"Well, I think that kidnapping is a serious crime. As well as drugging girls and forcing them into prostitution."
"Perhaps, but I'm not convicted yet. After all, you have absolutely no proof about anything."
"Well, actually, we do. It seems Mr. Lee kept a very detailed ledger."
Harding's jaw dropped open, but he finally managed a stuttered, "Wh...what..."
"You really didn't you know about that, did you? He's a very methodical, detail-oriented man. He recorded the names, dates, and times when every man visited your establishment. He even recorded who they were entertained by and how much they paid. So, I'm sure the judge will be interested in how Lori, Lisa, and Jeannine are all listed as 'working'—until the days we know they were gotten rid of."
"What?" he asked, in a surprised tone.
"I suppose even as loyal as he always appeared, he didn't trust you. Which was probably very wise. I mean, you planned on killing Kathy and Belle whenever you decided to leave town. Brumbell told us that. And, I should probably warn you, Mrs. Porter heard him tell us and she wasn't at all happy when she found out. She's already made me promise she could have an interview with the sheriff later today."
Harding had gone a pasty white and started to sweat. But, he still tried to bluff his way out, saying, "Even if Lee did keep some sort of ledger, it doesn't make me a murderer. And, Belle will remember who will be paying for her attorney. By the time the sheriff gets here, she won't be so talkative."
"You are very sure of all this. So, I'm going to assume you've found yourself in tight places before. But, this time I don't believe you'll be able to wriggle out of this one."
"None of this matters. You don't have any proof of me having anything to do with any murders."
Victoria began wrapping his knee with gauze dressings, smiled at him and said, "You know, when I was a girl, I was taught to draw. It was one of the ladylike activities that I was encouraged to pursue. And, I was actually quite good at it. Which, as it turned out, helped me in medical school."
"Why do I care?" the man said, sarcastically.
"Be patient. I assure you, I always have a point to my stories."
"Really?"
Angered by the man's tone, Victoria tightened the bandage she'd been tying. But, when he groaned, she released it—a bit. Then she continued her tale, "You see, we made a lot of detailed drawings of cadavers, and parts of the body, even of the organ we had dissected.
"Now, when we found the first girl, we had her photographed. But, you knew that. And, there were several very distinct bruises made by something hard and round—like your signet ring. It's one of the reasons I'm so angry with myself earlier this evening. I noticed your ring the first day you came into the surgery. I should have made the connection immediately.
"Only the judge knew about the girl you strangled and placed in the livery stable with the people who'd died from scarlet fever. Just as only he knows what happened to poor Lisa."
"That little bitch. I have no idea what happened to her. She just disappeared one night. I suppose she had a key to the door at the top of the stairs, too. That's how Lori kept sneaking out. Lisa went out one night and never came back. I always assumed she died, but I have no idea how. And I certainly didn't kill her," he said, but his conviction seemed to be waning.
"It takes time to strangle someone. And all that time allowed your ring to leave a very clear impression on her neck, as well. Which, of course I made detailed sketches of."
"Any lawyer could argue that you made them today."
"Yes, I suppose they might, were it not for the fact that the judge has had the sketches for over a month," she said, giving the bandage one last tug.
Whether Harding's face went ashen from her information or his pain, she neither knew nor cared. He was never going to slip from this noose.
And Victoria left the surgery, smiling.
Chapter Thirty-Six
By the time dawn broke over Manchester, Gus and Neil were up and about—even if they were still a bit wobbly and had wicked headaches. Meg—who was showing signs of coming around from her drug induced coma—had been carried to Victoria's hotel room. And Miranda had arrived to help care for the two girls and detective.
Kit had given Lynn a bath, put her into a clean nightgown, and tucked her into the trundle bed, just as Eva had overseen Kathy's bathing, donning a fresh nightgown, and creeping into Eva's own bed. Then Colleen had taken a quick bath, been given several cups of very strong and sweet tea, and sent into Meg's bed to get some well-earned rest.
Eva returned home with her mother, leaving Kit and Miranda dozing in the wing chairs before the fire, while Gus and Neil sat waiting with Frank in his office for the judge to arrive.
Victoria checked on her two patients, being held under house arrest at her surgery. Mrs. Porter was resting, but Harding was still whining about his pain and thrashing around. Then she walked down to the workshop, and asked about the girls and Colleen, but they were all sleeping soundly.
So, she accepted a cup of tea from Kit, washed her face, combed her hair, and walked down to the sheriff's office.
As soon as she came through the door, Neil jumped up, shamelessly hugged and kissed her, before he pressed her into the chair he'd just abandoned.
Frank looked at her, and asked, "Are you sure you'll all right? You look done in."
"I'm exhausted, but I can't rest yet."
"Why?" Neil asked.
"Yes, why?" Frank echoed. "After all, you've found the missing girls, as well as our Pinkerton agent. All the wrong-doers are in custody. And, none of the good guys were even hurt."
"Except," Victoria said, "for Colleen. But, she was very lucky. Mrs. Porter's knife was deflected by a rib, so she only has a small cut. I didn't even need to stitch it."
"There you go!" Gus exclaimed. "Now that everything's over, I'm sure we all think you deserve some much needed rest."
"This isn't over," the doctor argued. "It's only just beginning. Those girls might be sleeping soundly now, but they'll be up eventually. And, then I'm going to have to talk to them."
"Can't you just leave them alone for a day or two?" Frank asked.
"No, sheriff. Lynn needs to know what happened to her sisters, just as Kathy needs to be told about her own sister, Jeannine. Even though, I'm sure they both aren't holding out any real hope that any of the girls are still alive. And then, I'm going to have to examine them and write up a report for you and the judge." She looked over at Frank and asked, "They don't have to go back to that orphanage, do they? Please don't allow that to happen. Please!"
"Although I don't think I have much say in that, I'm sure the judge will," the sheriff tried to reassure her.
Neil suggested, "Why don't you let me walk you over to the hotel and you can get another room—if Meg's still asleep?"
"Honestly, Neil," the doctor argued, "I'm so tired now, I might sleep for a week. And, my patients—all of them—have to take priority over my own comfort."
Gus asked, "Is it you want your own room? Because, I've been instructed to bring Meg out to the house. Ma was very clear about that."
"I suppose part of it is when I finally agree to rest, I'm going to want to bathe and get into my own gown, and go to sleep in my own—hotel—bed. But, I'm sure the judge is going to want to speak to me."
"Well," Neil said, "I think you need something to eat. Why don't we go to the restaurant—all of us? The judge is probably going to check in there as soon as he arrives, anyway.
"And, even if he doesn't, he'll still find us."
"Well, I suppose," Victoria relented, "I need to check on Margaret, anyway. Come along then..." she ended, with a little smile.
It was an uncomfortable walk to the hotel. People kept approaching them and bombarding them with questions. But Frank shooed them all away, insisting that they really couldn't talk about anything until after the judge arrived.
As soon as they reached the hotel, Victoria ran upstairs to check on Meg—who was now aw
ake, confused, and insisting on being told what had happened. So, she filled in basics while Meg washed up and combed her hair. Then, they walked down to the restaurant, but there was no sign of the men.
Ann came scurrying over and told them, "Everyone is in the little side room. Joe decided if he didn't put you all in there, people would just keep pestering you. And, you all look tired enough."
"Thank you, Ann," the doctor said, as she guided a still wobbling Meg towards the little private dining room.
They discovered the men, now joined by the judge and his clerk, as well as the two Pinkerton agents—Will and Jake.
Immediately, Meg asked, "But where are the others? Where are Eva and Kit, and Miranda, and Miss Murphy and those poor girls?" Before she looked at Victoria and said, "You said everyone was all right."
Gus said, "They are, Margaret. Eva and Kit are watching over the others, while they get some rest. We promise you—I promise you—everyone else if perfectly safe." He pulled out a chair for her, and insisted, "Just sit down. If you feel any bit like I do, sitting is definitely better than standing."
The judge was just about to begin asking for a detailed account of the previous evening's happenings when the door opened, and Miranda entered.
"I hope I haven't missed anything," she said, softly.
"No," Judge Preston, told her, "we were just about to begin. Although, I don't suppose there's any need to hurry, now. So, why don't we get some refreshments? Then I think we'll let the professionals make their reports—such as they are able—first."
"Please," Miranda interrupted, "before they begin, I have a request."
"What is it, Mrs. Hendriksen?" the judge asked.
"Please. I have a good size house, and a fairly productive spread. I'm all alone, and they're all alone. And, I've always wanted children. I want to adopt those two girls."
The End
About Jordan Bollinger
Jordan Johnson was born on March 26th, 1952, in New Orleans, LA. In the summer of '62, her father moved the family north, to a two-hundred-year-old farmhouse, in a small, rural town in Connecticut. There he founded a small printing company, catering to the myriad of weekly town papers. Her first job was proof reading for him.
After finishing high school, she entered the University of Connecticut in the fall of 1970, where she studied Social Studies and Education. Upon her graduating in the spring of 1974, she married her high school sweetheart on July 22, 1974. She did substitute teaching for several years, but obtained a full-time teaching position in '77, where she taught high school American History and Political Science.
Shortly, after retiring in '87, Jordan decided she would be happier unmarried and filed for divorce. In the spirit of a new start, she moved to Deland, FLA, where she studied writing at Stetson University. There she met and married Mitchell Bollinger. Unfortunately, Mitchell died in a car accident just one year into the marriage.
Once again, she picked up and moved across the country—this time west—to Tucson, AZ, where she began working on her first romance series. She now lives just eat of Tucson, in Vail, with three wire-haired fox terriers and an ex-Marine.
Find out more about Jordan and her books at jordanbollinger.com
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