The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [83]
Late morning, Sergeant Borst finally made his appearance. “Well, Dr. Carroll,” he said, once we adjourned to the Professor’s office, “you were quite a help.”
I thanked him, although the remark contained obvious sarcasm.
“Yes, indeed. As a result of your lucky discovery, we now know that Dr. Turk was engaged in some very unpleasant activities.”
I asked what he had found.
“Well,” began the sergeant, “Wharf Lane is about the worst part of town there is … but you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”
I assured him I would not, except by reputation.
“Your Dr. Turk had gotten himself a room on the second floor of one of the buildings. Not knowing which one, though, we had to go up and down the street and alleys to find the right building.” He looked at me. “I suppose you had the same problem.”
Did he know? I had to evade the question without specifically denying my visit. “Yes,” I said, looking Borst in the eye, “but luckily Turk had given me a ball of string to make sure I didn’t get lost.”
“Very clever,” sniffed Borst.
“So,” said the Professor with irritation, “are you going to tell us what you found or simply continue wasting our time when we have work to do?”
Borst bounced on his toes, his lips pressed together. The sergeant was used to intimidating with his swagger and, like most bullies, did not take it well when one of his intended victims pushed back at him.
“All right, Doctor,” he said, and then proceeded to recount in detail the primitive conditions under which Turk performed his abortions. As the policeman described the dirty, stained oilcloth, a look of revulsion passed across the Professor’s face.
“Disgusting,” he said. “I am ashamed to ever have been associated with such a man.”
“As well you should be, Doctor,” said Borst. He had said nothing about the cutout in the wall, however, and I wondered if he had found it. I was certainly in no position to ask, however.
“So,” I inquired instead, “does this discovery help in your investigation?”
“A good question,” Borst replied. “The answer is yes and no. Yes, because anything we can do to fill in the details of Turk’s life helps, but no, because it doesn’t move us along in figuring out who killed him, or even why.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was hoping to help solve the riddle.”
Borst eyed me for a moment. “Were you, now? Well, maybe you were.” He continued to stand in the center of the room, rocking back and forth on his toes, but neither the Professor nor I continued the conversation.
“All right, then,” Borst said finally. “I’ll be back if I have any more questions.” He spun on the balls of his feet and made for the door. He opened it, began to step into the hall, and then turned back. “Oh, yes. I almost forgot. We found a hidden compartment, just like in his rooms.”
“More money in the floor?” I asked.
“No. Not in the floor. This time it was in the wall. Behind where he hung his tools.”
“Instruments,” corrected the Professor reflexively.
“Instruments,” repeated Borst.
“How much?” I asked.
“Nothing. It was empty.”
“Empty?”
“Yeah. Empty. Surprised me, too. Unless whoever killed Turk cleaned it out after he was dead.” Borst waited for a reaction but, when neither of us provided one, added, “But I’ll give you two this. I don’t think it was either one of you. Can’t imagine gentlemen like yourselves wandering down around on Wharf Lane.” A playful sneer passed across his face. “Had to make sure though, didn’t I?”
After Borst left, I could not suppress a small smile of my own. This would be the last time that I would romanticize Haggens.
The Professor misinterpreted my expression. “He is an amusing sort of ruffian, isn’t he? All that bluster, bluff, and assumption. Would never do in our business, eh, Carroll?”
“No. But I do think we should tread softly in his presence, Dr. Osler. He wants very much to prove our involvement, whether true or not.”
“Yes, quite correct. The mediocre always try to bring down the mighty. Perhaps now that he has come to an impasse,