“If she wasn’t killed here, why do we need to worry about the area?” Alec wondered.
Kendra met his eyes. Last night was still fresh in her mind, but the dead woman lying at their feet trumped any feelings of discomfort. “You never know what you may find. I’d at least like the chance to find it before we trample all over it. Speaking of trampled . . .” She looked down the path. “This isn’t the route to the lake, but it’s obviously used.”
“Yes. ’Tis often used by those who live in the surrounding area but work on the castle grounds,” Alec replied.
“So he wanted her to be found,” Kendra said softly.
“I believe you are correct, Miss Donovan,” Aldridge said slowly, puzzlement in his blue eyes. “But why?”
Kendra had a few ideas. And because none of them were good, she simply shook her head. “Not here. Later.”
The Duke crouched down next to the victim. “It looks as though the poor girl ran through the forest.”
“Ran and fell down at least once, maybe more. The skirt around the knees is heavily soiled. She lost a shoe, but obviously kept running.”
Terrorized, Kendra thought. The tights covering her foot were so shredded and caked with dirt and blood that it was impossible to determine their original color. “She can’t have been out here that long. We’ve got flies and maggots, but no beetles or spiders. The animals haven’t done too much damage either. The ears suffered the most. Soft tissue. Something’s gnawed on the lobes. What time did you find the body?”
“A bit after seven,” one man said.
Kendra did the calculations in her head. It was now eight-thirty. Ten minutes to the castle to report the crime. A little longer back since the boy had to wait for them. Even though they’d set off at a brisk pace, they hadn’t been jogging. “What’s your name?” she asked.
The man turned his hat in his hands. “Bobby, miss. Bobby Black.”
“Does anybody know when the path might have been last used?”
Bobby Black darted a nervous glance at the Duke. “Oi can’t speak fer anyone else, miss. But me and Reggie Carter came through ’ere last evenin’, about eleven or so. We used it coming ’ome from the stables. The chit wasn’t ’ere then.”
“You’re sure of the time?”
“Aye.”
“And you’re sure she wasn’t here? It was dark. You could’ve overlooked her.”
“Nay. We would’ve tripped right over ’er!”
Kendra looked at the Duke. “We’ll need to interview the rest of the servants. Find out if anyone else used the path after Mr. Black and his friend went through. It will give us a window for when the victim was dumped here.”
Aldridge nodded. His expression, as he scrutinized the corpse, was grim. “You were right, Miss Donovan. You predicted the madman would kill again, and he has.”
“Yes, but . . .” Kendra frowned, her own gaze dropping to study the body again. “This isn’t right. This is all wrong.”
“I do not comprehend.”
“Our killer has a type. It’s his signature. It means something deeply personal to him, and he won’t change it. It’s not a whim that he targets young girls with the dark eye and hair color. This woman doesn’t fit the victimology. She’s opposite in every way—blonde, statuesque, and much older. She wasn’t even killed in the same method as our Jane Doe. Look—no strangulation.”
The Duke raised his brows. “I recognize the anomaly in appearance and even manner of death, Miss Donovan, but I refuse to believe we’re dealing with two separate killers. The mathematical odds of that would be staggering. We’re not in a large metropolis.”
Alec reached over and threaded his fingers through the victim’s tangled hair. It was easy to see that several sections had been hacked off. “This remains the same.”
The sound of approaching feet—more than one pair—had everyone turning. Martin was trotting down the path, carrying the requested items, followed by several more workmen, and Sam and Rebecca.
Flies, Kendra knew, weren’t the only thing drawn to death. There were always gawkers around crime scenes. That’s why yellow tape was rolled out and a perimeter established.
Beside her, Alec sighed. “Becca, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense, Sutcliffe! Mary told me another woman had been discovered . . .” She paled a bit as she stepped near to study the dead woman. “’Tis true, I see. Dear heaven . . .”
Kendra asked, “Does anyone recognize her?”
“Nay, miss,” said one of the men. “She be a stranger.”
She wasn’t really surprised by that answer. Clothing often determined a person’s socioeconomic status, especially in this era. Even damaged, she could see that the woman’s coat and gown weren’t that of a servant or someone in the lower classes.
“She’s unfamiliar to me as well,” Aldridge murmured.
“I can identify her,” Sam spoke up.