“Yes, well.” Reynolds removed his spectacles to polish them on his handkerchief, his jaw tight. “Apparently his nephew was a patient at Hollowgate Heights and has nothing but good things to say—and Dr. Thorne is a friend of the magistrate himself. He’s quite displeased with our suggestion of any wrongdoing.”
“Of course he is.” Fletcher ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Now what do we do?”
Henry wasn’t about to give up on the case; not when his gut told him all was not as it seemed at the place, despite a few glowing reports from former patients. “We call on the doctor at the sanatorium and see what we can learn,” he advised, even if he didn’t expect her to cooperate.
“Won’t that warn her?” Fletcher asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Yes, but it won’t erase what happened to Mr. Dunn and possibly other patients who died under her care.” Henry glanced at Director Reynolds to see if he agreed.
Their superior considered for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s see what the doctor has to say, and we’ll talk again after that.”
“An informant just told us which employee at the jewelry shop is guilty,” Henry added. “We should be able to wrap that case up soon.”
The Director then glanced between them, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Anything else to report?”
Henry had debated whether to share the events of the afternoon when they’d learned so little. However, the Director had asked. “We spoke with a few men that our suspect worked with,” he said, keeping his tone low and the information vague. “Found out he has a friend at a pub near the docks, who led us to the a ship that just arrived from America.”
The Director’s eyes narrowed. “And?”
“And we nearly had a stack of barrels crush Inspector Field,” Fletcher said, much to Henry’s dismay.
“But they didn’t,” he quickly added with a glare at his friend.
“Sounds as if someone didn’t appreciate you asking questions,” Reynolds mused. “What’s next?”
“We found machinery crates destined for a construction company, which may or may not contain something helpful. We will visit the company tomorrow.”
“After speaking with Dr. Thorne at the sanatorium,” the Director suggested.
“Yes. After.” As always, Henry felt pulled in too many directions. He wanted to pursue all their leads now, at once—to dig until he found answers. Yet once again exhaustion pulled at him, an unwelcome reminder that he’d recently been injured, in addition to his near constant headache and sore side.
“Good work, gentlemen.” Reynolds nodded as he looked between them. “Fletcher, I believe your uncle could use your help for what’s left of the day. Field?”
Henry lifted a brow, hoping the Director didn’t intend to assign him another case when he wasn’t managing those he had very well.
“Go home and get some rest. Tomorrow will be along day.”
All he could do was blink in surprise. As the suggestion sank in, he couldn’t deny how good it sounded. “If you’re certain—”
“I am. A bit of rest will do you good.”
“Thank you, sir.”
A few minutes later, with Fletcher herding him out the door, Henry departed. He walked slowly, sorting through his thoughts, snippets of the day flashing through his mind. Ideas on how to proceed tomorrow arose. When he looked up, he found himself on Bloomsbury Street.
His feet had known exactly where to take him.
Amelia might not even be home, he reminded himself. The hour was not yet five o’clock. But that didn’t keep him from knocking and hoping for the best.
“Inspector Field.” Fernsby greeted him with a warm smile and opened the door wide. “What a pleasure to see you again, sir, and looking so hearty.”
“Fernsby. I trust the day finds you well.” Henry stepped inside, taking a moment to appreciate the calmness which immediately wrapped around him.
“Indeed it does,” he said, as he reached for Henry’s things, a sign Amelia must be home.
Henry’s heart lightened as anticipation filled him.
“Mrs. Greystone and I spent a pleasurable afternoon at St. Hope’s Charitable School.”
