The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [80]
There could be no doubt as to the purpose of the room. Heavy drapes hung across the windows and, in the center, stood a long wooden table with a darkened oilcloth laid over it. A pile of clean sheets lay folded on a low table in the near corner. There was a sink on one side of the room, a burner on another table in the corner, and a cabinet mounted on one of the side walls. The doors of the cabinet were open, revealing a set of sounds—metal rods with rounded ends used to explore anatomical cavities—vaginal dilators, and curettes. Gynecology was not my specialty, but it was clear all the same: These were the tools of the abortionist.
A wave of disgust overwhelmed me. It was sin enough that Turk padded his wallet performing illegal operations, but to require women to come to this disgusting and filthy room in order to have it done was ghastly. Even Haggens, hardened as he was, seemed dumbstruck at the enormity of the crime.
It took me a few moments to recover my wits, but when I did, I immediately undertook to search the room. I had come to this appalling place, after all, not simply to confirm that Turk had been an abortionist, but to try to confirm a link to Rebecca Lachtmann.
I began by a cursory inspection. The instrument case had evidently been a recent addition. The wood was clean with an unmarred finish, and the implements inside had been kept clean and polished. The locking clasp was in good repair, so it was a matter of conjecture why the door was open. It was possible, of course, that someone had been in here before us to search, but I could not imagine who. More likely, I thought, Turk had been forced to leave hurriedly on his last visit here and neglected to lock the cabinet properly.
The table and the oilcloth over it were grim indeed. There was ample staining to indicate that much fluid had passed over it. I could only assume that Turk had laid a clean sheet over this one whenever he performed his revolting procedures. The burner was used for sterilization; nearby, I found a pan in which he had placed the instruments. Other than that, except for some tumbledown chairs, there was nothing, no evidence whatever to lead me to a next step.
Haggens, who had been spooked from the second we entered the room, sensed my frustration and tried to use it as a means of ending the inquiry.
“Ain’t nothing to find, Doc,” he said, a strange warble in his voice. “Let’s go before someone figures out somebody’s up here.”
“Not yet,” I disagreed. “I’m sure there’s something.” I scanned the room once more, convinced that it was simply too bare. Abortion wasn’t Turk’s only illicit trade. Hadn’t Monique said that he would get rid of what you didn’t want, but also that he would get you what you needed? Haggens had spoken of some new drug. I was certain there should be some evidence of such activity here, but saw nothing. Then I remembered Borst and how I had bungled the search of Turk’s rooms.
“Check the floor, Haggens. There will be a loose board somewhere.” If Turk had used the trick at Mrs. Fasanti’s, where no one knew of his presence, he would certainly secrete contraband here, where the threat of intruders was much more real.
Haggens placed the lantern on the table and we began to check the floorboards. The wood was old pine, with a good deal of rot. Some of the boards pulled up with almost no effort, but nothing was underneath except rodent excreta.
“Come on, Doc,” Haggens cried when the search proved fruitless.
“No!” I said sharply. “Try the walls.”
One wall was wood planking, the others plaster. We moved quickly, trying to find a false front. Finally, I came to the instrument cabinet and grasped the sides. It moved out from the bottom. The cabinet was not attached to the wall, but merely hung on it. I lifted it off, placed it on the floor, and saw what I was after.
A square was cut into the plaster.