The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [48]
“I’m very grateful to you, Ephraim,” Miss Benedict said.
“Thank you,” I replied, but did not turn to face her.
She once more placed her hand on top of mine. “Is there something the matter?” she asked.
“You did not need to pretend an attraction in order to enlist my aid. I would have been happy to help in any case.”
Miss Benedict did not withdraw her hand. “Is that what you think?”
“Would you think differently in my case?”
“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But you are mistaken all the same.”
“Are you saying that your need for someone in the medical profession to help you find your friend has no relevance?”
“I can understand your suspicions,” she said simply. “But they are without foundation.”
“And what about Eakins? Do you deny that you have feelings for him as well?”
“You are asking if I am involved with Thomas. The answer to that question is no. I was at one time, however. I will not deny it. I have been involved with a number of men. It is not uncommon in my circles, Ephraim. Does that make you care for me less?”
Now she had asked it. I felt my training, everything that I had learned about propriety, the contrivance of her behavior, pushing at me, but after only a moment’s uncertainty, I pushed back. “Nothing could make me care for you less,” I answered.
CHAPTER 8
INSTEAD OF PROCEEDING DIRECTLY TO the wards, I waited for Turk in the changing room the next morning. That he had evaded discussing the cadaver in the ice chest during our evening out together simply added to my resolve not to be put off again. Dr. Osler’s reaction must certainly have a rational explanation, but the same might not be true of Turk. I must discern whether a link existed between him and Rebecca Lachtmann. It had been three days since Turk had last been present at the hospital; his illness should have run its course. My determination to be firmer in my inquiries turned out to be moot, however, when again Turk did not appear.
I immediately informed the Professor, and he was concerned as well. He had also expected Turk to arrive, weakened perhaps, but on the road to recovery.
“Perhaps I should visit his lodgings,” I suggested, “and see if he needs our assistance.”
“I’m sure that it won’t be necessary to disturb him. He knows well enough to seek assistance if he needs it…. No, by God, you’re right, Carroll. We can’t take the chance.”
I was relieved that the Professor agreed. “Do you happen to know where Turk resides?” I asked.
The Professor looked at me blankly. “I thought you did.”
“No,” I said. “On the one occasion I met him socially, he came to call for me, but I’m sure I can obtain his address in the records office.”
The records office was located, appropriately it seemed, in the basement. After explaining the circumstances, I inquired of the chief clerk, a Mr. McCann, as to what information he possessed on Dr. Turk. McCann informed me the records were confidential, and I informed him that I was acting for Dr. Osler. He glowered, but then retired to a cavernous file room in the rear, emerging about five minutes later carrying a large folder.
“Turk, you say?” he asked, slapping the folder on the countertop and beginning to leaf through its contents. “George Turk?”
I assured him that was the proper name.
“No Turk here,” he insisted, as he riffled through the last of the sheets of paper.
“There must be,” I said. “George Turk has been on the staff of this hospital for at least six months.”
McCann leaned on one elbow. He was a robust man of about fifty, with a full beard and a large, bulbous nose. “This here”—he gestured at the file—“is a record of everyone who works at this hospital. And there’s no George Turk.”
How could Turk have worked here and not … Then I had an idea. “Mr. McCann,” I asked politely, “are pay records kept in a separate file?”
He shook his head. “Not kept in a file at all. We keep pay records in a ledger.” He emphasized the final word as if he were talking to a child.
“Might I trouble you to check the ledger then?”
McCann sniffed.