, but air was hardly that.
“Not that I can think of.” The surgeon stared at the body before him and pointed toward the heart. “It’s not always clear why an internal organ stops functioning.”
Henry glanced away, swiftly deciding he didn’t need to look, only to listen. Especially this early in the day.
“Isn’t it enough to have a needle mark in the body, the will changed, and a staff member’s confession?” Arthur asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” Henry wanted more. He didn’t want to risk the chance of Dr. Thorne escaping justice. “The doctor has many wealthy, powerful friends, some of whom are former patients. They have declared the sanatorium and her treatments a great success. A few of them nobility.”
With them on her side, Henry could too easily see her escaping justice unless indisputable evidence showed otherwise. But you couldn’t grasp air, you couldn’t nail it down and put it in the evidence room.
“Hmmm. I’ll do some checking to see if there’s any way it can be traced.” Arthur’s doubtful expression was less than reassuring.
After thanking the man for his insight, Henry proceeded to the Yard to find Fletcher waiting for him and told him what Arthur had said.
“Much like we thought, but still unbelievable,” the sergeant muttered. “Here’s something else concerning—that university in Italy? They say the doctor didn’t receive any diploma from them.”
“She’s not truly a doctor?” Henry realized that made a terrible kind of sense.
“Not as far as they’re concerned.”
“Well then,” Henry said, sorting through his thoughts. “We now have a confession. A so-called doctor without a medical degree. At least two cases of patients changing their wills before dying at the sanatorium—possibly three.”
“And Mr. Barnes involved in all of them,” his sergeant was quick to add.
“Right, but I’d rather have an honest confession from him.” He shared a concerned look with his sergeant. “Doubtful to gain that from a solicitor.”
Fletcher scowled. “They too often twist words to suit themselves.”
“Along with the law,” Henry murmured. What seemed black and white to him often got finagled into something entirely different once solicitors and barristers became involved.
“Let’s hope we catch him off guard. I’m not sure the papers the victims signed will be helpful, but we’ll need those as soon as we have a search warrant. ”
“And once we finish with him, are we arresting Dr. Thorne?” A hint of doubt laced the sergeant’s tone.
Henry frowned, not appreciating the uncertainty.
Where was his friend’s occasional optimism when he needed it?
“Yes,” he said, his mind made up. “Hopefully Reynolds will agree. We’ll arrest her at the sanatorium with a half dozen officers in tow.
That way, we can shut the place down at the same time. ”
“What about the patients? If some are as frail as Mr. Dunn must have been when he died, we will have to take care.”
“Good point.” Blast it. He wasn’t thinking far enough ahead.
And Miss Elmcroft, Amelia’s friend, could be there.
Weak. Near death. “We’ll review our approach with the Director, but I’ll send a message to Dr. Stanhope, Mr. Dunn’s former physician, to see if he can accompany us to care for the patients.
Perhaps he can bring a colleague as well.
We certainly can’t trust the staff at the sanatorium. ”
“Definitely not, given the confessions of the two we have in custody.” Fletcher gave a mock shudder. “Hopefully most of the patients will be able to walk out on their own.”
Dear God, it was terrible to think otherwise.
They headed for the solicitor’s office, and Henry drew a slow breath before opening the door.
The same clerk sat at the reception desk, his eyes narrowing at the sight of them. “May I help you?”
“We are here to see Mr. Barnes.”
He glanced down at the book before him. “You don’t have an appoint—”
“Police business,” Fletcher announced as he started toward the solicitor’s door. “We don’t need one.”
The clerk jerked to his feet, watching helplessly while they entered. “You can’t go in there!”
Did he say that so loudly to let his superior know he’d tried to stop them, Henry wondered.
Mr. Barnes looked up from his desk, pen in hand, with a frown. “What is the meaning of this?”
“We are bringing you in for questioning,” Henry stated plainly.
“For what?” His cheeks flushed, but Henry didn’t think it was from mere outrage. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And this was where it all came together.
“We have a witness willing to testify that you assisted with the fraudulent amendment of two wills for patients murdered at Hollowgate Heights.” Henry lifted a brow.
“If you’d prefer we can arrest you now and take you away in handcuffs.
Or you can come with us willingly to answer our questions. ”
The sound of the front door slamming shut had them glancing over their shoulders. The clerk was nowhere in sight.
Henry looked back at the solicitor, who smiled grimly. That was enough for unease to creep along his spine. “Where did your clerk go?”
“I have no idea.”
“Liar,” Fletcher growled as he looked between Henry and the door as if tempted to give chase.
“There’s no point in hauling me to Scotland Yard. I will be free within the hour.” Mr. Barnes sat back in his chair as if at ease.
His sudden confidence didn’t sit well with Henry, especially now that the clerk had fled. “Then you won’t mind going with us willingly,” he countered.
The clerk’s departure didn’t change the plan: the solicitor would be questioned and hopefully charged. He hadn’t expected Mr. Barnes to cooperate or offer any sort of confession, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty.
“What if your clerk returns?” Fletcher asked, as Mr. Barnes locked the door.
“He has a key.”
Henry shared a look with his friend who nodded in response, clearly able to read his mind.
“I’ll see to placing a padlock on the door.” The sergeant smiled brightly at the solicitor. “Wouldn’t want your clerk to return and destroy any files or the like.”
Mr. Barnes pursed his lips, the news obviously unwelcome, which only made Henry more certain they were on the right path.
The remainder of the morning passed quickly. Dr. Stanhope sent a reply by return messenger, saying he would be happy to help and would bring another trusted physician with him. Henry and Fletcher questioned the solicitor, though the man had little to say.
Yes, he was acquainted with Dr. Thorne, as they already knew.
Yes, he’d been Mr. Dunn’s solicitor, as they already knew.
Yes, Mr. Dunn had amended his will just before his death, as they already knew.
Unhelpful, to say the least.
“And how long have you known Mrs. Dorothy Symes?” Henry asked. They had yet to hear from the niece who lived in Devon but based on what his parents’ neighbor, Mr. Olson, had told them, she might be a victim of the scheme as well.
Mr. Barnes stilled at the name. Did that mean he’d been involved with her will, too? “Again, I’d have to check my records. I cannot be expected to memorize every client. The name isn’t familiar to me.”
“What of Thomas Ambrose?”
The solicitor paled but said nothing.
“Exactly how many times did you amend a will at Dr. Thorne’s request?” Henry wanted him to understand the amount of evidence they were collecting.
“I couldn’t say without checking my records.” The solicitor boldly lifted his chin. “I don’t know what you are trying to imply, but I am not involved in any nefarious schemes.”
“Are you willing to swear to that under oath?” Fletcher asked directly.
The query gave Mr. Barnes pause for a long moment. “Either charge me or release me.”
Irritation took hold of Henry. He’d known the solicitor wouldn’t be easy to question, but he’d hoped he would realize the game was up.
He stood and nodded at Fletcher to do the same.
They’d leave their suspect to his thoughts while they discussed it with the Director.
Without a word, they stepped out of the interview room, Fletcher closing the door behind them.
“Stubborn idiot,” the sergeant grumbled. “How can he not see the writing on the wall?”
“He will when we bring in Dr. Thorne.”
Fletcher’s brows lifted with excitement. “I’m ready for it.”
“Let’s have a word with Reynolds first.” Henry started toward the Director’s office, only to come upon him on the way.
“Any luck?” their superior asked, interest shining in his eyes behind his spectacles as he waved them into his office.
“The solicitor won’t give up easily,” Henry admitted. “But he didn’t act pleased to learn that we know about both Dorothy Symes and Thomas Ambrose changing their wills in addition to Walter Dunn.”
Reynolds smiled with satisfaction. “That’s good to hear.
We have enough to charge him with a felony for fraudulently amending the wills.
” The Director gestured toward his desk.
“I just received approval from the magistrate for a search warrant of the sanatorium. Mr. Collins’s confession was enough to convince him—albeit reluctantly—to allow us to proceed. ”
Satisfaction poured through Henry as he shared a look with Fletcher. “Excellent. I’ll send word to Dr. Stanhope to meet us there, then gather some men for the trip to Enfield. We’ll have the sanatorium closed very soon and those poor patients in the hands of proper professionals.”
“Do tread with care,” Reynolds warned. “The doctor has friends in high places.”
Henry nodded, though he didn’t intend to take any missteps. After sending a message to Dr. Stanhope to meet them at Hollowgate Heights, he selected a half dozen officers to accompany him and Fletcher, but the train ride to Enfield had never felt so long.
The other passengers gave the officers a wide berth, providing a modicum of privacy as Henry described the layout of the sanatorium and the plan.
He didn’t expect anyone to attempt to flee out the back, but he assigned a constable to guard that entrance just in case.
“We need to treat the patients with care and dignity. Some may be weak or ill. Some of them have been refused their freedom, and for many of them, their food.”
“What should we tell them?” Constable Dannon asked in a quiet tone.
“That Dr. Thorne and some of her staff are under arrest, and the sanatorium is being closed,” Henry suggested. “Better not to mention on what charges for now. Telling them she murdered other patients might prove too upsetting for some. They’ll learn the truth soon enough.”
Fletcher nodded in agreement.
“We’re most interested in Dr. Thorne,” Henry continued, providing a brief description of the doctor. “I’ll go directly to her office but if anyone sees her, detain her immediately. All staff are to be brought to the Yard for questioning.”
As the train pulled in and the men squashed themselves into three hansom cabs, he hoped Dr. Stanhope and the other physician he was bringing to help would arrive in a timely manner.
Stepping out before the large respectable looking sanatorium, he advised the officers to tell the patients to pack their things and be prepared to depart as quickly as possible, though some might require assistance.
Soon Fletcher was pounding on the door to the sanatorium, the other officers waiting impatiently for entrance. “Police! Open up!”
The same porter who’d passed a message to Amelia’s friend had the misfortune of opening the door, allowing the flood of officers entrance.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mr. Duffield demanded as he stumbled back in surprise.
“The sanatorium is being closed. All staff members should wait in here.” Henry gestured toward the small reception room.
“But what about our guests?”
“Physicians will arrive shortly to see to any who need medical attention. The remainder are going home.”
Henry left Fletcher to oversee the officers, with Inspector Duncan’s assistance, and headed toward Dr. Thorne’s office. He looked forward to seeing her face when he told her Andrew Collins, a nurse, and the solicitor, Tobias Barnes, had already been arrested.
He opened the door swiftly, not bothering to knock—and the office was empty.
Disappointed, he glanced around, but there was no sign of her.
With a sinking feeling he quickly searched the other two offices, both of which were empty.
Then he found Fletcher, who was directing patients and staff members in an orderly fashion.
But it was clear from one look at his sergeant’s face: the doctor was nowhere to be found.