“Lodge?” Henry repeated. “As in, an obstruction?” He’d stopped by St. Thomas’ to speak with Arthur the following morning before going to the Yard, anxious to understand exactly what had been done to some of the sanatorium patients.
Arthur set down his scalpel as he further considered the matter. “Yes, in the circulatory system. It might result in anything from a stroke to respiratory or cardiac arrest.” He shook his head. “Dear heavens. Isthatwhat they were doing?”
Though Henry had asked Arthur’s assistant to step out of the room so they could discuss the case in confidence, he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to make certain no one listened.
It had been a busy night. Mr. Collins sat in a holding cell, as did another nurse whom Fletcher had brought in, but no one else had been arrested as of yet. The case was still precarious. Henry wanted iron-clad evidence before arresting Dr. Thorne. Mr. Collins had insisted he wasn’t due to work until the followingday, but the nurse’s absence would surely be noticed. Henry hoped that wasn’t enough to alarm Dr. Thorne.
“According to one staff member, yes, that’s exactly what they were doing,” he revealed in a quiet tone. “A bit of laudanum to ensure they’re not completely coherent, a quick signature on the amendment of the will which the patient was told was the discharge form.” He released a quiet sigh, still disturbed by what Mr. Collins had shared in the formal interview. “The administration of chloroform followed, if necessary. Though not enough to cause concern in an autopsy of an ill patient, and finally, a shot with the hypodermic needle with nothing in it.”
“Air is not nothing,” Arthur countered, eyes flashing with anger, though it wasn’t directed at Henry. “Not when introduced into the vascular system. No wonder cardiac arrest was evident in Walter Dunn’s heart.”
“Is there any way toproveit was caused by air?” Dr. Thorne’s arrest required evidence, but air was hardly that.
“Not that I can think of.” The surgeon stared at the body before him and pointed toward the heart. “It’s not always clear why an internal organ stops functioning.”
Henry glanced away, swiftly deciding he didn’t need to look, only to listen. Especially this early in the day.
“Isn’t it enough to have a needle mark in the body, the will changed, and a staff member’s confession?” Arthur asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” Henry wanted more. He didn’t want to risk the chance of Dr. Thorne escaping justice. “The doctor has many wealthy, powerful friends, some of whom are formerpatients. They have declared the sanatorium and her treatments a great success. A few of them nobility.”
With them on her side, Henry could too easily see her escaping justice unless indisputable evidence showed otherwise. But you couldn’t grasp air, you couldn’t nail it down and put it in the evidence room.
“Hmmm. I’ll do some checking to see if there’s any way it can be traced.” Arthur’s doubtful expression was less than reassuring.
After thanking the man for his insight, Henry proceeded to the Yard to find Fletcher waiting for him and told him what Arthur had said.
“Much like we thought, but still unbelievable,” the sergeant muttered. “Here’s something else concerning—that university in Italy? They say the doctor didn’t receive any diploma from them.”
“She’s not truly a doctor?” Henry realized that made a terrible kind of sense.
“Not as far as they’re concerned.”
“Well then,” Henry said, sorting through his thoughts. “We now have a confession. A so-called doctor without a medical degree. At least two cases of patients changing their wills before dying at the sanatorium—possibly three.”
“And Mr. Barnes involved in all of them,” his sergeant was quick to add.
“Right, but I’d rather have an honest confession from him.” He shared a concerned look with his sergeant. “Doubtful to gain that from a solicitor.”
Fletcher scowled. “They too often twist words to suit themselves.”
“Along with the law,” Henry murmured. What seemed black and white to him often got finagled into something entirely different once solicitors and barristers became involved. “Let’s hope we catch him off guard. I’m not sure the papers the victims signed will be helpful, but we’ll need those as soon as we have a search warrant.”
“And once we finish with him, are we arresting Dr. Thorne?” A hint of doubt laced the sergeant’s tone.
Henry frowned, not appreciating the uncertainty. Where was his friend’s occasional optimism when he needed it? “Yes,” he said, his mind made up. “Hopefully Reynolds will agree. We’ll arrest her at the sanatorium with a half dozen officers in tow. That way, we can shut the place down at the same time.”
“What about the patients? If some are as frail as Mr. Dunn must have been when he died, we will have to take care.”
“Good point.” Blast it. He wasn’t thinking far enough ahead. And Miss Elmcroft, Amelia’s friend, could be there. Weak. Near death. “We’ll review our approach with the Director, but I’ll send a message to Dr. Stanhope, Mr. Dunn’s former physician, to see if he can accompany us to care for the patients. Perhaps he can bring a colleague as well. We certainly can’t trust the staff at the sanatorium.”
“Definitely not, given the confessions of the two we have in custody.” Fletcher gave a mock shudder. “Hopefully most of the patients will be able to walk out on their own.”
Dear God, it was terrible to think otherwise.
They headed for the solicitor’s office, and Henry drew a slow breath before opening the door.
The same clerk sat at the reception desk, his eyes narrowing at the sight of them. “May I help you?”
