Kendra was tempted to do as he suggested, to take the coward’s way out. No one here would think less of her—but she’d hate herself for it.
Straightening her shoulders, she shook her head. “I need to see this through.” She turned to look at the circle of faces. “Who found the . . . who found her?”
A tall, gangly youth whose ears stuck out almost sideways from his close-cropped sandy hair shuffled forward. “That would be me, ma’am. Me and Gerald.” His pallor was a sickly green, his face tear-streaked. His freckles looked like they’d been drawn on with a Magic Marker. Ridiculously young. He stood before her nervously, twisting a knit cap with his hands. It struck her that all the men around her had taken off their hats. Not a courtesy to her, but as a sign of respect for the dead girl at their feet. A lump formed in her throat.
“What’s your name?”
“Colin, ma’am.”
“When did you find her?”
“Er . . . ’alf hour. No more.”
Kendra scanned the area. Rose had been placed near the grassy knoll where they’d had the nuncheon, about ten yards from the lake. Unlike the path upon which April had been dumped, this was isolated enough. The area, as the Duke said, had been searched the previous evening. There was no reason to search it again. Rose could’ve lain here for days before anyone found her.
“What made you and Gerald come to this area, Colin?”
“Nothin’ really.” His gaze fell to the cap he was twisting. “Me and Gerald . . . we just wanted ter talk a bit.”
Kendra looked over at Gerald. Same age as Colin, but smaller in stature with flaxen hair and baby blue eyes. The boys were still at that developmental stage in their life, probably eager to slip away to share their horror in private, away from adult ears. Too bad for them, then, that they’d encountered a fresh horror.
“It’s significant that the killer didn’t dump . . . the body in the lake.” The body. The victim. It was easier for her to think of Rose in more impersonal terms. “He wanted her to be discovered, but it would’ve been too risky for him to put her on a more public path. Too many people searching, too many possible witnesses. When, exactly, was this area searched yesterday?”
Someone spoke up from the back of the crowd. “We went through ’ere at about ’alf past ten.”
“It was dark. Could you have missed her?”
“Nay, ma’am. We ’ad lanterns. We would’ve spotted ’er.”
“Aye. Or one of the dogs would’ve found ’er.”
“Okay. If everyone would step back, please . . .” She gave a nod to Dr. Munroe. He’d been waiting, and now squatted down beside the shrouded form. He opened up his black bag and withdrew a magnifying glass.
Kendra’s heart lurched when he slid the coat down to reveal Rose’s face. Her eyes were open. There was a dark bruise on her right temple, which Kendra pointed out.
“That’s new.” Even to her ears, her voice sounded strained. “It’s not part of his ritual.”
“It could be how he abducted her from the castle grounds,” Aldridge murmured. “Mayhap he knocked her unconscious.”
Munroe peered closer. “Hmm. The skin appears intact. He most likely used a blunt object of some kind.”
She found herself praying that Rose had never regained consciousness.
“Her hair has been cut,” observed the Duke.
Kendra forced herself to watch as the doctor dragged the wool coat away, exposing her. The crowd shifted, moving farther back. It was human nature to gawk, and Kendra was certain that if this girl had been a stranger, they’d have edged in closer to get a better look.
“She’s been throttled,” said Munroe, even as Kendra’s gaze flicked to the deep bruising around the throat.
How many times? She felt sick. How many goddamn times before the son of a bitch had exerted too much pressure, killing her?
“One bite mark,” the doctor pointed out, and lifted his gaze to Kendra’s. “’Tis as you wrote on the slate board.”
“Yes. It’s the killer’s signature.”
He returned to his examination. “It appears she was restrained.”
Kendra’s heart sank as she looked at the deep contusions around the wrists. There would’ve been no need to restrain her if she’d been unconscious. And the way the skin was cut suggested that she hadn’t been passive. She’d struggled in panic. In pain.
Unwillingly, Kendra slid her eyes to the dark slashes marring the marble-white torso. Something was off. She frowned, trying to understand, but her head began to spin with unexpected vertigo. Someone was breathing heavily. Kendra could hear it. Ragged pants, in and out. With a tiny shock, she realized that she was the one making the harsh sound.
“Good God . . .” the Duke breathed, his voice weighted with sorrow.
Kendra barely heard him. She stumbled back, pushing through the onlookers as her stomach quivered and heaved. She managed four steps before dropping to her knees and vomiting.
53