45
Dead men could tell tales, Kendra knew. So could dead women. In the future, science would give voices to the dead with such discoveries as chromatography at the turn of the century, and then luminol and the scanning electron microscope in the 1930s. And, of course, the most valuable tool of her time, DNA typing, which law enforcement would begin to make use of in the mid-1980s—more than a century from now.
What tales could April Duprey possibly tell, she wondered, with such primitive tools at their disposal?
They gathered around the body. Everyone except Rebecca, who, despite her protests and the gentlemen’s proclamations for being progressive thinkers, couldn’t bridge this era’s gap between the sexes. Nor the class system, Kendra suspected. Rebecca was a Lady. And ladies had more delicate sensibilities than a woman from the lower classes.
They had yet to determine where Kendra belonged. Even though Munroe had seen her “handiwork” on the slate board, he gave her a critical look over April Duprey’s body. “Do you understand what is involved in a postmortem, Miss Donovan?”
“Yes.”
“I shan’t catch you if you swoon.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “As you wish. I shall begin with an external examination.”
Dr. Munroe discarded his jacket and cravat, rolled up his sleeves, and put on something that reminded Kendra, a bit ghoulishly, of a butcher’s apron. He leaned over the body. “If someone could assist me by holding the lantern to give me better light?”
Kendra picked up one of the lanterns that had been brought into the gloomy room, angling it so the amber light fell directly on the woman’s pale face.
“Thank you, Miss Donovan.”
With interest, she watched Munroe slide several sheets of foolscap beneath the head, then begin to work a comb through the tangled hair. “Looks to be mostly twigs, leaves . . .” He dumped the debris into the glass vials he’d lined up on the table behind him.
“Lacerations on the face, varying sizes. Looks to be from branches.” He moved down the body. “She appears to have been cut on the back of the hand.”
“From a knife, and only once,” Kendra pointed out.
“Yes. I can see that.” He did what she had, taking a tweezers and magnifying glass for the initial inspection. “I shall need to remove the glove.”
He attempted to remove it manually, but dried blood and moisture and internal gases that bloated the dead woman’s hand had effectively glued the leather to the skin beneath. Abandoning the effort, the doctor cut off the glove and then scrutinized the hand.
“Shallow knife wound,” he observed.
“It’s not a defensive wound,” Kendra felt compelled to add. How much did he understand about forensic pathology? How much did anyone in this century?
Munroe regarded her through his Harry Potter glasses. “I am aware of defensive wounds, Miss Donovan.”
“Oh.”
He turned back to the body. “In fact, there appear to be no defensive wounds. The attacker clearly surprised her, and she ran. The palms of her gloves are heavily soiled, indicating that she fell several times during her ordeal. Her palms are abraded. This corresponds with the area of the glove that is most heavily soiled.”
Kendra had to admit that she was impressed by the doctor’s thoroughness in his visual examination. He used the tweezers to pick off more debris from the bodice and skirt, and carefully inspected the foot with the missing shoe. With the help of Alec and Sam, he turned the body over to make the same detailed journey from that angle.
“There appears to be some sort of discoloration across the upper part of her pelisse, spanning the right shoulder blade.” He examined it through the magnifying glass, asking Kendra to move the lantern closer. “Dark gray in coloration. It does not appear to be a soil stain, though. I must examine the fabric under a microscope to reach any sort of conclusion.”
“You are welcome to use my laboratory, Dr. Munroe.”
“Ah. Thank you, Your Grace. Now I shall need assistance in disrobing the woman.” He slanted a glance at Kendra. “Miss Donovan, you may wish to depart if you feel your sensibilities will be affected by the next phase of my examination.”
“I know what a naked woman looks like, Doctor.” She set down the lantern. “I’ll help you.”
The pelisse was easy enough to strip off, as were the stockings. They were forced to cut away the rest of the clothes, which Kendra folded carefully and placed on the wooden table after Munroe matched the wounds on the body with the corresponding tears and slices in the fabric.
“Miss Duprey was fully clothed when she was killed.”
Aldridge arched a brow at the doctor. “Was there any doubt?”