Given that his father had retired as a Chief Inspector, he’d seen more than his fair share of the political side of things. “That’s what always happened in the past, so it makes sense it’s happening now,” Henry mused.
“Beyond frustrating.” Fletcher shrugged his shoulders as if to release his tension. “Someone has to knowsomething. We just need them to come forward.”
Henry scoffed. “That’s true in nearly all of our cases, and it’s rare that anyone does.” Wishing for that was futile, something he knew from experience. “What of that jewelry theft case. Has anything come to light there?”
“Constable Dannon has been conducting the interviews you requested, but hasn’t come upon anything helpful yet.”
Interviews? Requested? For the life of him, Henry couldn’t remember what he’d directed the constable to do, leaving an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He nodded, unwilling to admit he couldn’t remember. Hopefully, with time, his memory would return.
Hopefully...
He refused to consider what might happen if it didn’t—or worse, if his ability to form new memories was impaired. If he worked on new cases and couldn’t remember what he had or hadn’t done…the thought was too terrifying to consider.
“What else?” Henry grasped onto the next case that came to mind. “Anything new on the sanatorium?”
“What sanatorium?” Henry’s father asked curiously.
Henry glanced at Fletcher, hoping he could provide a more coherent explanation. While it might be good for him eventually to test his ability to do just that, he wasn’t prepared to do so in the present company.
Apparently he had more of an ego than he realized.
“That new-fangled place in Enfield that’s caught everyone’s notice.” Fletcher frowned as he looked at Henry. “What’s the name of it again?”
“Hollowgate Heights,” Henry supplied, relieved the name came immediately to mind.
“Right. They claim to be able to help those with various health issues to heal using hydropathy and fasting,” Fletcher explained.
“Hydropathy? Water? An interesting use of science,” his father murmured.
“I’m not sure you can claim their methods are scientific,” Henry protested, his ribs shooting with pain.
“Especially when there seems to be a lot of dead bodies leaving the place,” Fletcher added in his usual blunt manner.
That alone was nearly enough to make Henry smile, despite the grim subject.
“Yet they still claim to help people?” His father’s tone was incredulous. “Charging them for it?”
“Supposedly they are.” Fletcher shrugged. “Some patients insist they’ve made a complete recovery there.”
Had Henry spoken to any? If so, he couldn’t remember them.
“But one relation came forward just a few days ago,” his sergeant continued. “He claims his uncle uncharacteristically changed his will during his stay there, then died soon after. That was enough for Reynolds to agree to open a formal investigation.”
“Always helpful to follow the money,” Henry’s father said with a nod.
Fletcher looked back at Henry. “One interesting development in the case. The medical school in Edinburgh has no record of a Dr. Thorne.”
Now that was interesting.
“There are many other universities that train physicians,” Henry’s father pointed out.
“Yes, but she supposedly has a degree from Edinburgh,” Fletcher said with a shrug. “Or not, apparently.”
Henry had forgotten that. Surely he’d kept good enough notes in his case files to fill in the holes once he was able to return to work. He smothered a sigh, thinking of how often he’d held off adding his thoughts to case files when those were only opinions, not facts.
Panic took hold, hot and stodgy and suffocating, and Henry had to force himself to slow his breathing, hiding the sensation as best he could. But he didn’t miss the questioning look his father sent him. Henry hoped he didn’t say anything in front of Fletcher.
“The…the sooner we can speak with her, the better,” Henry managed.
