The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [135]
After Rebecca’s screams had been permanently silenced, Turk would then have made arrangements to dispose of the body—Monique had said that there had been accidents before. Surely, any number of society’s dregs would be more than happy to earn a few coins by burying a body in the woods or an open field, or tossing a weighted body into the harbor. But dregs are what they are. Instead of doing what he was told, whatever hooligan Turk hired must have simply pocketed the money and dumped Rebecca Lachtmann in the streets. She had been found by a passerby, who sought out the police, and thus the body had eventually made its way to the Dead House. No wonder Turk was astonished when the ice chest was opened. He must have felt haunted. And then he needed to find out what had accounted for the similar reaction by the Professor—that was where I had come in. Little did Turk suspect that I would be seeking the same information from him.
Halsted had certainly poisoned Turk. Whether he had done so to cover up the first crime or simply out of hatred was moot. Halsted had committed two murders. Even then, I might have been able to forgive him—after all, he had been blackmailed into perpetrating a heinous deed and then dealt just desserts to the blackmailer—if not for Farnshaw. Farnshaw had been arrested for Halsted’s crimes. It was appalling and indefensible that the man refused to come forward, knowing that an innocent languished in a prison cell in his place.
Then there was the Professor. Was one doctor covering up for another, as Borst had surmised, or had the Professor been duped as well? I would soon know.
Borst’s hypothesis, despite my contempt for him, was a good deal closer to the truth than mine had been. He could not have guessed at Halsted’s identity, but other than that, he had deduced the facts of the case almost precisely. He knew that there were gaps in his formulation and was using Farnshaw as a lever to fill them in. I intended to make that ploy unnecessary. Farnshaw would be out of prison before noon tomorrow.
When I arrived at the Professor’s house, the lights were on—he often worked long into the night. I pounded on the door and needed wait only a minute or two for the unflappable Mrs. Barlow. Without waiting for her to ask what was wrong, I burst through, demanding to see the Professor immediately. Before she could move to fetch him, Dr. Osler appeared in the doorway. Except for the lack of a coat, he was fully dressed.
“Hello, Ephraim,” he said, looking me up and down. He could not have failed to notice my distress, but behaved as if the circumstances were completely normal. “What brings you out at such an hour? It is fortunate that I was working on my textbook or you would have found me retired.”
“Dr. Osler,” I cried, before he could extend the conversation, “Farnshaw is innocent! We must get him out of jail immediately.”
The Professor nodded slowly, matching my urgency with dispassion. “Ephraim, I thought we were done with this. I feel for Farnshaw as well, but I’m certain that this affair will resolve itself best without our interference.”
“But you don’t understand, Dr. Osler! Farnshaw is innocent! I have proof.”
The Professor considered this. “All right, Ephraim, come into the study. Let me hear your proof.”
We walked through the door into the room in which Halsted had sat just days before. The Professor beckoned me to a chair and then sat