“I’d be honored to.” He held up the slip of paper with the new information. “Thank you for this.”
“I hope it helps. See you this evening.”
He nodded, watching as the cab pulled away before going inside to get Fletcher. Within a few minutes, they were hailing a cab of their own, Henry gripped by a fresh sense of urgency.
“Dare I hope this is the break we need for this case?” his sergeant asked as he watched out the window.
“Yes, I think you should.” The certainty Henry felt confirmed it. “We have numerous bits and bobs. Now we just need something to tie it all together.”
“A bit like a Christmas present, eh?” Fletcher grinned.
“Indeed.” He considered their next move. “I want another word with that Mr. Collins, the manager at the sanatorium. Do we have his home address?”
“We do, we have that for all of the staff. Thinking to press him a bit harder?”
“Yes, with all those bits and bobs we’ve gathered. We piece together the story for him and see his reaction. Perhaps he’ll choose to tell us what’s truly going on at Hollowgate Heights.”
“And justwhois doing it,” Fletcher added.
“Precisely.” Henry gave a decisive nod. “But first, we’ll see what this Mrs. Digby has to say.” He consulted the paper with Amelia’s neat, feminine script. “We should be nearly there.”
The houses on Campden Street spoke of a certain level of affluence. Not Mayfair affluence, perhaps, but still well-to-do. They knocked on the smartly painted door and were soon shown into a small but well-appointed reception room where an attractive middle-aged woman greeted them with a curious look.
“And what brings you officers by?” Mrs. Digby asked.
“We understand your late father was a resident of the sanatorium known as Hollowgate Heights for a time,” Henry began, careful to avoid mentioning how he’d discovered that fact. “Please accept our condolences,” he quickly added.
A flash of anger swept over her expression before grief softened it. “He was, yes. Unfortunately. Poor Papa.”
He would have to tread carefully. “Some questions have arisen from other family members whose loved ones shared a similar fate as your father. Questions about the facility’s care.”
“As they should.” The lady’s chest heaved with emotion. “Dr. Thorne should not be allowed to continue practicing using her barbaric methods. They’re outrageous.”
“Was your father suffering from illness? Is that what prompted him to enter?” Henry could see a pattern emerging and was anxious to see if it proved true.
“Tuberculosis. At times, we were convinced he was improving, but then he’d suffer another relapse. It was terrible to watch him lose hope at those times.” Mrs. Digby gestured courteously toward the chairs in the small room, and they took a seat.
A grim satisfaction filled Henry. Patients who were already seriously ill appeared to be the ones who amended their wills just before they passed away. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Exactly how soon prior to their demise did they make that supposed request? Who was dating these wills—patients, or staff? Was Mr. Dunn’s solicitor, Mr. Barnes, always the one who oversaw the process? Perhaps he received a portion of the proceeds in exchange for his ‘services’…
First things first. “What was your father’s name, Mrs. Digby?”
“Thomas Ambrose. He lived only a few streets from here.”
“And how long was he at Hollowgate Heights?” Henry asked, notebook in hand.
“Seven weeks.” The woman sniffed, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief. “Nearly two months I didn’t get to spend with him because of their ridiculous rules.”
“The one about no visitors?” Henry suggested. The complaint was becoming a familiar one.
“Yes. My husband viewed his body at the undertakers and was horrified by how thin and frail he looked. Clearly his condition had worsened while at the sanatorium. Given his obvious suffering, why would he have chosen to leave such a large sum of money to the place and that terrible doctor?”
Why, indeed?
Henry made a note. “Did you express your concerns to Dr. Thorne?”
“I did.” She glanced away, her remorse obvious. “I confess…well, that my emotions got the better of me. Between my anger and my tears and my shock, I didn’t express myself as well as I would’ve liked.”
He could well imagine. “What was her reaction?”
