Dr. Norris’s bristled eyebrows rose in mirth. Even Dr. Gettler allowed a small smile.
“Well. It looks like Bellevue may have just lost a janitor,” Dr. Norris said. He took a white laboratory coat down from a peg on the wall and threw it at Jasper, who pulled it over his arms and tried not to smile like a fool as he buttoned it. Gettler shook Jasper’s hand with his own blood-sticky one (somehow, this seemed done on purpose). With the clean hand, he opened his palm, motioning to the small laboratory surrounding them.
“Welcome, Mr. Jones, to the chemistry of death.”
Jasper wasn’t unhappy to leave his janitorial work behind. The only benefit had been having complete access to everything in the building. Which meant no more “borrowing” textbooks off the shelves on a Friday and returning them Sunday morning, before anyone noticed they’d been missing. No more sniffing around the locked chemical closets. But it didn’t matter. Other doors were opening now. Better ones.
After about an hour’s worth of chopping, mincing, and grinding, Jasper was an expert in the total annihilation of cow’s liver. He was up to his forearms in blood, and he didn’t care. He loved the wood paneling, the smoke-stained plaster walls, and Gettler’s murmuring and brutal Brooklynisms. Gettler would explain his techniques, saying things like “First of all . . . ,” which sounded like foist of all . . . Good Lord, Jasper would hear that voice in his dreams tonight.
After he had washed off the blood and sinew, Dr. Norris came by to discuss his new position in the laboratory.
“I can pay you eight hundred dollars a year. That’s all.”
Jasper nodded, a little too quickly. It would be almost double what he’d made as a janitor, even though it was still not much. But he might finally afford medical school next year if he saved carefully, if his uncle could handle some of the bills at home. He would have a head start in the field of pathology. A life’s career speckled with words like leader in his field and forensics prodigy was staring down at him. His heart did backflips.
“You’ll work here full time as Dr. Gettler’s assistant and help when the office is called to a crime scene. I need a stenographer, someone to run the chemistry labs and order equipment, someone to answer the phones . . .”
“I’ll do it,” Jasper answered, without a trace of hesitancy.
“And one more thing. How old are you?”
“I’m eighteen.”
“Don’t grow up any faster, young man.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll lose you to the next draft. They lower the age limit every time. I won’t have my whole department turned into doughboys pushing up daisies.”
“Yes sir! I’ll do my very best not to age, sir.”
“Excellent.”
When Norris was done with him, Gettler dug in with his provisos.
“First, you keep up on the reading,” he lectured. “You know some but not enough. You’ll learn plenty in medical school but not fast enough for me.” He took book after book off his shelves and patted them lovingly. Jasper glanced at the familiar bindings.
“But I already read those,” Jasper protested.
“When?” Gettler asked, incredulous.
“I’ve been working here for over two years. I read them during my . . . erm . . . breaks.”
“While you were in college? A bit early for someone your age, eh?”
Jasper shrugged. “I’m impatient.”
“I see. And you’re a terrible janitor, if you were spending all your time reading.”
“Yes sir, I was.”
Gettler laughed. “Well, I worked”—(woiked—Lord, that accent!)—“the night shift at the ferry while I finished my PhD. Who am I to talk?” He pushed the books aside and waggled his finger. “One other thing.”
“Yes?”
“That dead girl.”
The grin on Jasper’s face melted away. “Yes?”
“Charles showed me the police file while you were dicing up that liver. Our office was not called for an autopsy. Dr. Norris can make a request to open the case, but it’s the police that have the final say.”
“Which means?”
“Which means our department can’t touch that body. And since you’re in our department now, you can’t either.”
Jasper wilted under his steady, icy gaze. What was the point of being here if he couldn’t find out what really happened to Florence? Or show the world that a kid from the Bowery could solve a Fifth Avenue crime?
Gettler watched the different emotions transform his face. “We don’t break rules here. We don’t bend them, not even a smidge. Tammany Hall is chock full of shady deals and dirty handshakes. Norris put a kibosh on coroners for hire, and I agree with him a hundred percent. We do it right here, boy, or we don’t do it at all. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
Jasper went back to his work and dutifully added different amounts of icy-clear methanol to a dozen samples of carefully weighed liver. In his mind, he couldn’t stop hearing Dr. Gettler’s disdain for rule breaking. And all the while he worked, Jasper had only one other thought that tumbled over and over again:
Gettler and Norris had just hired a liar.
CHAPTER 9
Andrew opened the car door and held out his hand to Birdie. She took it tentatively but appreciated the strength of his support as she stepped onto the uneven cobblestones. Her building had peeling paint along the windows and was dull, brown brick. Nothing to look at, but Andrew’s watchful eyes took it in anyway.
Birdie was reaching for the building’s front door when it swung inward on its own accord. A gentleman, short and mustachioed, pulled his hat lower over his eyes.
“S’cuse me, miss,” he said, but wouldn’t make eye contact with her or Andrew. Andrew didn’t seem to be bothered by this, but Birdie frowned, poisoned by the man’s proximity. She was grateful that the stranger was on his way out.
And then she remembered: Holly. She’d begged Mother to stay home with her. Alone. Anger quickened her pulse.
“Will you wait here?” she asked Andrew. “It’ll just be a moment while I check on Holly and Mother.”
“I’d rather not,” he replied. He seemed too eager to be near her, even in this shabby Brooklyn apartment. She shrank from shame. She didn’t want Andrew here, but she needed to hear what he knew about Florence and she needed to check on Holly. If she resisted, Andrew and his information would leave. Lately, the only resistance she possessed was in refusing to enter her mother’s profession. She had no other energy otherwise.
“Very well,” she said.