<hr/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f2/Beardycox.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Avery Burnham<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Law Dogs (1)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 18th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Late Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Burnham Detective Agency<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Charlie Flatbush (?); CLOSED<br/><hr/><br/>Avery tried to picture the young woman he’d met just a few hours ago swinging axes and sledgehammers while smiling beatifically, and had to admit -- it wasn’t<em>that</em>hard.  Still highly unlikely, however, and not a thing any but the most hostile or gullible of juries would be apt to believe in his opinion.  Substitute in the mysterious Doggy and it all became much more palatable.  That created another worry though.  What if this Doggy character had gone over the side of the mesa with the tools of execution?  Proving that would be next to impossible, especially in the tight timeframe he currently had.  Dolores seemed convinced he was still alive and well though, if in hiding.<br/><br/>“Of course, Dr. Aveley.  No offense was given.  Believe me, I appreciate your professionalism.  It does not seem to always be in the most plentiful supply out here, I’ve noticed.”  He was rather annoyed, in fact, but not at the doctor.  Aveley was of course correct that a decent lawyer would call the documents into question if he simply walked off with them, and that he’d overlooked that fact only served to remind him that he was no proper lawyer himself.  He was still playing police detective, chasing after leads, not thinking first and foremost of his client’s defense.  “I have another appointment I need to handle first but if possible I’d like to stop by your office later this evening and have a proper look.  You’ve been most helpful, doctor, and I appreciate you taking your time this way to speak candidly with me.  If I should ever have need of a doctor’s services, I’ve confidence you’re a man I could trust.”<br/><br/>Most doctors were barely worth the paper their degrees were printed on of course.  Avery knew that much.  He admired the medical profession for its scientific approach to healing the body, as opposed to the mystic hocus pocus many still foolishly clung to, but he also knew there were any number of shady institutions back east willing to crank out degrees to practically anyone who could afford one.  The same was true in London.  Whether Dr. Aveley was among these or one of the more honest sorts, it was hard to know.  Being Gomorra, the former was probably the safer bet, he imagined.<br/><br/>Shaking his hand, Avery escorted him to the door and said his polite farewells.  He then returned to the office for his hat before tossing the glass and whiskey bottle back into the drawer.  Catching sight of his old service revolver, he thought a second, frowned, and took it out, checking the cylinder to see that it was loaded.  Avery then inserted it into the leather lined pocket sewn into his coat and headed out to see if Charlie Flatbush was around.<br/><br/>It was time to see this asylum in person.