“She said she questioned him carefully to make certain he truly wanted to amend his will, but he insisted on it.” The lady leaned forward, the intensity in her blue eyes undeniable. “That he wanted to continue the sanatorium’s efforts to improve lives and change the outcomes of those with diseases.”
“Humph.” Fletcher shifted in his chair.
“Exactly!” the woman declared. “I don’t believe that for a moment—but it was his signature on the document. I couldn’t deny that.” She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “What else could I do? Besides, it isn’t about the money.” Her face crumpled as she once again pressed a handkerchief to her nose. “I-I lost my father. There’s no bringing him back.”
Henry sat forward, heart aching for her—but he wasn’t about to let this go. Not when others were in danger. “I’m sorryfor your loss. I’m sure you agree that this mustn’t happen to anyone else. If the staff at Hollowgate Heights is not only taking people’s money but murdering them, they must be stopped.”
“M-Murder?” Her eyes grew wide at the word.
It was a bold statement, given he didn’t yet have concrete proof. Suspicions wouldn’t get him anywhere. But the pieces were falling into place.
“You think they took his life?” Mrs. Digby frowned, shaking her head in disbelief. “I thought perhaps they didn’t properly care for him—that they allowed him to waste away.”
“An investigation is underway, but we have reason to suspect murder.” It had to be the hypodermic needles. But what were they injecting? And how did they convince their victims to sign away their estates?
That was what they needed to discover next.
Thirty-One
“Whodowetalkto first?” Fletcher asked as he looked over Henry’s arm at the staff list.
They’d returned to the Yard to retrieve the list. The day was passing quicker than Henry would’ve liked and would soon come to an end. Who first?
“The time has come to divide and conquer,” Henry decided. The case had already dragged on too long, from his standpoint. “We already spoke with several employees when we were at the sanatorium—at least, the ones we suspected could be involved.” He considered their options. “I want to catch them at home, outside the sanatorium walls and away from Dr. Thorne. And we don’t want them to have the chance to warn one another.”
“Right.” Fletcher studied the names and addresses. “So it needs to be done this evening. I’d say it’s between these four as to who could be involved, since they’re managing the rest. What do you think?”
“I agree.” Keeping in mind the previous interviews and picturing the map of London in his head, Henry pointed to two names, including Mr. Collins. “I’ll take these, and you take the other two.” He sent his sergeant a regretful look. “Possibly another late night for us, so my apologies to Mrs. Fletcher.”
“It will be worth it if we can convince at least one of them to talk.”
“Yes, it will.” They were close, they had to be. “Mention the hypodermic needles and see if you gain a reaction. At the slightest hint of unease, press harder. Mention the money, mention lawyers—bluff and tell them we know what’s happening if need be.”
Fletcher offered a grim smile, watching as Henry jotted down the two addresses he needed. “My pleasure. I’ll leave word here if anything of interest arises.”
“I’ll do the same.” With that, Henry departed. He didn’t have a good impression of either employee he was to speak with; though courteous, neither had struck him as the kind of person he’d want watching over him if he were ill.
Andrew Collins was his first target. He hoped the man was at home—the lodging house where he lived wasn’t so different than his own, though smaller in size, from what he could tell. If the man was receiving extra pay for nefarious activities at the sanatorium, he wasn’t spending it on his living accommodations.
The man’s landlady frowned as she looked at his warrant card. “What’s Mr. Collins done?”
“I have a few questions for him about his work,” Henry said smoothly. “How long has he been staying here?”
“Nearly a year.” The woman lifted her chin. “He’s tidy and keeps to himself. Don’t cause no problems,” she added, as if feeling the need to defend him.
That was somewhat helpful to hear. “If you would let him know I’m here,” Henry requested.
She scowled but left him in a small sitting room and trudged up the stairs. The muffled sound of voices suggested thin walls, and soon Mr. Collins descended with a worried look, wearing a worn jumper with patched elbows and brown trousers.
“Inspector Field?” He glanced around the room as if he expected more officers than just Henry, then managed an uneasy smile. An interesting reaction. “What’s this all about?”
“A few questions for you regarding Hollowgate Heights.” Henry gestured to the chairs by the fire and settled into one. Better if Mr. Collins had the impression this would take some time.
The younger man sank into the chair, a finger tapping against his trouser leg where he rested his hand. “But I’ve already told you… What more do you want to know?”
Henry retrieved his notebook and turned to the notes from their last interview. “Remind me of your duties at the sanatorium?”
“I oversee our guests’ welfare. After Dr. Thorne approves a treatment plan, I make certain it’s carried out.”
