The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [138]
The Professor heaved a sigh. “We would have gotten word to them somehow. I learned at the Benedicts’ dinner, as did you, that her parents believed she was in Italy and, from their manner, it seemed certain that they had not yet learned the truth. Before they were contacted, I wanted to find out where she had been buried, but there seemed to be no record. Once you found out why, and Lachtmann had his daughter’s body, there seemed to be nothing further to do—until Farnshaw’s arrest.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” I asked. “Hadn’t I earned your trust?”
“These were not my secrets to reveal. You heard Halsted’s history. He is like a terrified child in many ways. It was all I could do to persuade him to sit with you the other evening. But I can tell you this: Halsted will not let Farnshaw be punished for either crime. He has even written out a confession to be used if all else fails.”
“Where is the confession?”
“He has it, but has sworn to make it public if the need arises. So surely, Ephraim, surely you can see that a few days in jail is not such a steep price if it will save Halsted? He must continue to work.”
“It is a small price for us, Dr. Osler. We are not in prison. You did not see Farnshaw.”
“No, that is true.”
“How are you intending to bring about Farnshaw’s release?”
“Pressure will be brought to bear,” the Professor insisted. “Farnshaw’s parents have pledged any monies necessary. And my friends are not without influence.”
“What about Lachtmann?” I asked. “Won’t he use his money and influence to elicit the opposite end?”
“He will try, but he will fail.”
There was little more to be said. I rose and thanked the Professor for his time. Then, replacing my hat, I turned and said, “Good-bye, Dr. Osler.”
Again he pleaded with me to consider my actions carefully, but I was already at the door. Within seconds, I was back in the carriage and on my way to Borst’s precinct house. He would not be in, of course, but for a matter of this urgency, he could be fetched from home. He wouldn’t even mind. Halsted was a far bigger fish than Farnshaw.
“I wish to have Sergeant Borst fetched from home,” I said firmly to the grizzled officer at the desk. “I have urgent news.”
The old policeman eyed me. “No need. Borst’s here. In the back. First door on the left up that corridor.”
Sergeant Borst appeared decidedly morose as I entered the room, which I assumed was his standard posture while working in the middle of the night. He was, understandably surprised to see me. But there was something else. “How’d you find out so fast?” he asked. “I just heard myself.”
“Find out what?”
“George Farnshaw is dead. Knifed in his cell. No more than an hour ago.”
“That isn’t possible!” I yelled. “Are you sure?”
Borst leapt back, to keep me at a distance. “Of course I’m sure.”
All the energy went out of me and I sank into a chair. “Oh, God,” I moaned.
Borst came around and pulled up a chair next to me. “I never expected it to end like this,” he said.
“But you knew he wasn’t guilty.”
“Didn’t know. Thought it possible. You and your mates left me no choice, though.”
“How did it happen? Farnshaw, I mean.”
“Someone busted into his cell. Wasn’t no accident.”
“Lachtmann. Lachtmann paid to have him killed, just on the chance his parents could get him out.”
“Likely, yeah. Never prove it, though. No one at Moko saw anything. Don’t even know if it was a prisoner or a jailer.”
“Poor Farnshaw.” I felt tears come into my eyes, but forced them back. I would never show such emotion to this detestable man.
“So who shoulda been in that cell, Doc? I know you know.” Borst’s face held no smirk now, just anticipation, a plea for me to help him make this all come out right in the end, to ensure that at least the real murderer would be apprehended in exchange for Farnshaw’s life. Justice to counterbalance injustice. I was to forget all that he had done: forget the torture that he had inflicted on an innocent; forget that he had allowed his loathing of my profession to rob him of human