| |
THE NEXT MORNING, WINSTON arrived at the station early. He had scheduled Doctor Cole’s examination of Chase’s body to begin in an hour, and he needed to figure out what to do with Riley’s information before then.
His fingers glanced Ellis’s stone as he pulled his watch from his pocket. Winston turned his attention to the notes in front of him, only to be interrupted by Doctor Evans calling out his name.
“Doctor, I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” Winston rose.
Evans pulled a chair to Winston’s desk and both men settled into their seats. “Since I examined the body yesterday, I’ve been wondering if rather than being an injection site, the puncture marks on Mr. Chase’s arms might be where someone tried to perform a transfer of blood.”
Winston wrinkled his nose. “Why would someone do that?”
“To prolong life. Or as an attempt to do so.”
“Can someone extract too much blood? Could that have killed Chase?”
“Sure. Humans need a certain amount to survive. Too great a loss of blood is fatal, a fact I’m sure you need no reminding of.”
Winston’s stomach turned as he recalled a grisly scene. “The person dies when the heart ceases to beat.”
“And the heart needs blood to beat.”
“Have you ever attempted this, transferring blood from one person to another?”
The doctor held Winston’s eyes. “No. I wouldn’t. I don’t know anyone who would. Most doctors consider it dangerous. But if someone had lost a quantity of blood, you could transfer blood from one healthy person to the ailing one, being cautious not to drain the healthy person.”
Winston leaned forward. He forced a swallow against the dryness in his throat. “Did that happen to Chase?”
Evans sat back, nodding. “I think it is possible. Apart from the injection site, Chase’s body showed no trauma.” He started speaking rapidly. “To transfer blood, each person has a needle stuck into them. A tube connects the needles, and the blood flows from one to another.”
Winston shivered as a theory started to form. “Doctor Evans, can you transfer blood from a man to a woman?” His breath caught. “Or a young girl?”
Evans considered the question. “I am not aware of any difference between the blood from a man and that from a woman.”
“And you could do this while the donor was unconscious?”
“The process would be the same, whether conscious or not. The trick would be keeping the patient unconscious. It requires a specific dose of medicine, which can be difficult to divine.”
Winston tried to imagine being connected to another person the way Evans described. “Why would Chase allow this?”
Evans tapped his head as he rose. “That puzzle is yours.”
Winston walked with Doctor Evans to the station’s entrance and bid him goodbye. Then he accepted the good doctor’s commission and sat with the puzzle while he waited for Cole. Riley’s warning about Cole’s imminent disappearance drilled into his thoughts. Thirty minutes after Cole failed to arrive at the station to conduct his examination on Chase’s body, Winston grabbed his jacket and hat and ran outside to hail a cab.
WINSTON’S FIRST KNOCK at Cole’s door went unanswered. A late morning breeze tugged at the back of his jacket. He knocked again, louder. Why hadn’t he thought to bring someone to cover the rear door?
After another minute, he knocked and shouted. Where was Cole’s household staff? Just as Winston turned to descend the steps to try the rear entrance, the door swung open. A slender girl of about twelve years stood in the doorway. Her simple dress hung from her frame. “Are you Liza?” he ventured. “Doctor Cole’s daughter?” Colour brightened her face, and she smiled.
“I am.” Liza’s voice was stronger than her frail appearance suggested.
“Do you know where your father is?”
“He has gone out. I don’t expect him for some time.”
Winston stepped forward. “Where? It is important that I speak to him immediately. I don’t want to alarm you, but I am with the police, and I was expecting to see him earlier today.” He reached for his warrant card, and she took it in her small hands. She rubbed the letters with her thumb and returned it.
“He has told me about helping the police.” Liza’s face beamed with pride.
“Yes, he has been helpful in the past.” A fact that made Winston’s conclusion all the more perplexing. “May I wait for him inside?”
The girl’s arm shot across the door frame with surprising speed.
“Papa said not to let anyone in. I shouldn’t have answered, but you made such a noise.” Winston retreated and she continued. “When he returns, shall I tell him you called to see him?”
“Do you know where he has gone? If I find him, I can ask my questions there.”
“I do not know, sir.” Liza’s tone was hesitant, as though she was not sure how to address Winston.
“How long ago did he leave?” He lowered his voice so as not to alarm the girl.
“Twenty minutes ago.” She softened her stance and lowered her arm, uncertainty clouding her face. “But if it is so urgent, perhaps you should wait here for him; I’m sure his instructions excluded the police.” Liza stepped out of the door frame. “He told me to be ready when he returned. We are going on a journey.”
Winston’s pulse quickened. He stepped into the house. “I appreciate your offer.”
“Oh, not at all. I am afraid I will not sit with you; there is much to prepare. I am very much looking forward to our adventure. Shall I see first about some tea? Papa sent the maid home, but I can try to prepare some.”
“Why don’t you continue getting ready for your trip. I can boil a kettle.” The girl’s face fell, clearly torn. “I don’t think Papa would like to learn I had let a guest make his own tea. But there is much I must do.”
Winston leaned forward. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Liza grinned. She led Winston to the kitchen. As they walked through the hall, he noticed the door to the doctor’s study was closed. At the kitchen door, she pointed to the kettle. “I will be upstairs. However, I will check on you in a few minutes.”
Winston held up his hand. “Before you go, Miss Cole, have you had guests recently?”
She studied him. “Guests? No. Papa rarely entertains.”
“Any gentlemen for a meal, or possibly even overnight?”
Liza began quietly. “I wouldn’t know. You see, I have been unwell, but I am feeling much better now. My recovery is the reason we are travelling. Papa was overjoyed.” Her face lit up as she related her story. “We dined together last night for the first time in a long time. I have been stuck resting in my room for so long.” She bounced with excitement. “Oh.” Liza stopped and tilted her head. “He did speak of a visitor last week. Or the week before? Someone kind, I believe.”
“Why do you say that? Did you meet him?”
“No, but Papa mentioned the man’s generosity. He gave my father something he had been waiting for.”
“Do you know what he received?”
She shook her head.
“His name?” Winston whispered.
Another shake, eyes widening. “But Papa will know. You can ask him when he returns.” She turned toward the doorway. “I must go now and prepare for my trip. It is ever so exciting.”
Liza Cole, almost floating with excitement, left Winston alone in the kitchen. The visitor she’d mentioned must have been Chase. What might he have given to the doctor—apart from his life? His blood must have contributed to the girl’s recovery. Winston groaned. He’d neglected to ask Liza what had been ailing her.
He heard muffled steps above him—three or four, a pause, another three or four—and pictured the girl in her bedroom arranging her belongings for the trip that Winston was shortly about to cancel. A tinge of regret coloured his thoughts, knowing how sad this would make her; he was reluctant to be the source of her disappointment.
Liza hadn’t spoken to the visitor; it could have been anyone. Nothing in Chase’s diary showed he planned to visit the doctor the day he disappeared, and both men had been seen at the Vancouver Gentlemen’s Club that same evening. The more Winston considered it, the weaker the case connecting Cole to Chase’s death felt. Except for the blood.
A scenario began to take shape, even though he had no way to prove the theory. Chase left his work early, likely for a meeting related to his clothing business. The same day, Cole saw Chase at Cole’s house and then again at the Vancouver Gentlemen’s Club, and persuaded him to return with him to the doctor’s home. Perhaps Cole had offered advice for Chase’s ailment. Chase trusted the doctor, and manners would dictate he agree to go along to his home, despite the irregularity of the hour. When Chase arrived at the doctor’s house, Cole rendered him unconscious. He transferred the man’s blood to his daughter to revive her, but something went wrong. He’d kept Chase alive for a time, but the man ultimately died. Cole then disguised himself and deposited the body in False Creek.
Winston pivoted on his heel. Had Cole followed a similar pattern with Huntington? Where had he kept the men? Winston cursed himself again for arriving alone. He could have sent someone—Miller—to check for a cellar or basement while Winston waited for Cole.
Winston pulled the kettle from the stove and abandoned the tea-making. He entered the hall, peering into each room he passed, seeing nothing particularly out of place. The closed door to the doctor’s office was locked, and Winston decided against forcing it, wanting to avoid alarming the girl upstairs. He moved to the front room and paced, counting his steps as he walked.
Doctor Cole returned as Winston crossed the floor for the fifth time. Despite the smile on his face, irritation pinched Cole’s features. “Detective Winston. How lovely to find our paths crossing again.”
Sweat prickled the back of Winston’s neck. He had no choice but to confront Cole now. “When you didn’t arrive at the station to examine Chase, I grew concerned. You see, I have a few additional questions, and their urgency requires immediate attention.”
Cole checked his pocket watch. “I don’t know how our appointment slipped my mind, Detective. I apologize. I will come with you now to the station.” Cole raised his eyes to the ceiling when Liza’s footsteps sounded upstairs. “My daughter has recovered, and we are planning a trip.” Pride and satisfaction flashed across Cole’s face as he spoke. “She longs to see the world beyond our fair city.”
“As you’re going to be away, I am glad we were able to find another available physician to assist, Doctor Cole.” Winston watched the doctor’s reaction. The man took a sharp breath, then pursed his lips. “Since I am here, I can ask you my questions now.”
“Another physician? That is...” Cole squared his shoulders. “Yes, that is good news.” He gestured to the chairs and sat in one nearest the entrance to the sitting room. He motioned for Winston to sit across from him.
Winston complied, pulling his notebook from his jacket. “Can you remind me when you last saw Chase?”
“As I confirmed, we met for his appointment the afternoon of his disappearance.”
Winston studied Cole’s features. His face was stony, devoid of emotion. “It’s been reported that you were both at the Gentlemen’s Club later that same evening. You didn’t see him there?” Winston pressed his toes into the floor. He edged forward in his chair so their knees almost touched. The less comfortable Cole felt, the more likely he would reveal the truth.
Cole leaned back and tugged at his cufflink. He focused his gaze on his lap. When he looked up, a smile crossed his lips. “I remember now. We did speak at the club. Perhaps it is good I get away; I’m finding myself rather forgetful recently.” He shrugged and waved the thought away. “Chase stopped me to ask about an ailment that someone else—who remains alive—was suffering from. For me to reveal the person or their ailment would be a violation.”
“And for you to speak to Chase about someone else’s health, was that not unusual?” Winston leaned closer to Cole, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Regardless, did that conversation lead you to invite him to return here with you? Perhaps you told him you had some additional information in your office that would be of interest?”
Cole blinked, but didn’t respond.
“It is of no matter if you remain silent, Doctor.” Winston felt a vessel pulse in his neck but kept his voice even. “I believe you convinced Chase to visit you here the evening he disappeared. Further, I believe you kept him here until the time you deposited his body in the waters of False Creek. And that you did something similar to Walter Huntington.”
Cole pushed his chair away from Winston and stood, his face reddening. “Surely not! You and I spoke in this very room after Mr. Chase disappeared. Wouldn’t you have noticed him then?”
“Will you humour me by letting me look upstairs, Doctor?”
“You may, but do know that I will have a word with the chief constable about whether I can continue to work with a man who has accused me of such horrific acts. Do not be surprised to find yourself a uniformed constable.” Spittle flew as he enunciated the final word.
Cole moved toward the hall, smoothing the front of his jacket as he walked. “It is only out of respect for the chief constable that I do not throw you out of my house immediately. But since you are determined to see upstairs, I will happily waste your time, Detective. You will find nothing.”
Winston followed him up the stairs. He remained certain of Cole’s involvement, but if his conclusions proved wrong, would his uncle protect him? No matter. He was committed to this course now.
Winston stopped in front of the first door in the hallway. Without turning around, the doctor growled, “I am not letting you into my daughter’s room.”
“It would be helpful if you do, but it is unnecessary at this point.”
At the next door, Winston reached for the knob. “That is just a guest room. And Mr. Chase was not a guest.”
“Maybe not.” Winston entered the room and walked its length, paused in front of the large armoire sitting against the wall, and wrote something in his small notebook. A bookcase stood against the opposite wall. Winston walked back to the door. “Next room, sir?”
“My bedroom. Though I’m unsure why I’d keep someone trapped in my own chamber.”
“I would like to see it anyway.”
“Very well.” Cole let the door swing open. “I trust you will find everything you expect.” His voice dripped with scorn.
A large bed stood in the centre of the room. An armoire furnished the west wall, and a small writing table and chair sat in front of the window. A bookcase stood against the east wall. Winston walked the length of the room, recording the number of paces. He exited and walked the length of the hallway, stopping again at the guest room door. He made another notation.
“Can we re-enter this room, Doctor Cole?”
Winston walked to the wall shared with the doctor’s bedroom, looking down at his notebook. Beside the armoire, Winston tapped on the wall.
The doctor stepped forward, raising his hand to stop Winston. “I assure you, Detective. This house is well constructed.”
“I don’t doubt you, Doctor.” Winston continued tapping the wall on the other side of the armoire. He spun around to find the doctor’s face twisted and angry for just a beat before he recovered his mask of indifference. “Is there something behind here, Doctor?”
Cole blinked, unmoving.
“I’m opening the armoire, sir.” Three hangers hung from the rail within. Winston pushed them to the side to reveal the smooth back of the cabinet. He closed the door and crouched to examine the floor. Sweeping his hands under the rug resting in front of it, he found grooves extending from the feet of the armoire. Winston stood. He curled his fingers onto the back of the armoire and tugged. The whole piece of furniture swung on oiled hinges. Behind it was a hidden room.
Winston turned back to the doctor. “Is this where you kept him?”
Cole’s shoulders slumped forward. He looked shrunken. “Kept whom?” Despite the change in his physical appearance, his voice had an air of confidence.
Winston entered the windowless space between the doctor’s room and the guest room. A wheeled bed sat against the side wall. Bottles and jars arranged by height spanned a work table at the foot of the bed. Medical equipment lined a shelf above.
He stepped back into the guest room, crossing to the bookcase. Cole made no move to stop him.
Winston pulled at the side of the bookcase, swinging it away from the wall to reveal an entrance to the girl’s bedroom, its access blocked by the back of another large piece of furniture. Winston reached up to push on it but dropped his arm. He didn’t need to startle the girl. His business was with her father.
Winston turned to look directly at the doctor. “You kept Chase in there,” he said, pointing to the small room the armoire had hidden. “And you performed some kind of procedure involving blood.” Cole’s eyes narrowed and Winston continued. “When you transfused the blood, you wheeled the victim into your daughter’s room through this passage. Am I correct that there will be evidence in her room, and on her arm?”
The doctor blinked, his mouth a firm line.
“Very well. Was she awake when the transfusions occurred? Or did she sleep through the procedures?” Cole stepped back. Winston closed the space between them. “Did you do the same with Walter Huntington? And Harold Collins? And how many other men, Doctor Cole?”
Cole stood frozen to the spot, unspeaking. A cord bulged in his neck.
Winston didn’t wait for an answer. He returned his attention to the hidden room, leaning to inspect the labels on an array of jars and bottles. A flash of movement made his head swivel. With a fluid motion, Cole closed the door. “Doctor Cole!” He stretched his arms in front of him in the darkness and found the back of the armoire. He pushed against it, but it didn’t swing freely as before. “Doctor Cole! Move this at once!” Silence was the only reply.
Winston pounded the back of the door. A final, sickening thud told him he was trapped. The room had been plunged in complete darkness save two narrow strips of light stretching beneath either door. He braced his knees and pushed again, but it was no use. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “Cole!” he called again, leaning against the door.
Liza. The girl must surely be nearby. Winston ran his fingers along the frame of the door. There were no levers or buttons to open a way for him. He banged on the heavy wood and called out, “Miss! Miss!” Silence. He tried again. “Miss!” He banged until the side of his hand felt bruised.
“Hello?” A tentative voice called.
“Please!” Winston shouted. “Follow my voice, Liza. I’m in the room beside your own. Is there a piece of furniture against the wall? Can you pull on it? Slide it away?”
“What? Is that the police officer? Where are you?” Her muffled voice was tinged with confusion.
“Please, Liza. Can you try?”
Moments of silence were followed by short scraping sounds and a muted groan. The sliver of light at Winston’s feet grew a fraction larger. “Well done!” he shouted. He leaned forward to push, but the door moved toward him, shrinking the sliver again.
“Darling, have you finished yet? We will be late.” Cole’s voice shattered Winston’s hope.
Winston fell against the wall with a cry.
“Careful, dear. You don’t need anything from in here. And this furniture is heavy. There is no need for you to worry yourself with moving it.”
“Papa. I heard a voice. Is someone else here?” Liza’s words grew clearer, and Winston pictured her standing on the other side of the wall. “Where is the policeman?”
Winston shouted, “Doctor! I insist you release me!”
“He left. He finished asking his questions. Now go.”
Winston banged on the door.
“Papa, someone called out.”
“No.” Cole’s voice grew stern. “Come now. I will send the driver up to collect your luggage.”
Winston banged on the door once more. “I’m here!”
“There. That sound. Do you hear it?”
“That’s just the sound of my suitcases being moved by the driver.” Winston willed the girl to stand up to her father, make him show her what was behind the furniture.
“That’s a good girl. The coach is ready.” Cole’s voice was fainter, and Winston’s heart sank. He banged and shouted again, but after a minute, the only sound was his own ragged breathing. He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor.
Winston kicked the door, sending a sharp pain up the back of his leg. “I’m here,” he shouted. He hung his head in his hands. His voice became a whisper. “I’m here!”
Failure sat like an anvil on his chest. Cole was the murderer, and Winston had let him escape. An utter defeat.
Winston counted to ten. He must find a way out. Time was a commodity he could not afford to waste in self-pity.
He pulled himself to his feet and pushed against the door until sweat prickled his temple and his arms burned. He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and tried again. Did he imagine it moved ever so slightly? Winston crouched to push from closer to the ground, nudging it a fraction. With each push, the opening widened a hair’s breadth. He repeated the agonizing movement until he could squeeze a hand, then his shoulder, and eventually his body through the space.
Free of the chamber, Winston forced himself to sit still until his breathing slowed. Then, although convinced he’d find no one, he walked through the house and checked each room. Outside, he slid his arms into his jacket, hunching his shoulders against the cool night air and his dismal failure.