Sophia wondered all morning where her sister had run off to. Olivia had claimed she was going to visit the orphanage and do some tutoring with the children. Perhaps she had, but that didn’t usually take the entire morning.
“And where exactly did you run off to?” she said as soon as Olivia came whirling into the sitting room. Sophia had taken a seat on the sofa facing the doorway. Her legs were tired just from the short time she and Jackson had stood talking to the reverend just before he’d left, but she hadn’t mentioned it to Jackson. She didn’t want to worry him or dampen their happy day.
“I told you I was going to the orphanage,” Olivia said as she sat on the sofa opposite her sister.
“You don’t usually spend the entire morning there,” Sophia pointed out.
Olivia shrugged. “We were having a good time.” She didn’t look away from her sister; that would be a telltale sign that she was lying through her ever-loving lips. So she looked Sophia right in the eyes and smiled. “The children were lovely this morning.”
“Now I know you’re lying,” Sophia laughed. “You’ve never in your life used the words children and lovely together in the same sentence.”
Olivia couldn’t help but laugh right along with her. Sophia was right. Though she did volunteer at the orphanage, she wasn’t the biggest fan of children. “I did have some other errands to run but those are top secret, and if I tell you, I will likely have to torture you to ensure your silence.”
“If it was anyone but you, I would laugh,” Sophia said with a smile playing at her lips. “But because it’s you, there may actually be some truth to that statement.”
“Just as long as we are clear on where we stand on you knowing what I was doing today. We’re good.”
“Fair enough,” Sophia said with one brow arched.
Inspectors Hill and Foster rapped on the door of the small upscale townhouse on Sheffield Terrace. After several minutes, a wizened man opened the door slowly. He was slightly bent with age but still kept a full head of silver-streaked hair and a closely trimmed white beard.
“Dr. Evans?” asked Thomas.
“Yes, and who might you two fellows be?”
“I’m Inspector Hill and this is my Assistant, John Foster. Might we have a word?”
“Of course, gentlemen, come in,” said Dr. Evans. “Please, make yourselves at home. I’ll just put the kettle on for a spot of tea, shall I?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Doctor. This will only take a moment.”
“If you say so,” he responded, looking altogether crestfallen.
“We called on you yesterday, and your housekeeper informed us you were poorly. Are you feeling better?” asked Hill.
“Oh, quite. She worries about me needlessly, dotes on me like a mother hen, thinks I’m going to croak at any moment. I sent her home today, couldn’t handle any more of her nagging, put a vest on you’ll catch a chill.” He mimicked in a woman’s voice.
The detectives entered the small drawing room and searched for a place to sit, but no appropriate area presented itself. Indeed, simply moving about was a challenge, as every available surface, including the floor, seemed covered with either old medical books, odd copper apparatuses, the likes of which neither Hill not Foster could identify, and a menagerie of stuffed and well-preserved animals. In fact, the inspectors noticed among the detritus, one dog, one possum, at least two squirrels, four rats, and even a skunk. The room contained a sofa and two overstuffed chairs, but not a square inch was left uncovered in which either of the men could take a seat.
“We’ve come to call about an active police investigation,” continued Hill. “We’re given to understand you have specialized knowledge in the field of transplantation. We’d like to get your opinion on something.”
The man’s eyes lit up immediately. “Yes, I am somewhat of an expert in that field. Why would that interest the Yard?”
“We need to know if you ever seen anything like this,” said Hill, again indicating that Foster should produce the heart. He did so, offering it to Dr. Evans. The man’s eyes widened, registering elated shock, as if he were gazing upon the Holy Grail. He reached for it longingly, gently taking it from Foster’s hands. For a moment, he said nothing; he merely stared down at the contraption, which he held in the palm of both hands, like some delicate baby bird that had fallen out of its mother’s nest.
“A wonder,” he said at last. “Where did you get such a thing?”
“This wonder was taken out ’a the chest cavity of a dead woman. And there’s another just like it,” said Foster. “What can you tell us about it?”
The doctor breathed deeply, rubbing his white beard. “Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve only seen sketches of something like this before. I had no idea someone had actually created such a thing. You say the hearts were taken out of two dead women?”
Both inspectors nodded.
“Well, the cause of death is fairly certain,” said Dr. Evans, “indicating the hole in the mechanical heart. No one could survive with a hole like this in their heart, no matter what that heart was made of.”
“Even we can see that, Doctor,” said Hill. “But what we need to know is who is capable of implanting a device like this into a human being. We were told you used to work with Dr. Eugene Phillips, an expert in this field.”
“Ah, yes,” said Evans, his eyes again lighting up. “I worked for many years with Dr. Phillips, travelling to America many times to study with him. He was younger than me but much farther along in his theories than was I.”
“And did either ’a you two ever create something like this?” asked Foster.
“No,” the doctor said with finality. “We never created anything this sophisticated. You see around you most of the pathetically inadequate devices we were able to construct. We had plans for a heart, but they never made it to fruition.”
“Why not?” asked Thomas.
“Many reasons. Neither of us had the metal working skill, for a start. Also, the devices we were able to construct were always dismal failures when we tested them. Either they didn’t work, or the test subjects developed severe infections and died. We never successfully implanted a man-made organ into a subject.”
“A subject? What did you test these on?” asked Hill.
“Why the subjects are all around you—all of my preserved friends here. This isn’t all of them, not by a long shot, just ones I developed an affinity for while they were still alive. I figured I had taken their life, I might as well keep them around to remind me of … well, I don’t know what really. It seems silly now, but they bring back good memories sometimes. We used rats more than anything else. They are easy to come by, obviously, and possess a physiology surprisingly tolerant of invasive procedures.”
“We were led to believe you had performed successful transplants of some sort,” said Thomas.
“Oh, yes, I’ve done many, many arterial transplants.”
“How were you able to do this if none of your devices were successful?”
“Well, the arteries weren’t terribly difficult. We used pig arteries for those. You see, when a person develops what we call ‘blocked’ arteries, the tubes that lead away from the heart, then the person becomes a high risk for what we call a heart ‘attack.’ We can fix that problem simply by bypassing the blocked artery. We take a length of pig artery and attach it to the human artery, creating a new tube around the blockage. You see the difference, of course. The arteries of the swine are made by nature, just like us. The machines we tried to create are something else entirely, and, therefore, unsuccessful.”
“That’s a shame, Doctor,” said Hill, visions of Sophia passing through his mind. “How wonderful it would have been had you ultimately been able to create something like that.” He pointed at the heart that Dr. Evans was still clutching.
“Wonderful indeed. But you see the key problem we faced, I’m sure.”
“Aye,” interjected Foster, “the test subject. Can’t imagine there??
?s tons ’a blokes lining up to get one ’a those stuck in them.”
“Precisely,” said Evans. “The person who has done this has clearly overcome that particular hurdle somehow.”
“I can’t imagine he simply asked,” muttered Foster.
“You’ve carefully not mentioned the word murder, gentlemen, but I assume this is a homicide investigation?”
“Of course,” said Hill. “What else could it be?”
“Many things. Some might say a successful medical procedure.”
“Successful?” Foster asked incredulously. “How can you call that successful?” He reached over and poked his finger into the hole found in the middle of the metal heart. “You didn’t see the mess that poor girl made.”
“That particular part of the procedure wasn’t a success, of course. But let me ask you, where were your victims found?”
“Public area, a park. What are you getting at?” asked Hill.
“Well, had I placed the devices into a … patient, and that patient were able to perform normal bodily functions, even for a short time period, I would consider that a great success.”
“Explain yourself,” prodded Thomas.
“What I mean is this. Regardless of how your … doctor—I’ll call him that for lack of a better term at this point—persuaded the deceased women to accept the heart transplants, if the women woke up at all after such a procedure, then that would be amazing. If they were also able to think, to speak, to sit up, to walk, to consume food—all of the things we humans do on a day-to-day basis, well, that would be nothing short of miraculous. What better way to test those normal bodily functions than say … a nice stroll in the park.”
Hill and Foster glanced at each other, remembering the witnesses who’d said that the first victim had been raving and thrashing about. Thomas wasn’t sure if that was a thing ‘we humans do on a day-to-day basis,’ but she was certainly able to walk, according to the reports.
“Begging your pardon, Doctor,” said Inspector Hill, “but we really aren’t concerned with whether the procedure was successful. We need to find out if these women were implanted with this device against their will. If so, we have a murderer on our hands.”
“A murderer?” questioned Dr. Evans.
“What else would you call it?”
“Not sure. I’m not a barrister. But, once again, if the women were alive after the procedure and then subsequently died, an inquiry of intent must be inferred. And I do understand enough about the law to know that intent must be an element of the crime of homicide. That begs the question, of course, what actually killed the women—the doctor, or the device?”
“I wonder if he’s killing some poor woman right this moment,” Olivia Hill said softly to herself as she stared out into the dark night. The moon was full and hauntingly bright as it hung in the black sky. She was alone in the room, which was probably a good thing because no one understood her fascination with the case her brother was working on. For Olivia, everything that was out of the ordinary life of an aristocratic lady fascinated her. She itched to be a part of the world, instead of simply watching it move past her in quick succession while she was forced to remain still.
“I see no reason why a woman couldn’t be a detective,” she grumbled to herself. “It’s not like we are any less intelligent.”
“I don’t believe it’s your intelligence that we worry about, Ms. Hill.”
A deep voice came from behind her, causing her to jump. When she turned to see who had spoken, she was taken aback by the man’s large form. He was handsome, with striking auburn hair, deep green eyes, and a nose that was a tad crooked, as if, perhaps, he’d been in one too many fights. The crooked nose didn’t detract at all from his good looks. It only seemed to add to his intriguing presence. His jaw was strong and chiseled, just like the rest of his large frame. Yes, he was absolutely breathtaking, but, mercy, he was a big man. She supposed she should have been afraid at the appearance of a strange man in her house, but Olivia did not get an uneasy feeling. In fact, she felt safer in his presence. Odd, she thought, but nonetheless true.
“And who might you be, and where on earth did you come from?” she asked the mystery man. “And while you’re telling me that, you might want to figure out a reason why I should not scream at the top of my lungs for my brother to come arrest you for breaking and entering.”
John Foster couldn’t help the crooked smile that suddenly appeared on his face. It was hard not to smile at the little slip of a woman who stood so bravely before him, challenging him. He was twice her size—no, more like three times her size—and yet she hadn’t backed down an inch. He’d heard Thomas talk about his sisters, and he’d met Sophia, so this must be Olivia, the youngest. She was usually mentioned only in his grumbling. Spirited was how Thomas described her, but most often that was followed by the words ‘pain in the ass.’ What Thomas had never mentioned was his youngest sister’s beauty and her overwhelming personality. Foster was man enough to admit he was smitten within the span of a few minutes.
“Detective Hill is my boss and partner. You could scream for him if you wanted, but I’d rather you didn’t. I was already a few pints in when I remembered I had forgotten to return somethin’ to him. I’m startin’ to get a bit of a headache, and I’m afraid any loud noises might further the process along.” Foster absentmindedly patted the mechanical heart that was still stowed inside his coat pocket. Normally he wouldn’t have worried about such a thing and would simply have waited until the following day to give his boss the piece of evidence. But, judging by the number of lovely birds in the Queen’s Arms that evening, he was planning on a long night. He didn’t want to mistakenly lose the damned thing in a drunken haze. But now that he’d laid eyes on Olivia, he’d forgotten all the women he’d left behind back at the pub.
“You poor thing,” Olivia mocked. “Do you have a name, dear?”
“Yes, Ms. Hill. My mum did see fit to give me a name, though most of my childhood she referred to me as ‘Foster, don’t you dare.’ She said it so often that I began to believe that must be my given name.”
Olivia wanted to be irritated that he was avoiding the question, no doubt just to get under her skin, but she was a little surprised that a man of his handsomeness, not to mention a friend of her brother’s, was speaking to her so casually, let alone teasing her. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like it.
“I can’t imagine how your fellow officers must tease you. After all, Detective Foster don’t you dare is not very intimidating to criminals. Do the ruffians take you seriously?” she asked him. He chuckled, and the sound was sultry and seductive. How could a laugh be seductive?
“Not too often, considerin’ I tend to look down on most, if not all, of them. I’ve only ran across a few that were bigger than me. If I can’t intimidate them, the truncheon can do the trick.” He took a step further into the room. Although he’d come to speak with Thomas, his attention was currently distracted by something much more appealing to him than the cruel murders they’d been investigating. “I’m John. Forgive me for being forward,” he began. “But why were you talking about being a detective and such?”
Olivia didn’t appear the least bit bothered by his question. She shrugged. Why on earth she felt comfortable enough to share the secret desires of her heart, she had no clue, but it felt good to have a man ask her about what she thought without treating her as though she was silly. But better to ask than assume. “Are you going to laugh at me?”
The man’s brow drew together as he watched suspicion replace the admiration in her eyes that she’d held only seconds ago. “Are you going to tell me a joke? I don’t see why I would laugh at a lady’s interest in police work.”
“No joke, but the men who have heard my—silly whims—as they’ve been called, think I’m ridiculous because I’m a lady and a lady should desire nothing more than to be a wife and pop out babies for her husband while simultaneously running a household, mending troublesome garments, and entertai
ning other women who do nothing but the same. Why on earth any woman would feel that those things are something to look forward to baffles me.”
“What is it you do want?” Foster asked, truly intrigued by the intensity in which Olivia spoke. She felt passionate about her desire to be something other than the typical lady of society.
“I want adventure,” Olivia said and couldn’t stop the way her voice rose with excitement, or the way her lips turned up in a smile that was probably comical. “I want to be by my husband’s side as his equal and worth more than just someone to keep his home. I want to travel and see the wilds of Africa and the cities of America. I just want more than what I’ve seen here.” She stared back at him staring at her and wondered if he thought her foolish. She didn’t have to wait long for her answer.
“Those aren’t silly whims, Ms. Hill. Those are dreams. I don’t believe there is anything foolish or ridiculous of what yer wanting. And I think any man who would win yer hand would be lucky to have such a woman with those dreams.
“But if I may, I’d offer you a different perspective, from a man’s point of view. While you may see what the other women do as simply keeping house, a worthy man would see it as the creation of a refuge, a safe place for him to return home to. A place where he feels welcomed with open arms when the world outside that door shuns him or beats him down. You may see it as popping out babies, but a worthy man sees the act of childbirth as a gift—a gift given by the woman, a passing on of her goodness, her adventurous spirit, to the children they have together. While you see it as sewing a cushion, a worthy man sees it as a comfortable place to sit when he is weary, a seat he hopes to share with his bride. While you see only the entertaining of class-conscious women, he sees any gatherin’ in yer home as a chance to show others just who the amazing woman is that makes him the man he is. If your dreams don’t happen the way you want them to, never trivialize the importance of your role in your marriage. And if you marry a worthy man, he won’t either, and he will try to give ya what ya need to have joy and fulfillment in yer life.”