The Anatomy of Deception (15 page)

“Thank you,” I replied, but did not turn to face her.

She once more placed her hand on top of mine. “Is there something the matter?” she asked.

“You did not need to pretend an attraction in order to enlist my aid. I would have been happy to help in any case.”

Miss Benedict did not withdraw her hand. “Is that what you think?”

“Would you think differently in my case?”

“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But you are mistaken all the same.”

“Are you saying that your need for someone in the medical profession to help you find your friend has no relevance?”

“I can understand your suspicions,” she said simply. “But they are without foundation.”

“And what about Eakins? Do you deny that you have feelings for him as well?”

“You are asking if I am involved with Thomas. The answer to that question is no. I was at one time, however. I will not deny it. I have been involved with a number of men. It is not uncommon in my circles, Ephraim. Does that make you care for me less?”

Now she had asked it. I felt my training, everything that I had learned about propriety, the contrivance of her behavior, pushing at me, but after only a moment’s uncertainty, I pushed back. “Nothing could make me care for you less,” I answered.

I
NSTEAD OF PROCEEDING DIRECTLY TO
the wards, I waited for Turk in the changing room the next morning. That he had evaded discussing the cadaver in the ice chest during our evening out together simply added to my resolve not to be put off again. Dr. Osler’s reaction must certainly have a rational explanation, but the same might not be true of Turk. I must discern whether a link existed between him and Rebecca Lachtmann. It had been three days since Turk had last been present at the hospital; his illness should have run its course. My determination to be firmer in my inquiries turned out to be moot, however, when again Turk did not appear.

I immediately informed the Professor, and he was concerned as well. He had also expected Turk to arrive, weakened perhaps, but on the road to recovery.

“Perhaps I should visit his lodgings,” I suggested, “and see if he needs our assistance.”

“I’m sure that it won’t be necessary to disturb him. He knows well enough to seek assistance if he needs it…. No, by God, you’re right, Carroll. We can’t take the chance.”

I was relieved that the Professor agreed. “Do you happen to know where Turk resides?” I asked.

The Professor looked at me blankly. “I thought you did.”

“No,” I said. “On the one occasion I met him socially, he came to call for me, but I’m sure I can obtain his address in the records office.”

The records office was located, appropriately it seemed, in the basement. After explaining the circumstances, I inquired of the chief clerk, a Mr. McCann, as to what information he possessed on Dr. Turk. McCann informed me the records were confidential, and I informed him that I was acting for Dr. Osler. He glowered, but then retired to a cavernous file room in the rear, emerging about five minutes later carrying a large folder.

“Turk, you say?” he asked, slapping the folder on the countertop and beginning to leaf through its contents. “George Turk?”

I assured him that was the proper name.

“No Turk here,” he insisted, as he riffled through the last of the sheets of paper.

“There must be,” I said. “George Turk has been on the staff of this hospital for at least six months.”

McCann leaned on one elbow. He was a robust man of about fifty, with a full beard and a large, bulbous nose. “This here”—he gestured at the file—“is a record of everyone who works at this hospital. And there’s no George Turk.”

How could Turk have worked here and not … Then I had an idea. “Mr. McCann,” I asked politely, “are pay records kept in a separate file?”

He shook his head. “Not kept in a file at all. We keep pay records in a
ledger.”
He emphasized the final word as if he were talking to a child.

“Might I trouble you to check the
ledger
then?”

McCann sniffed. “No need to be smart about it, Doctor.” He gathered up the file and once again disappeared into the back room, reemerging eventually with a large ledger book. This he placed on the countertop and swung open, all with great affectation.

“Now, we’re looking to see if we paid a Turk, George Turk, who doesn’t work here,” he said, leafing through the pages, quite amused with himself. “Turk.” Then he stopped and a look of amazement crossed his face. “Why, I’ll … here it is.”
For McCann, an inconsistency in the records caused him as much consternation as the Professor would experience if he autopsied a cadaver and discovered no heart.

“Let me see,” I said, and McCann swung the ledger around. Listed in the entries for each week was “George Turk, M.D.—$8,” the last being the previous Wednesday. It pleased me, I confess, to learn that I received two dollars more per week, although I suspected the main sources of Turk’s income were such that they would not be listed in the book.

“So, Mr. McCann,” I asked, “how is it that Dr. Turk is being paid eight dollars per week if he does not work here?”

A deflated McCann ran his fingers through his beard, tugging as if in self-reproach. “I don’t know. Someone must have removed his sheet from the file.”

“And there are no duplicates?”

“Never had a need,” he admitted.

“So that means, I take it, that there is no official record of Dr. Turk’s particulars … where he resides, for example?”

McCann shook his head. “None.” He was still perplexed. “I don’t understand how this could have happened. We are so careful. Perhaps it has simply been mislaid.”

“Perhaps,” I replied. “Who adds or removes records?”

“Just me and two assistants,” he replied, gesturing to two middle-aged men wearing eyeshades sitting at desks across the room. “Let me ask.”

McCann engaged in an animated discussion with each of the two and then returned. “No one knows anything about it. They’d have signed for it if they’d taken a record out.”

I thought for a moment. “Mr. McCann, is the office kept locked?”

McCann nodded. “Every night, after we close.”

“Is the office ever empty during the day?”

“Never, except sometimes at lunch.”

I assured McCann that the loss must certainly have been an oversight and the records would surely turn up, then I thanked him for his help, and left. There was nothing further
to be gained in this office nor, I was confident, would Turk’s records ever be seen again. Whoever had removed the document had obviously wanted to keep Turk’s personal information from anyone in the hospital, and the most likely person to have that motivation was Turk himself.

At seven-fifteen that evening, I arrived at Barker’s. The man in the striped vest and boater who had seated Turk and me the previous Thursday was once again at his post near the entrance. In my most affable tones, I wished him a good evening and asked if he remembered my visit with that excellent customer, the well-known bon vivant, Mr. George.

The man eyed me with equal parts cynicism, suspicion, and innocence. “We get lots of folks in here, friend. You think I remember everybody?”

“Come, my good man,” I said cheerfully. “You and Mr. George clearly knew each other well. You called him by name.”

“You’re mistaken,” the man said.

“Perhaps you are correct,” I agreed, and then removed a dime from my vest pocket. I had seen from Turk what excellent service could be elicited from some well-placed expenditures.

“What do you want with him?” asked the man.

“I am a friend and coworker,” I replied. “He has been absent from work and I fear he is ill.”

The man held out his hand and I dropped the dime in it. “So,” he asked, “what do you want from me?”

“I was wondering if you knew where his lodgings were.”

The man in the boater emitted a sound very much like a snort. “I thought you said you was his friend. Don’t you know where he lives?”

“If you wish me to be the one answering questions, I would ask for my coin back,” I said.

The man deposited the ten cents in his trousers. “Don’t know,” he said tersely.

“No idea?” In truth, I suspected that for a man as reclusive as Turk, Barker’s would be a dead end, but I was forced to make the attempt.

“None.”

I then asked the man how often Turk patronized the establishment, who he generally dined with, and if he seemed to have any acquaintances among the staff. I learned only that Turk ate at Barker’s at least once per week, either alone or in the company of women, and that he did not seem to have had any intercourse with employees beyond general banter.

Perhaps I might succeed in establishing a link between Turk and Rebecca Lachtmann without speaking to Turk at all. I removed the photograph that Eakins had given me from my jacket. “Is this one of the women he dined with?”

The man looked at the photograph carefully with what seemed to be surprise. “No,” he said. “One this pretty, I’d remember. Mr. George went in for the … well, more obvious, if you know what I mean.”

I did indeed. I thanked him, left, and made for the Front Street Theater. It was still early, so I had no doubts that if Monique and Suzette had arrived, I would find them unengaged.

I had little trouble gaining entrance backstage, this time paying only five cents and, for no additional cost, was told by the grizzled sentinel at the stage door that the dancers all shared a single dressing room. I walked down a darkened, musty corridor to the room he had indicated and knocked on the door.

“Who’s that?” yelled a voice from inside. “Open the damn door and come in.”

I continued to stand in the hall, certain that the woman who had called out assumed another woman was outside. After a few moments, when no one came to the door, I knocked
once more, this time loudly announcing that a man was waiting.

“I don’t care if you’re a horse,” a voice yelled back. “I’m not getting up.”

Having no choice in the matter, I tentatively opened the door, although not sufficiently to allow me to see inside. “Is Monique or Suzette here?” I called.

I heard another voice, distinctly Monique’s. “It’s Ephie,” she said happily.

A second later, the door swung upon. Standing before me was a tall woman with red hair, wearing a thin silken robe that hung open, revealing the undergarments beneath it. The woman I gazed upon bore almost no resemblance to the lithe, sexual dancer I remembered from the other evening save for her eyes, which shone the same striking green as before. Her skin was pocked and puffy, and there were lines visible around her eyes and mouth. Mostly, however, she wore an air of decrepitude, as if she were a ramshackle tenement that might collapse in a strong gust of wind.

Monique seemed oblivious to the distaste I felt looking upon her, and reached out and threw her arms about my neck, her breasts pressing against me. She began to kiss me, but I pushed her away with disgust, astounded that this woman had been the object of sexual fantasies just days before.

I required information, however, so I could not simply turn and leave. “I’m sorry,” I said to her. “I’m not in the habit of behaving in such a fashion in public.”

Monique turned about and addressed the others in the room. “Ephie here is a shy one,” she trilled. “I think that just makes him cuter, don’t you think so, girls?”

There were six of them, including Suzette, all in approximately the same stage of undress. One of the women, hard-looking with straw-colored hair, had her breasts exposed, but she made no move to cover herself. Instead, she stared intently
in my direction in a kind of dare. The effect was more repugnant than arousing.

“I need to speak with you,” I said to Monique, backing into the hall. “It is a matter of some urgency.”

Monique had enough experience with men to sense lost ardor, and her expression instantly went cold. She pulled her robe shut and stepped into the hall. “What is it?” she demanded.

“I need to find George.”

“Why ask me?”

“Because you know him well … well enough to come along the other night.”

“What do you want with Georgie?”

“I think he may be ill. Have you seen him?”

“Ill, is it? Sure it isn’t about money?”

“Certainly not,” I replied with umbrage.

Monique found my indignation amusing. “We’re not usually in the habit of discussing our acquaintances, but just for you, I’ll tell you that we ain’t seen Georgie since last Thursday, when he was with you.”

“I will need to see him at his lodgings then.”

“What’s this really about?” she asked.

I tried a different tack, injecting a note of bluff. “I think he is in some trouble of which he is not aware. I need to alert him as soon as possible.”

“Alert him?” she said. “You mean you want to help Georgie and you want me to help you help him? You and me … just a couple of Good Samaritans?”

Whatever else she was, this woman was in no way stupid. “No. Not Good Samaritans. But he surely may be in some trouble, and he needs to speak with me as much as I need to speak with him. Do you know where I might find him?”

Monique mulled this over. “What’s in it for me?”