Mr. Collins pressed his lips tight, as if to prevent any details from escaping.
“If you were to cooperate, the charges against you might be lessened,” Henry held the man’s gaze. “I can’t make any promises, but if you are willing to testify against Dr. Thorne, it could well be to your benefit.”
The man shook his head again but still didn’t speak, yet his body trembled.
Henry lifted a brow.Just a little further.“Was she paying you so much you’re willing to take the blame for all of it? For the murders, the fraudulent activities, and the rest?” He waited a moment for the question to sink in, then added quietly, “It’s all over now. You need to decide how deep your loyalty is to her.”
Mr. Collins dropped his head into his hands, shoulders slumped in defeat.
“What was in the needles?” Henry asked, his voice low. That was the part he couldn’t make out. Something untraceable, given that Arthur hadn’t found any unusual substance during the postmortem.
“Nothing,” came a muffled reply. Mr. Collins lifted his head, a mixture of grief and remorse sharpening his features. “That was what made it easier to bear. It was air. Only air.”
Henry frowned, hardly able to believe that. “Air,” he repeated, trying to sort through his limited medical knowledge. How could air injure?
The younger man closed his eyes briefly before opening them. “They were going to die sooner or later anyway, given the severity of their diseases, there was no hope of curing them—Mr. Dunn’s cancer had continued to spread, despite our efforts.”
“But you stole the last few weeks of his life.” Henry wasn’t about to allow the younger man to convince himself or anyone else that he hadn’t truly done anything wrong. “You knew what Dr. Thorne told you to do was wrong, yet you did it anyway.”
Distress tightened Mr. Collins’s face and his eyes filled with tears. His shoulders shook with silent sobs before he drew a shuddering breath. “It was only supposed to be the one timeto…to put them out of their misery. A mercy, she called it. But when no one realized—” He bit off the words, his emotions evidently getting the better of him. “It was done again. Dr. Thorne said the money would go to research. To improve the treatments, so we could help more people.”
“But that wasn’t the case, was it?” Henry had seen the expensive objects which decorated Dr. Thorne’s home.
Mr. Collins swiped a hand over his eyes and drew another shuddering breath. “I wouldn’t have known, except I brought some files to her house one day. Workers were redoing the front entrance with Italian marble, and gold framed paintings, and Chippendale tables.” He looked at Henry. “Can you imagine the cost?”
He waited, allowing the younger man to gather his thoughts.
“I was so angry.” Yes, Henry could hear it in his voice. “The additions to her library were even more extravagant—and one of the nurses, whose cousin works as a seamstress, said Dr. Thorne had purchased an entire new wardrobe at great expense. And here I thought we were making a difference! After all, many guests saw success with the treatments.”
“Many?” Henry would like to know if that was true.
“Oh yes. They were grateful once they completed their stay.”
Grateful to escape, perhaps. “But not during their stay,” Henry suggested.
Mr. Collins shook his head. “Definitely not. Some manage to keep a stiff upper lip…but not all.”
“How many died?” That was the question. Henry wanted to return to the issue. To numbers. To facts.
The man looked away. For a moment, Henry thought he would refuse to answer. “I’m not certain. Over a dozen this year, but some passed from natural causes.” He met Henry’s gaze at last. “And I wasn’t involved in all the...other ones.”
“Other staff members knew, too?”
“One. Maybe two.” Mr. Collins cleared his throat and told Henry their names, one of whom Fletcher was hopefully speaking with at that very moment.
Henry nodded as he slowly exhaled. “I appreciate your cooperation, and I will make sure the judge is aware of it.” That was the most he could promise given the terrible circumstances. Then he stood. He had a duty to perform. “For now, I must tell you that you are under arrest for the murder of Walter Dunn, Thomas Ambrose, and possibly others. We’ll have more questions and take your statement at Scotland Yard.”
The younger man released a shaky breath and slowly pushed to his feet. “I…I’ll do whatever I can to help. I’m done with Dr. Thorne and her false promises.”
Henry had to wonder what the doctor had promised that was enough to make the man willing to commit murder.
Something he intended to find out.
He couldn’t help but release a sigh of disappointment as he glanced at his pocket watch. Dinner with Amelia was out of the question. He’d have to send a note with an apology and hope she’d understand. Unfortunately, this wouldn’t be the last time their plans would change because of his work. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind if he came by after he’d seen to Mr. Collins so he might share the latest news.
Thirty-Two
“Anairembolism?Thatwould create a blockage in a vein or artery and could lodge in the brain or the heart, depending on the circumstances.” Arthur stared at Henry with a horrified expression that had nothing to do with the open cadaver they stood over.
