The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [94]
I cleared my throat, but he continued to refuse to acknowledge my presence. “Excuse me … Charlie … could we speak for a moment?” I uttered finally.
Charlie deposited another shovelful of ice into one of the chests, which held the corpse of an enormously corpulent man of about thirty, and then paused, as if deciding whether to grace me with an answer. After a moment, he straightened up, leaned the shovel against the wall, and turned. He was covered in perspiration. It glistened off his extremely flat and fleshy nose, giving him the appearance of a giant exotic marsupial.
“I would like to ask you a question or two,” I began affably.
Charlie stared back at me.
“About what is done with the cadavers after dissection …”
Still, not a word in return.
“I would be happy to pay for the information.”
Charlie nodded slowly, as if I had uttered a magical phrase, and then wiped his hands on his apron. “How much?” he asked.
“Fifty cents?” I offered. The price of a steak dinner should seem a bounty to a man of Charlie’s rank.
“Fi’ dollars,” he countered instantly, holding up the requisite number of fingers in case I had missed the message. I had forgotten that taking bribes was Charlie’s métier. For a man who toiled at such a menial task, given his income from the Professor, Reverend Squires, and goodness knew who else, he was likely substantially wealthier than I.
I dug through my pockets. I had some money with me but not nearly enough to satisfy Charlie’s rapacious tastes.
“I can offer you one dollar,” I said, holding out my hand.
Charlie sniffed, but allowed me to drop the coins into his palm. “Vot you vanna know?” he asked.
“I was just wondering what happens to the cadavers after we finish our work here.”
“Dey get buried. Sometime cremated.”
“Why, yes,” I agreed quickly. “I know that they are buried … or cremated … but who handles the arrangements?”
“Vhy you vanna know dat?”
Why indeed? “It occurred to me that the poor are not always properly interred and it has weighed on my conscience.”
Charlie stared at me as though he were confronting an inmate from the lunatic ward. “Dey get buried fine,” he said.
“By whom?” I pressed.
“De city sometime.”
“And other times?”
Charlie began to shift from one foot to another and I realized that I had actually unearthed a clue. I felt quite triumphant. “Well,” I pressed. “I did not pay you for nothing.”
The pecuniary argument was persuasive.
“Sometime de League bury dem,” he said.
“Reverend Squires’ League?” I asked. “The same people who try to keep us from conducting autopsies?”
“Yeah,” Charlie replied. “How many leagues dere are?”
“Does Formad decide who buries whom?”
“Formad?” sneered Charlie. “Vat he know?”
I had a revelation. “He pays you, does he not? Reverend Squires? To allow him to take the cadavers for burial?” Charlie did not reply, which was reply enough. This explained why the cadavers had been removed so quickly after we autopsied them. Charlie, in effect, had sold the bodies to Reverend Squires. “I think, Charlie, that under the circumstances, it would not be a good idea for either of us to mention this conversation. Do you agree?”
Charlie most certainly did.
I still needed one last bit of confirmation.
“Does anyone on the medical staff ever urge you to bury the bodies quickly?”
“Vot you mean? Like Formad?”
“Other than Formad.”
“Ve always get rid of ze bodies quick.”
I considered pressing the matter further, trying