“He tortured her. I’d need a magnifying glass, but these look like cuts, most likely by a knife.” She frowned as she studied the bruised, cut flesh along the torso. “It looks as though he spent time cutting her.”
“Jesus Christ,” Alec breathed, affected.
“There’s more.” While the victim had been in the water and the dark mane had been wet, it hadn’t been as obvious. Now Kendra threaded her hands through the girl’s hair, fanning the long dark strands out so they could see chunks behind the ears and back of the head had been clipped, sometimes close to the scalp. “He took pieces of her hair.”
“Why? Why would he do such a thing?” Morland asked, sounding fascinated, despite himself.
“A trophy. They sometimes take souvenirs from their victims to relive the moment over again.”
Aldridge stared at her. “They?”
“This type of killer,” she answered slowly. “This girl wasn’t killed because of robbery or greed or jealousy. This type of killer can’t control himself, even though control is a big issue with him. Control. Power. Domination. I . . .” Need time to work up a full profile, she thought. But she couldn’t say that. She’d probably already said too much. “I don’t know who killed this girl, but I can tell you two things: this isn’t his first kill, and he will do it again.”
There was a stunned silence, and then Kendra turned to Dalton. “You said you are a surgeon. Will you handle the autopsy, Dr. Dalton? Unless there’s someone else . . . ?”
Again, the man flushed. “It’s Mr. Dalton. And I said I was a surgeon.”
Oh, God, had his license been suspended, revoked? Maybe he was incompetent. Was that why he reacted so strangely whenever she called him a doctor? “I’m sorry. If you’re no longer practicing—”
“No, I’m not, but . . .” He shook his head, and glanced over at the Duke. “Your Grace, with your permission, I would be willing to conduct the postmortem.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Your assistance would be invaluable.” Aldridge sighed as his gaze returned to the dead girl. “We must get her description out in the community. Someone has to know who she is. We shall have to bring in that Runner, Alec.”
“I’ll dispatch a note to London at once.”
The Duke nodded and sighed, “We’ve done all we can do here. Mr. Dalton, you’ll need to send around for your tools. Miss Donovan, I shall escort you back to the castle.”
As he drew her arm through his, Kendra caught the distrustful looks on the faces of the other men. Thank God I didn’t end up two centuries earlier, because they’d be burning me as a witch.
Outside, the Duke murmured, “’Tis good to feel the sunshine, is it not, Miss Donovan?”
Kendra forced herself to ignore the disbelief she could feel emanating from the trio behind her. She lifted her face.
“Yes,” she answered Aldridge. And it did feel good. The breeze, redolent with flowers, chased away the scent of death from the gloomy, cold, cave-like room.
But the sunshine couldn’t dispel the chill in her heart. Because she knew that somewhere out there, in this sunshine-filled world, there was a monster masquerading as a man. And he was probably already stalking his next victim.
She wondered if it was already too late.
14
“We’ll send for Hilliard, of course,” Aldridge said. “At the very least, he can be responsible for circulating a description of the poor girl.”
They’d entered the castle’s enormous, atrium-style hall. The ceiling was interlaced with wooden beams. Hanging from the center was a massive, ormolu chandelier with more than a dozen tapered candles, currently unlit. Daylight streamed in through the long, skinny windows flanking the entrance. The half-moon stained-glass window above the double doors splashed a pretty prism on the black-and-white marble tiled floor. On the far wall, a wide staircase, its balustrade made of heavy wrought iron, wound upward. The walls were dotted with oil lamps set in ornate mirrored sconces, and decorated with medieval tapestries, weapons, and the mounted heads of rams and deer.
She saw the Duke’s gaze flick toward the big glassy eyes of the long dead animals and knew what he was thinking. Trophies.
“Your Grace, gentlemen . . .” Mr. Harding materialized out of one of the shadowy corridors. His eyes rested on Kendra briefly, appearing at a loss for words. He recovered, ignoring her completely by shifting his gaze back to the Duke. “The countess is in the Green Salon, sir. She sent word that she’d like to speak with you when you returned.”
“Thank you, Harding.”
The butler sketched a bow, cast an indecipherable look in Kendra’s direction, and disappeared through an arched doorway.
Aldridge said, “I must see to Caro. Alec, if you’d be so good as to send for the constable and dispatch that note for the Runner. I suggest we meet in my study again . . .” He consulted his pocket watch. “Say, at half past five? That should give Mr. Dalton enough time to conduct the postmortem. Until then, I’m certain my sister has arranged some activity for the guests that ought to keep you well occupied, Mr. Morland.”