Prescription: Murder! Volume 1: Authentic Cases From the Files of Alan Hynd (7 page)

And so they did. It wasn’t long after the Doctor and his wife had taken up residence in the Widow Sparling’s property that Mrs. MacGregor didn’t feel well. The Doctor made a hasty diagnosis of the trouble.

“Dear,” he said, “I’m afraid this climate is bad for your health. I suggest that you take a trip to Ontario and visit your relatives. That ought to clear things up.” As soon as Mrs. MacGregor left town, there was plenty of action in the house MacGregor was renting from the Widow Sparling. The widow frequently drove into Ubly from her farm, early in the morning, to spend the whole day in the house. One night, when the MacGregors were visiting the Boomhowers, the doctor seemed to be depressed again.

“What’s the matter, Doc?” asked Boomhower.

Plenty was the matter. Scyrel, the youngest of the Sparlings, had taken to his bed.

“Good God!” said Boomhower. “Don’t tell me somebody else in that Sparling family is going to die!”

MacGregor said he feared the youngest of the Sparlings had cancer. He had decided to call in other physicians for a consultation. MacGregor called in not one, but three doctors to look at Scyrel.

One was a local physician named Dr. Daniel Conboy. Dr. Conboy had extensive training in toxicology. While he had been consulted in Albert’s death and had previously agreed to the diagnosis of acute pancreatitis for Albert, something hadn’t smelled quite right to him about Albert’s passing. So he came into the Scyrel situation with some lurking suspicions. And since the passing of Albert, Dr. Conboy had consulted his trusty Encyclopedia of Medicine and found Scyrel’s symptoms indicated something else entirely: arsenical poisoning.

As Scyrel’s situation deteriorated, Dr. MacGregor, perhaps anticipating the thoughts of Dr. Conboy, out of the blue asked Dr. Conboy if he suspected arsenic as the cause for the patient’s itchy extremities and the irritation in his nose, mouth and throat. Conboy, surprised, allowed that this very well might be the case.

Boomhower specifically told Dr. MacGregor to notify him upon Scyrel’s death, for he wanted to order an autopsy. Dr. MacGregor again added that folks shouldn’t be surprised if the autopsy did show signs of arsenic. The Sparling boys were chronic consumers patent tonics, which contained the very same. Manufacturers did not have to adhere to any government regulations, and these “medicines” and “elixirs” promised cures for everything from scarlet fever to gout, and prevention of almost everything else.

Dr. MacGregor also suggested they hire a nurse to keep an eye on Scyrel. Dr. MacGregor thought this was a great idea and wasted no time hiring a Miss Marguerite Gibbs. She was tall and attractive, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. She would be tending to Scyrel on an hourly basis, administering his medicines, monitoring his food and drink. In her spare time, she would also search the Sparling home for poison.

Two days later, the nurse discretely showed Dr. MacGregor a cardboard box she had found in the Sparling kitchen. It was filled with bottles of arsenic. Dr. MacGregor, showing what appeared to be deep shock, dutifully delivered the box of arsenic to the desk of Xenon Boomhower. The implications of Carrie Sparling’s involvement in the deaths of her husband and two sons lay within the flimsy walls of the cardboard box.

After Dr. MacGregor’s departure, Boomhower started to snap out of the trance that seemed to have held him during the past few months. He contacted the local sheriff, Donald McAuley, and requested that McAuley look into additional arsenic sources. Sheriff McAuley, a tall bear of a man in his 40s, began to prowl around the county. He learned a good deal more than what he had expected, hearing from the Sparling neighbors about an alleged affair between Dr. MacGregor and Mrs. Carrie Sparling, quite a scandal in these Edwardian times. Nor could the sheriff ignore the rants of Uncle John.

So Sheriff McAuley started to snoop a little further. Carrie Sparling was on his mind because of that cache of arsenic. But perhaps in addition to Mrs. Sparling, he reasoned, a closer look at Dr. MacGregor might be a beneficial idea.

Upon further investigation at the local bank, the sheriff learned each time Mrs. Sparling cashed an insurance check on the proceeds of her dead sons, Dr. MacGregor’s accounts profited quite nicely. So had Dr. MacGregor purposely thrown suspicion upon Carrie Sparling in attempt to divert the sheriff and the prosecutor?

On August 10, Dr. Conboy made an unannounced visit to the Sparling home. Mrs. MacGregor assisted the nurse in bathing Scyrel, who drifted in and out of consciousness. Dr. MacGregor comforted Carrie. Painfully obvious, Scyrel was about to meet his Maker.

On August 14, Dr. MacGregor called his physician comrades back to Scyrel’s bedside. Drs. Conboy and one Dr. Willett Herrington arrived, as did one Dr. Eugene Holdship, the local medical examiner. A man Jay S. Corcoran came as well. All present agreed Scyrel Sparling would die before dawn. The doctors departed, save Drs. MacGregor and Holdship. Dr. Conboy reminded Dr. MacGregor to summon him and Dr. Herrington in regards to the autopsy.

A few hours later, Scyrel gasped for the final time.

Always a man of action, Dr. MacGregor made the suggestion to Dr. Holdship they should perform an autopsy immediately. Dr. Holdship was unaware that Prosecutor Xen Boomhower had his own ideas of just who should do the honors.

Outside, Ubly’s undertaker, Mr. Hector McKay lounged on the Sparling hammock as he grieved yet another Sparling boy’s death. Dr. MacGregor approached Hector, asking him for his knife. Hector obliged. Dr. MacGregor promptly handed the blade to his acquaintance, informing Dr. Holdship he would make the cuts.

In the dark of night, Carrie Sparling held the lantern with as steady a hand as she could manage while Dr. Holdship sliced away, following the direction of Dr. MacGregor. Dr. Holdship removed a few vital organs: the liver, spleen, pancreas and part of the upper intestine, placing them in jars as he removed them from their original owner. The liver appeared swollen and ruptured. Dr. MacGregor diagnosed his death as cancer of the liver, promptly asking Dr. Holdship if the organ appeared diseased to him, also.

Dr. Holdship nodded his agreement. When Dr. Holdship inquired as to whether he should dissect the stomach, Dr. MacGregor indicated Scyrel’s stomach looked fine.

“No need to disturb it,” MacGregor said. “We have our answers. Let’s just stitch him back up.”

At the break of dawn, Dr. MacGregor hopped in his new auto. He drove to Bad Axe, the jars containing Scyrel’s organs clanking together in an eerie tune in the back seat along the way. Boomhower, who had been preparing to leave for the Sparling farm so he could be present during the autopsy, was shocked when Dr. MacGregor drove up to the local courthouse and announced what he was carrying. Dr. MacGregor handed the jars filled to the brim with Scyrel’s organs to his friend, who had previously indicated the contents would be shipped to the University of Michigan for analysis.

Dr. Charles B. Morden, the Huron County coroner, along with Sheriff McAuley and Drs. Herrington and Conboy, stood in the street before the courthouse with their mouths open in surprise.

“Why had Dr. MacGregor performed the autopsy,” asked Boomhower.

“Didn’t want to trouble you,” MacGregor said. “I was happy to help.”

But before all three doctors could agree on a diagnosis, the youth qualified for a place in the family burial grounds. It was night when he passed away, not quietly in his sleep but noisily while awake. Doctor MacGregor and the third physician were at the bedside.

And so the fourth Sparling died, the fourth in three years. A speedy funeral followed.

Time passed and the stew began to come to a boil. Mrs. MacGregor’s condition didn’t seem to respond to treatment and the doctor was always sending her away to Canada. The woman seems to have been considerably less suspicious than some women whose husbands cheat on them but it must be said for Doctor MacGregor that he was, on the surface anyway, the soul of attention to his wife when she was around.

Mrs. Sparing and the doctor made their first mistake when one night Mrs. MacGregor was out of town, Mrs. Sparling decided to remain all night in the house she rented to the doctor. One of the village gossips, a spinster lady naturally, saw Mrs. MacGregor sneaking out of the house in the early hours of the morning to drive back to the farm. The gossip ran straight to Old John and told him what was going on. So Old John rented a room in the old maid’s house, remaining under cover by day, so that he could keep an eye on what went on at Doc’s at night.

One night the Widow Sparling checked into the Doc’s place in the afternoon and was still there when all the lights went out that night. Old John bided his time until around midnight. Then, carrying a lantern and a ladder, he sneaked up to Doc’s house, climbed up the ladder, peeked in a second-story window and got a pretty good view of what was going on between the good doctor and the bereaved widow.

Similarly, Dr. Daniel Conboy, still bothered by the events at the Sparling ranch, paid a visit to Xen Boomhower in Bad Axe. Dr. Conboy had had time to come to some conclusions. He now alleged Carrie Sparling had poisoned Scyrel, the motive: insurance money.

Old John, having seen plenty, dropped in on Prosecutor Boomhower next day.

“I know people think I’m nuts,” said Old John, fixing Boomhower with a belligerent stare, “but you won’t think I’m nuts if you dig up them Sparling boys.”

Boomhower was opening his mouth to respond when who should come in the door but Dr. Daniel Conboy, still bothered by the events at the Sparling ranch. Dr. Conboy had had time to come to some conclusions. He now alleged Carrie Sparling had poisoned Scyrel, the motive: insurance money.

“See?” said Old John, as soon as Conboy piped down. “Told you so!”

There was something so sincere about the bellicose old auctioneer that Boomhower, who had heard gossip, too, decided he had nothing to lose by digging up at least one body. Secretly, of course. So, Boomhower hired a couple of gravediggers. They dug up Scyrel and took him to the office of a doctor in the next county.

The doctor took out Scyrel’s vital organs. What remained of Scyrel was ushered back to his grave. At the laboratory of the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, Scyrel’s vital organs were found to be shot through with arsenic. Boomhower thought things over carefully when he got the news. Then he did a most unusual thing. He called Doctor MacGregor into his office.

“Doc,” he said, “I have something unpleasant to take up with you.”

“What?”

“There’s been a lot of talk in town about all those deaths in the Spading family. So, just to settle the thing one way or the other, I had Scyrel’s body exhumed.”

“Is that so?” said MacGregor, calm as could be.

“Yes,” Boomhower continued, “I sent the vital organs to the University of Michigan.” “And what did they find?”

“Arsenic!”

MacGregor looked out the window and drummed his fingers on a table.

“Do you know,” he said at length, “I’m not at all surprised.”

“You’re not? Why not?” MacGregor looked earnestly at Boomhower.

“Why,” he said, “because of all that tonic that those boys swigged. I told you that before! You know that tonic contains arsenic. As a matter of fact, I’ll bet everybody in that family’s filled with arsenic.”

“There was enough arsenic in Scyrel to kill an elephant!”

“Long term use,” said MacGregor. “That’s what happens. Genuinely unfortunate.”

Boomhower hadn’t thought of that. He looked at MacGregor.

“Doc,” said Boomhower, rising and placing a hand on MacGregor’s shoulder, “I’m glad all this has come up. It’s settled once and for all. I’m convinced you’ve been a victim of malicious gossip.”

Boomhower summoned Old John to his office.

“Mr. Sparling,” he said to the old boy, “I don’t care what’s going on between the doctor and the widow. And I’m convinced Doctor MacGregor had nothing to do with those deaths.”

“You are, eh?” said Old John.

“Yes. And that’s all that matters.”

“Well, I’ve been doin’ a little snoopin’ myself. Why don’t you go have a talk with the president of the bank here in town?”

“What do you mean?”

“You just do as I say. Then maybe your eyes’ll be opened.”

Boomhower had a talk with the president of the Bad Axe bank. MacGregor, whose practice had never been profitable, had never had any significant money until he bought the automobile. Then he had deposited a check for $1,000 made out by the Sun Life Association of Canada to Mrs. Spading for Albert’s death, and endorsed over to the doctor by the woman.

The bank records disclosed a second $1,000 payment by Mrs. Sparling to MacGregor, immediately after the death of Scyrel. Boomhower also learned that MacGregor had been living in Mrs. Sparling’s Ubly house rent-free. And then there was the undeniable interplay between all of the insurance money dancing from Carrie Sparling’s account into the doctor’s every time a Sparling son bit the dust.

So Boomhower now decided that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to dig up Albert. More arsenic. Had MacGregor, with the aid of Mrs. Sparling, done in all four of the Sparlings, starting with the old man? If so, the doctor had done a very clever thing in moving the Sparlings out of Sanilac County up to Huron County after the second death.

The prosecutor of Sanilac County wasn’t a close friend of the doctor’s, but Boomhower had been. If MacGregor was a murderer, a murderer for profit, he had at least created a most favorable climate for his operations, getting chummy with the prosecutor and conditioning him in advance of the murders to the deaths of the victims.

Boomhower was still wondering what to do as August1911 turned into September. Then he ran into MacGregor on the street.

“Oh, Xenophon,” said the doctor, “you’re just the man I want to see.”

“Why?” asked Boomhower, smart at last and playing it straight. “What now seems to be the matter, Doc?”

MacGregor ran his hand over his brow.

“It’s about Ray Sparling.”

“Really?” said Boomhower, concealing his alarm and skepticism. “What about Ray?”

“I’m afraid,” said MacGregor, looking off into space, “that Ray is not long for this world. He just seems to not be himself.