“I’ll be fine, sir.” It might take more time than he intended, but he would recover fully.
“I hope so. We need you.”
Henry nodded, appreciating the sentiment and well aware they all had more cases than they could hope to solve. He cleared his throat. “May I ask if there are any developments on the bomb investigation?”
“You may ask. Unfortunately, I don’t have any news.” Reynolds stared out the open door behind Henry, his thoughts clearly elsewhere—but on what? “I hope they’re closing in on those involved. Impossible to think that not one but three bombs could be planted in broad daylight without someone noticing. Then again, they set three back in February, too.”
His words were less than reassuring. Even on the way to the Yard, Henry had caught himself glancing around the streets in search of anything unusual—any place that could hide another bomb.
“I hope the details soon come to light.” After all, Henry wanted action and consequences for those who chose to harm the public probably more than anyone.
“Right.” Reynolds’ single nod suggested the subject was closed. “What’s your priority for the day?”
Surviving it, Henry was tempted to say, but he didn’t think Reynolds would appreciate his attempt at humor. “The sanatorium and the jewelry theft, though I have yet to see if any new cases await my attention.”
“They don’t. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be out, so haven’t assigned you any.”
“Thank you for that.” Perhaps he’d actually have time to review the files to refresh the holes in his memory.
“Keep me up to date on your plans.” Reynolds held his gaze. “And don’t press yourself too much. I need you here for the long term. If I see you struggle, I will send you home.”
Henry nodded, frustrated that he wasn’t better at masking his pain.
After a few more greetings he settled at his desk, reviewing the jewelry theft case first. Something about this one niggled in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite bring it forward. Reading the notes didn’t help. Perhaps he hadn’t taken the time to update the file with whatever tugged at him. Perhaps it had been one of those gut instincts he was still learning to trust, and rarely wrote down. A glance at his notebook didn’t reveal any answer either. Hopefully, he would eventually remember.
He set aside the jewelry file and opened the sanatorium one. Little had happened in his absence, which was to be expected. As Fletcher had told him, Mr. Dunn’s nephew had left a message, requesting an update.
Before he and Fletcher spoke with the nephew, Henry needed to determine their next steps. The information Amelia had discovered was interesting—concerning, even—but couldn’t be considered evidence. Unfortunately he didn’t think he could attempt a trip to the sanatorium today, given the way he felt.
Tomorrow would be better. It would have to be.
So, he needed more evidence. A second postmortem on the late Mr. Dunn was a possibility, but the Director was unlikely to approve that without further evidence of wrongdoing. Chicken and the egg.
The testimony of another patient or their family would be helpful, but thus far, none had come forward. He only knew of his parents’ neighbor, Mr. Olson, and Miss Elmcroft.
Despite Mr. Olson’s glowing report to Henry’s mother, it might be worth speaking personally with him. Perhaps he’d noticed another patient having difficulty or unusualcircumstances? Gathering more information on Dr. Thorne was vital, but from whom?
Henry glanced at the Director’s open door. Did he dare ask for the second postmortem on Mr. Dunn? He shook his head gingerly; he already knew what Reynolds’ response would be. The nephew’s concerns could easily stem from financial worries, having learned he’d been cut from the will—a common enough response. That was no reason to exhume a body for another look when they didn’t know what they were looking for.
“Need help today?” Fletcher asked from beside Henry’s desk.
“Yes.” Henry stood, certain that action of any sort would feel better than staring at his case files while his thoughts circled.
“Excellent.” Fletcher nodded, tucking his helmet under his arm. “Where to?”
The familiar question had Henry smiling. He might not truly require Fletcher’s help for what he had planned, but his solid presence was just what he needed while he still felt less than his normal self.
“Mr. Olson, a neighbor of my parents, recently completed a stay at Hollowgate Heights.” Henry led the way outside. “And left alive despite it.”
“Oh? I’ll be interested to hear how he feels about being their ‘guest’.” Fletcher matched his stride to Henry’s, kindly not remarking on Henry’s slower pace.
“From what my mother heard his treatment was a success, but I’m hopeful he might have observed something that will either allow us to pursue the investigation or close the file andadvise the younger Mr. Dunn that there’s little we can do without further evidence.”
Henry gestured toward a hansom cab waiting a short distance away, and Fletcher hailed the driver. Better that he conserve his energy as best he could.
“Head still hurts?” Fletcher asked quietly after they’d settled in the cab.
“Yes.” Much to his dismay. He looked forward to the day when it didn’t.
