“Hospitals don’t lock their doors. Why would this place?” As if he took the locked door as a personal affront, Fletcher pounded on the door with enough force to rattle its hinges. Still, several minutes passed before someone came to answer it.
“Yes?” A young man of twenty-some years who Henry hadn’t seen before looked between them with a raised brow.
“We’d like a word with Dr. Thorne,” Henry stated plainly. He held up his warrant card, which the young man took and read carefully.
“Inspector Field, is it?” the man asked as he handed back the card, placing a hand in the pocket of his white jacket.
“Yes, with questions for Dr. Thorne,” Henry repeated firmly.
“But you don’t have an appointment.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he studied them, clearly pondering what to do about that problem.
“Well conveniently for us, we don’t need one,” Fletcher shot back roughly. “Please let the doctor know we’re here.”
The man looked back at Henry, who nodded to confirm what Fletcher had just said.
His sergeant placed a hand on the door. “And we’ll wait inside while you tell her.”
The man took a quick step back, and that was all the invitation Fletcher needed to lead the way in.
Henry couldn’t help but smile. The sergeant’s tactics were effective more often than not.
The man glared at them before gesturing to the same room Henry and Amelia had waited in before. “You may wait in there while I speak with the doctor.”
“Definitely not welcoming.” Fletcher muttered as he paced back and forth in the small room.
“Not in the least.” Henry lingered in the doorway, looking about, but didn’t see any patients or staff. Just like last time, the place was eerily quiet. Odd, given the number of patients supposedly in the building.
Nearly five minutes passed before the man returned, his mood unimproved. “This way, please.” He marched down a short corridor and tapped on a closed door. A soft murmur sounded, he opened the door wider, then stepped aside.
The simple room contained little other than a desk and chairs, just as Amelia had said. That only made Henry wonder what the doctor was hiding.
He shifted his attention to the woman seated at the desk. She looked to be in her mid-forties with dark hair drawn into a bun at the nape of her neck, a single streak of gray hair lending her an eccentric look. Her figure was trim, her green gown elegant and of fine quality.
She stood almost reluctantly, an amused smirk on her face, which immediately set Henry’s teeth on edge. “Gentlemen. How kind of you to call.”
Henry held out his warrant card, which she read but didn’t take. “Inspector Field and Sergeant Fletcher from Scotland Yard. We have a few questions for you.”
“How may I be of assistance?” Dr. Thorne gestured toward the chairs before her desk then took her own, her back as straight as a rod. “Are the two of you interested in the treatments we offer? It’s not uncommon for two friends to inquire together,” she remarked, clearly finding the idea entertaining.
Fletcher cleared his throat, making Henry worry about what he might say.
“We have received inquiries from concerned family members of a few of your former patients,” Henry quickly explained before Fletcher could speak.
“Oh? And who might they be?”
Henry wasn’t willing to offer any names at this point. “Suffice it to say, the unexpected deaths of their loved ones have caused them concern.”
Dr. Thorne leaned her forearms on her desk, hands clasped, her demeanor confident. “Surely you understand that many of those who come to us are ill, often with serious diseases. We cannot guarantee outcomes in any situation, certainly not inthose cases—no doctor can. Too often guests wait too long before seeking our expertise.” She fluttered a ringless hand in the air. “By then it’s too late.”
“They’re advised of the potential danger of the treatments beforehand?” Henry asked as he pulled out his notebook.
Her expression remained steady. “Our methods are not dangerous but understandably carry risks for those who are already seriously ill.”
“We’ll need a list of those who died while at the facility.” Henry stated the request in a firm tone with the hope she’d acquiesce.
Again came the amused smile, increasing Henry’s irritation another notch. “I’m sure you understand we must respect guest confidentiality—unless you have a warrant.”
“But they’re dead. What do they have to be confidential about?” Fletcher asked bluntly.
