“Kind of you to respond so promptly to my complaint,” Mr. Dunn said as he gestured for one of them to take the only spare chair in the room.
Fletcher nodded for Henry to do so, while the sergeant widened his stance, holding his helmet as if he had all the time in the world.
“Please accept our condolences for the loss of your uncle,” Henry began politely, though Mr. Dunn didn’t appear terribly distraught. Then again, he was but a nephew, not a closer relative.
“Thank you.” Mr. Dunn dipped his head in acknowledgement. “My uncle had been ill for some time, but it was still a shock when we were notified of his death.”
“Ill from what, exactly?” Henry asked.
“Cancer. He’d battled the disease for over two years. Though a few times he seemed to be in recovery, he begin to slowly worsenseveral months ago. That was when the sanatorium caught his interest.”
Henry nodded, waiting to hear what else the man might add. Unfortunately, since the elder Mr. Dunn had cancer and appeared to have been in failing health, it would be difficult to determine whether the sanatorium was at fault.
“My uncle was skeptical when he first heard about Hollowgate Heights, but after some research and speaking with the doctor there, he decided to give it a chance. In fact, he was quite hopeful when he entered.”
Well, the sanatorium did sell hope. “He thought well of Dr. Thorne?”
“Yes. I met with her as well. She seemed quite knowledgeable, not to mention sympathetic, as she suffered from illness throughout her youth.”
“Oh?” That was news to Henry.
“She supposedly used hydropathy and fasting to heal herself after reading books on their benefits, then refined the technique through the years.” Mr. Dunn smoothed his moustache. “That was what impressed me, that she’d undergone the treatments—and with success.”
“Interesting,” Henry admitted. If it was true, it surely made her more empathetic to those in her care, and unlikely to subject them to anything too unpleasant. At least, one would hope.
“I can’t say I cared for the isolation required of the guests, but I understood why. Worry about anything other than one’s health can be distracting.”
“How long was he there?” Fletcher asked quietly.
“Six weeks.”
“Did you have any contact with him during that time?” Henry still thought visits from loved ones could be of benefit. How could that not lift the spirits?
His host shook his head. “Not directly. I went to the sanatorium and met with the doctor who provided an update, but I wasn’t allowed to see him.”
“What sort of details were you told?” Henry had to hope Mr. Dunn could tell them exactly what the doctor had said.
“Looking back now, I realize she offered nothing more than some empty phrases.” What looked like regret shadowed the nephew’s face. “She said things like, ‘his treatment is progressing’ and ‘he’s showing signs of improvement’.” He shrugged. “Enough to keep one hopeful, but nothing specific.”
“Though I suppose it would be difficult for her to say the cancer was cured in that short period.” Six weeks surely wasn’t long when it came to those suffering from such a serious disease.
“You may be right.” The man’s lips tightened. “But I truly became alarmed when his body was returned to us.”
“Oh?” Henry watched carefully as Mr. Dunn shook his head, closing his eyes briefly.
“I…I saw him at the undertaker’s, and he was—forgive me, it was most distressing. He was incredibly thin. So frail. I’m aware one of his treatments was fasting to supposedly reduce the toxins in the body, but still...” His eyes met Henry’s, the horror in them obvious. “It was terribly shocking.”
“I can imagine.” Exactly how much fasting did this doctor think was necessary?
Mr. Dunn shifted uneasily in his chair. “Then there are the…ahem. Financial issues.”
Henry’s interest piqued further. “What do you mean?”
The man’s cheeks turned ruddy, as if embarrassed to raise the topic. “I asked for an accounting of the fees my uncle paid, and the amount was significant. But even worse, I was told my uncle chose to amend his will a week before his death to leave his entire estate to the sanatorium.”
“That must’ve come as a surprise.” Henry resisted the urge to look at Fletcher to see what he thought. Hadn’t they just been talking about money?
“An unpleasant one, to say the least, and nearly impossible to believe.” Mr. Dunn glanced between Henry and Fletcher. “Please understand me, my uncle worked hard all his life to earn that money. His wife died young and they never had children—I was, I suppose, like a son to them. With few expenses and wise investments, he’d built his savings into a significant sum.”
