by Quinn Loftis
“Thank you for your time, Barnabas. Enjoy your evening,” said Inspector Hill as he and Foster turned and walked back toward the Browning residence.
“What do you think?” asked Hill once the two were out of earshot.
“About Barney? He seems like a nice bloke,” responded Foster.
“No, not about Barney, I mean … about what he said. You know what I meant.”
“I think he was telling the truth,” said Foster. “But why did ya ask him about stealing the crystals?”
“If we’re looking for a mechanic, the question was probably irrelevant. But Dr. Elliot seemed to think this crime could only be committed by a medical man. If that’s the case, where did our killer get the crystals? They aren’t exactly just lying around. He would have had to have gotten them somewhere.”
“Hmm, you’re right,” said John. “But I still think we’re dealing with one of those wrench turners. Or…” He paused. “Perhaps both. Maybe someone in the guild is working with a doctor. They would certainly have the means to pay the man a healthy sum, convince him ta work wit’ ‘em.”
“But to what end?” asked Hill.
“Who knows? I told ya before. Those crystal jockeys are crazy.”
“I can’t exactly put ‘those crystal jockeys are crazy’ in my report to the Chief Inspector.”
“Don’t worry, Thom. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
The pair had reached the Browning’s front stoop once again.
“Indeed,” said Hill. “Take a look at the park. It appears to me there’s plenty of light from the purple lamppost to see the entrance. You can clearly see carriages up and down the street and people milling about.”
“Aye, I don’t think there’s any need for me to go and pretend to be our killer again.”
“I don’t think so,” agreed Hill. “Let’s bid the Brownings and a good evening and be on our way.”
Chapter Eight
Thursday, 5th May, 1887
Sometime around mid-morning
“Welcome to my humble abode, Detective Hill,” Jackson said as he opened his front door.
“You’re in an unusually chipper mood this morning,” Thomas replied as he marched past his longtime friend.
Jackson smiled. “I suppose I am.”
“Please tell me it’s because you’ve found some discovery that will blow my case wide open.”
Jackson’s smile fell away. “No, something far better, but I’ll save my news until I tell you what I have found regarding your case.” He motioned for Thomas to follow him back to his lab. “I doubt this information is going to blow your investigation wide open, but it might lead you somewhere helpful.”
When they passed from the sitting area and into the doctor’s lab, Thomas chuckled at the complete change in his surroundings. Behind him, in the living area of the home, the orderliness of the environment was almost austere. Once he stepped into Jackson’s workspace, however, he felt as if he was walking amongst the chaotic aftermath of a whirlwind recently passed through. But even in all the chaos, he knew his friend had no trouble finding what he needed at a moment’s notice. The room and all of its contents were clearly mapped out in Elliot’s head, everything in its untidy place. And just like Thomas had known he would do, Jackson walked over to a table covered in various books, papers, and test tubes—some empty, others filled with god knows what—and picked up a book that had been buried beneath all of it.
“I found this book late last night as I was perusing my shelves, racking my brain for anything that might help you. It was written by a Doctor Eugene Phillips—an American. He’s a bit of an outcast in the medical community because of his radical thinking, but his theories—I think—will prove interesting to you.”
Thomas took the book and scanned the front and back. A Primer on Organ Removal and Replacement, by Dr. Eugene Phillips.
“Dr. Phillips is either considered a genius or a madman,” said Jackson, “depending upon whether or not you believe men should be meddling in the affairs of God, so to speak.”
“I don’t follow,” said Thomas.
“Read the synopsis,” prompted Jackson.
Hill flipped the book over and began reading out loud. “Dr. Eugene Phillips’ discoveries have turned the medical world upside down. Because of Dr. Phillips’ recent work, the idea of organ transplants is no longer beyond the reach of science. Dr. Phillips argues that harvesting human organs from cadavers is not the best way to advance the science of transplantation for two reasons. First, implanted organs will most likely be rejected by their new hosts. Second, the availability of usable organs retrieved from cadavers is so limited. So instead of pursuing a direction that he considered futile, Dr. Phillips turned to machines to solve this age old problem.” Thomas’ brow rose and his eyes jumped up to Elliot.
Jackson nodded. “I told you it would be interesting to you. Keep reading,” he encouraged.
“Dr. Phillips is determined to replicate organs by using the energy of flux crystals combined with mechanical contraptions we humans are currently capable of creating. A large part of his work is devoted to finding a metal alloy that the human body will accept as natural. In essence, tricking the body that the new body part is a normal, rather than a foreign, object. Dr. Phillips is quoted as saying, ‘I see no reason why we shouldn’t be able to come up with a way to have functioning organs, such as the heart or kidneys, man-made from already available materials within the next decade.’ Documented herein you will enter the dedicated mind of Dr. Eugene Phillips as he explains the theories behind his work and his passion for saving the lives of those who otherwise have no hope.”
Thomas flipped through the book, scanning the various charts and diagrams that accompanied the text. He paused when his eyes fell on a pencil sketch of a mechanical human heart, not terribly unlike the one he’d found lodged in his two victims. This was too large a coincidence for Inspector Hill to ignore. Could this man be the one perpetrating the killings? If not him, perhaps a close colleague.
“This Dr. Phillips is American, you say?” he asked Jackson.
“Yes, I actually had the chance to hear him speak once back at university. He was in London as part of a lecture tour of Europe, espousing his ideas. Most of his theories were in their infancy at that point. I don’t think he’d even published the book yet.”
Though thoughts of catching the killer were still paramount, Thomas couldn’t help but wonder in the back of his mind if Dr. Phillips’ ideas had any merit. He knew he shouldn’t, but he dared to hope that maybe this doctor could help Sophia, his precious sister. Thom would gladly pay any amount to get her one of those metal alloy hearts if it meant it would save her life. “How do you feel about the man’s work?” he asked Jackson.
“You know why I became a doctor, Thom. The horrors I witnessed growing up in Cheapside, the diseases, the accidents, the men left crippled unable to support their families. If your father hadn’t found me on that rugby paddock and taken me in, I’d be just like those people. Becoming a doctor was my way of paying him back, of helping those less fortunate just like he helped me. If Dr. Phillips can come up with a way to help others through his research, no matter how crazy it might sound, I’ll be the first to support it,” he answered.
Thomas tried to keep the emotions from reaching his face, but he could he see in Jackson’s eyes that the doctor knew his mind was on Sophia.
“Listen,” continued Jackson. “You know I’ve done everything in my power to help her. I study the heart every chance I get, hoping to find something, anything that will cure her. But a weak heart isn’t like any other disease that can be treated with medicine. It’s not caused by germs. It’s a defect. And the medical community just hasn’t found an answer for that puzzle yet. But I promise I will continue to do everything I can for as long as I can. If a breakthrough is ever made, I’ll pull every string I can to ensure Sophia is at the top of any treatment list. You have my word.”
Thomas bit back the emotions that w
elled up, emotions that he rarely let anyone see. It was just too hard to face the thought of Sophia’s death head on. If he opened that door, he was afraid he might never get it closed again. And then he wouldn’t be any use to anyone, Sophia included. He hadn’t even allow himself to think about losing his sister. It’s not that he pretended she wasn’t sick, but the idea of a world without her in it was not one he could fathom. He knew it wasn’t why he was there, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her. “That’s all I can ask,” he said finally. “Do you think Dr. Phillips can do it?”
“He’s brilliant, from all accounts,” Jackson admitted. “If anyone can, it would be him.”
Thomas let out a deep breath. He hoped like hell that Jackson was right about Phillips. “So I’ll take a look at this book,” he said getting back to business. “And maybe even see if there’s a way to make contact with this Dr. Eugene Phillips.”
“That’s probably the best place to start. I think he was doing his research at William & Mary. I wonder if you can get a telegram there.”
“It might be worth a try. The palace controls them, of course, but I’ll check with the chief inspector. It’s probably worth a petition. Thank you, Elliot.” He waved the book at him. “For this and taking time to find it.”
He turned to go, but Jackson grabbed his arm. “Wait a second. Don’t you want to hear my news?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry. I’d completely forgotten. What is it that’s put you in such a good mood?”
“Your sister, of course. She’s finally consented to accompany me on an outing.”
Thomas chuckled. “She’s finally giving in?”
“Finally. If I have your permission, I would like to court your sister with the intention to marry her.”
Thomas laughed. “As if my lack of permission would keep you from her.”
“True. Nothing short of death, hers or mine, would keep me from her. If there is such a thing, she is my soul mate,” Jackson said.
“Then far be it from me to keep two souls apart,” the detective told his childhood friend. “You have always been a brother to me, now we will just make it official.”
“Thank you, my friend. You know how much this means to me.”
“I just wish you were asking my father instead of me,” said Hill. “I know he would be delighted. He always loved you, and I think he secretly wished you and Sophia would end up together.”
“Sometimes I wonder. Remember how mad he was about Big Ben?”
Thomas chuckled even louder now. “Ha, shows how much you know. He only pretended to be angry with you. He had to keep up appearances. It was his daughter’s name painted on the clock, after all. And I’m sure he was concerned for your safety. That probably angered him more than anything. He’d have been devastated if anything ever happened to you. But deep down he was thrilled. He used to love stuff like that. Anything that shook up the sensibilities of his high society peers absolutely elated him. I think that’s one of the reasons he was so fond of you. In you, he saw hope for the less fortunate. You were a walking, talking argument against any notion of one class being better than the other. He knew you were going to be great one, day and you’ve proved him correct.”
Jackson had to turn away, pulling a kerchief and wiping the tears from his eyes that had formed at his friend’s words.
“I appreciate that,” he said simply.
“They’re all true. And since we are taking this little trip down memory lane, look here,” he said, noticing a familiar book sitting on the edge of a shelf next to the door. Elise’s Exploits in the Land of Wonder, by Carol Lewiston. Thomas picked it up and smiled at the recollections the book conjured. “This is Sophia’s favorite,” he said. “She always wanted to find herself in another world. Olivia may be the outspoken one, always with her head in the clouds, but Sophia is every bit as adventurous as our younger sister.” His heart felt heavy as he considered why she’d stopped reading the book she’d once cherished. She didn’t believe she would have any adventures in her life, not after the diagnosis of her heart condition. “She deserves adventures.”
He heard Jackson shift behind him. “Yes, she does. I remember her forcing me to read it when we were younger. There was a time when she wasn’t without it. But I haven’t seen it lately, and that’s why I bought her this copy. I wanted to remind her of the things she once loved. It’s not just the story she loved. Carol Lewiston was a pioneer, you know. She was a mathematician before she began writing fiction—the only female mathematician, as far as I know. Sophia always admired her. Not just her brilliance as a scientific mind, but her willingness to stand up for women’s rights in a field dominated by men. That is a signed copy. I’ve been planning to give it to her. It just hasn’t been the right time until now.”
“I have no doubt she will love it. Congratulations with her, mate. I’m truly happy for you,” Thom said with a sense of melancholy. The memories of his father and the impending death of his sister were threating to overwhelm him. Jackson walked him out and stood on the front stoop, waving as Thomas descended the steps and hopped into his waiting carriage. The detective shut the door and motioned for the driver to spur the horses forward.
As the carriage rounded the corner and Dr. Elliot faded from view, Thomas wondered what Jackson must be feeling, not just about Sophia, but about all of the Hill family. Thom’s father had done much more than provide Jackson the means to make something of his life and they had given him something infinitely more valuable than money. They had given him a family. Robert Hill had passed and Jackson had lost the only father figure he’d ever known. Now another member of the family, Sophia Hill, was set to follow. Though she was anything but a sister to Jackson. She was his soul mate, as he had put it. Thomas wondered how his friend would be able to cope with the loss of his soul mate. He shuddered to think of the pain which was barreling toward them all like a freight train.
Zacharias stood perched atop a rickety ladder that was leaned against the side of an iron gray war machine, which rose roughly twenty feet in height. The machine was held a few feet above the ground by a large lift and several other mechanics swarmed under and over the behemoth, wrenches or grease guns in hand. Three large pneumatic legs hung from the belly of the great engine of destruction, while another lay on its side some distance away. The union jack was painted on the side of the machine, with the words Victoria’s Glory II emblazoned underneath in large white letters. ‘Walker #211008 Bell’ was stenciled in small lettering on the back of the machine.
A steady string of curses came from Zacharias as he poked his head into an access hatch on the side of the walker. The hatch, being only three feet wide and eighteen inches tall, severely restricted the number of mechanics who could perform maintenance on this part of the machine. Fortunately, or unfortunately, for Zacharias, he was one of the few workers at the guild that could get inside and perform the work. His upper torso followed his head into the hatch, while his lower body remained outside, his feet precariously keeping their hold on the top ladder rung.
“Codswallop,” came his muffled voice from inside the cramped compartment, followed shortly by a small, flying gearbox, which came hurtling out of the opening to fall with a ringing clatter to the ground below. No one, even those individuals walking to and fro on the floor underneath the walker, so much as flinched at the sound. The sound of knocking, banging, and cursing continued for several minutes and likely would have continued the remainder of the day, given the damage Zach had found to one the servos that controlled the left forward gun, until the mechanic heard his name being called from outside the compartment. With a grunt, Zacharias pulled his head from out of the hatch and looked down to see who was hailing him. His face darkened when he saw the tall, skinny form of George Watt peering up to him.
“What do you want, Watt?” he spat down at one of the guild’s most powerful members.
“Come down, Zacharias,” the man replied. “Now.”
“You don’t give me orders,” t
he diminutive mechanic replied. “Stewart wants this turret repaired by this afternoon, so bugger off.”
A look of pure hatred passed over Watt’s face. “You forget your place, Zachy,” he hissed. “I do give you orders. And I give Stewart orders. And I give any damn worker bee like you orders I want. Now get your arse down here right now.” He punctuated the word now with a swift kick to the bottom rung of the ladder, making the entire thing quiver, causing Zacharias to grab onto the walker for support.
“You son a—” His last word was drowned out by the loud banging of his feet on the rungs of the ladder as he sped down it as fast as he could without toppling off. “I’ll crack your skull, you miserable, malnourished, pitiful excuse for a human giraffe.” Zacharais yanked a wrench from his tool belt and brandished it at Watt. Watt, with lightning quickness, grabbed the wrench and shoved Zach against one of the giant legs of the walker. While they usually supported the great machine’s weight, they were now hanging three feet above the ground during the walker’s repair and maintenace procedures. As Zacharias was only about four feet tall himself, his head collided with the steel of the walker’s leg, almost blinding him with pain. Zach released his own grip on the wrench and fell to one knee, his vision swimming.
“Now, little man,” Watt said, grabbing the front of Zach’s overalls and hoisiting him to his feet, “I’ve got a few questions for you. You’re going to answer them, truthfully, or we’re going to see Tesla. You got me?”
Zacharias grunted his assent.
“Who was that man you were with in the Dragon?”
Zacharais had been expecting something like this to happen. He knew when he’d been seen in the Smoking Dragon, talking to an outsider, that someone would question him about it at some point. He hadn’t expected it to be Watt, a man whom he despised with every fiber of his being. And terror inspired by the mention of Tesla caused his bowels to quiver. No meeting with Tesla ever went well for the mechanic on the receiving end of the Master’s wrath.