The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [119]
“Someone should go with him,” Simpson said, looking searchingly at me.
“I’ll go,” I replied.
I expected the Professor to agree immediately but, instead, he seemed to hesitate at the prospect. “I’m not sure,” he mused. “It might make Borst even more vindictive.”
“More than he is already?” I asked.
“One of us must be there, Dr. Osler,” Simpson pressed. “I would go myself …”
“No,” the Professor agreed finally, “Carroll is right. And they’d never let a woman near a jail. Yes, Carroll, by all means go. Let us know if there is anything at all you need. I’ll get word to Farnshaw’s family in Boston.”
Keuhn was down the hall when I left the office, but I ignored him as I raced through the halls and down the stairs, trying to overtake Borst before he left with Farnshaw. I caught up with them just inside the front door.
“I’d like to go with you,” I said.
Borst seemed pleased. “Of course, Doctor. Nothing is too good for our medical community. We have a private carriage. You can join your friend in the seat of honor. It’s only too bad that I can’t take you the whole way.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” I replied. “Since you obviously don’t care who you arrest, I’m sure you are heartbroken.”
Borst wheeled and stood face-to-face with me before I knew it. “Look, Doc. You and your boss have lots of fun making me out to be stupid. You put that little ‘doctor’ in front of your names and you think that gives you the right to kill people without nobody being able to do nothing about it. But I’ll tell you how stupid I am. I know that you, or him, or both of you, know a lot more about all of this than you’re telling. Fine. But now I’ve got enough to lock your little chum up in Eastern State Penitentiary for the rest of his life—if he ain’t hanged. You or your boss decide to give me someone who fits better, and your pal will be out before you can spit. If not, he goes for it. That’s how stupid I am. Now, if you want to ride, get in the back of the wagon. It’ll give you an idea what it’s gonna be like for him.”
The “wagon” was a two-horse, closed box with one tiny barred window on either wall, not tall enough to allow one to stand. There was a bench along each side built to accommodate three or four people. Farnshaw was alone, seated on the right side and I got in and shuffled, hunched over, to a seat across from him. He looked up for a moment, surprised and grateful, and then dropped his gaze to the floor. As soon as I had entered the compartment, the door slammed shut and I could hear the sound of a key turning a padlock. That click was the most terrifying sound that I had ever heard. I wanted to stand up and scream to whoever could hear me to “Let me out!” but Farnshaw was frightened enough. Moreover, I would be getting out in short order, while Farnshaw would be forced to go from here to an incarceration far more horrible.
The wagon began to move, but all we could determine was that we were bouncing along the cobblestone streets. We knew when we made a turn because the sunlight coming through the bars shifted its angle. Farnshaw continued to sit mutely, staring at the floor, and I expected him at any moment to vomit, but he didn’t. Finally, he looked up.
“I’m completely innocent, Carroll. I swear. I had no involvement in any of this.”
“I know,” I replied. “Don’t lose hope. We’ll prove you innocent.” I tried to sound casually confident, but now, with Halsted no longer in my calculations, I had no idea how I was going to achieve that end. Lachtmann had caught me by surprise by enlisting the police when I had been convinced that he would handle the entire affair privately. Of course, without the police, he never would have landed Farnshaw, as dubious a catch as it was.
“I need to know, Farnshaw. Did Turk say anything