The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [93]
Haggens cocked his head and lightly rubbed the first two fingers of his right hand across his lower lip, trying to choose how to respond. I decided to help him.
“You make a good living down here, Haggens. Why jeopardize it? It would not please me to make good my threat, but I cannot remain silent while poison is being sold, no matter who profits by it.”
Haggens continued to size up the situation. “I could make it that you don’t ever leave this room alive,” he said. “Thought about that?”
“Yes.”
We remained there in silence for some moments, my life suspended in the air between us. Finally, Haggens narrowed his eyes and gave a nod. “Okay, you win.” He broke into a grin. “Can’t kill my own doc after all, can I?” He raised a finger and wagged it in my direction. “But don’t forget. You owe me one.”
“I do indeed,” I agreed. I smiled back at him. “I don’t suppose you’d give it back to me?”
Haggens shook his head slowly. “That far I can’t go, Doc, not even for you. Here’s my deal: As long as a bunch of poor unfortunates don’t show up sick or dead, you stay outta my business and I stay outta yours.”
Now it was me who had to deduce what Haggens had in mind. The upshot was that the issue was moot. If Haggens found a means to deal with the drug in a manner that did not make users sick, I would not know that it was being sold. If I had no evidence that he was continuing the forbidden commerce, I could not act to stop him.
“All right, Haggens,” I said, thrusting out my hand. “It’s a bargain.”
Haggens shook my hand and heaved a sigh. “I’m going to miss it if you stop coming down here, Doc. It’s quite a nice change dealing with such a high-class chap.”
I would miss him too, although I would never admit to it. “Well, Haggens, you never know. Maybe I’ll come by from time to time just for a drink.”
“You’ll always be welcome, Doc.”
“Thank you. One more thing before I go. If you won’t give me back the, uh, stuff, would you mind giving me one of the tins that it came in?”
“Empty?” Haggens looked at me as if I had lost my wits.
“Have you changed your mind about giving it to me full?”
“No chance.”
“Then empty will do.”
Haggens considered for a moment. When he could not think of what underhanded ploy I might be attempting, he agreed.
He asked me to leave the office. When, a few moments later, he called me back in, one of the empty tins was sitting on his desk. He gestured with his head that I should take it.
“Thank you,” I said, making to leave. I tapped my chest. “You will try to relax more.”
Haggens chortled. “Sure. Anything you say. I always wanted to die of old age.”
CHAPTER 20
IT WAS TIME TO KEEP my word to Abigail and determine once and for all the fate of Rebecca Lachtmann.
As the city was responsible for providing funeral services for the indigent, I assumed that the Department of Health would have a record of a young woman recently buried in Potter’s Field. I sent word to the hospital that I was ill, then journeyed downtown to check the records of recent interments. To my surprise, not only was there no record of anyone matching Rebecca Lachtmann’s description receiving a public burial during the previous month, but the number of public burials—only twenty-five—seemed to be far fewer than I would have thought. I thanked the clerk, left, and returned to West Philadelphia. I had hardly begun and had run into my first complication, and would therefore be forced to add an additional and potentially dangerous step. My next stop was the Dead House.
I entered through the Blockley entrance, hoping that this would not be one of the rare days that the Professor was performing an impromptu autopsy. I had never spoken to Cadaverous Charlie except to pass an occasional comment on his duties. I tried the handle on the heavy door, found it unlocked, and entered. The dissecting room was empty, but