“There are scrape marks on the scalp consistent with where the hair has been cut. Looks to be postmortem, given there are no contusions in the scalp area. He wasn’t careful, but this wasn’t part of his need to inflict pain,” she said quietly. “She was already dead. She had no more meaning to him. He was done with her.” She made more notes on the sketch paper. “We can turn her back now.”
They rolled the body over, and Kendra was wiping her hands on her apron when someone knocked at the door. Alec barely had time to toss the blanket over the dead girl before the door flew open. A boy of about ten stood there. His round eyes immediately went to the corpse. He looked disappointed that the body was covered.
Alec narrowed his eyes when he recognized him. “Dammit, Will! When you knock at a door, you need to wait until someone bids you to enter.”
“Oh. Sorry, gov—er, me Lord. Oi was told ter fetch ye.” The kid’s eyes shifted from the covered body to Alec. Kendra caught the sparkle of excitement. “The thief-taker . . . Oi mean, the Bow Street Runner—’e’s ’ere!”
19
“You think the dead lass was a bit o’muslin? Beggin’ your pardon, m’Lady . . . ma’am.” Sam Kelly, the Bow Street Runner, shot Rebecca and Kendra an apologetic look. If he thought it odd that two women, one a Lady and one a servant, were allowed to sit in on what must be considered an improper discussion, he didn’t show it.
Kendra hadn’t known what to expect from a nineteenth-century detective, but Magnum, P.I. he was not. He was a short plug of a man, with muscular arms and legs that strained the seams of his dusty gray topcoat, black waistcoat, and breeches. His face, framed by a mop of curly, reddish-brown hair and iron-gray sideburns, looked almost elfin, with turned up features that seemed incongruous on a man his age, which Kendra estimated to be early forties. His eyes were light brown, almost gold, and as expressionless as his face. Cop eyes, Kendra thought with a jolt of recognition.
“Should we summon Mr. Hilliard and Mr. Morland?” Rebecca asked from her seat on the sofa.
Sam glanced at the Duke. “Mr. Hilliard and Mr. Morland?”
“Mr. Hilliard is our local constable and Mr. Morland holds the position of magistrate—a mere formality, as the Duke is the largest landholder in the area,” said Alec. “Neither gentleman has experience with anything like . . . this.”
“I agree.” Aldridge considered what Miss Donovan had written on the slate board. “’Tis no insult to the gentlemen in question, but we ought to keep our speculation amongst ourselves. Do you have any objection, Mr. Kelly?”
Sam considered the matter. The gentry were an odd lot. But the Duke of Aldridge was his client and paying the blunt. He shook his head. “Nay. Not a one.”
“Excellent. As for the girl, we suspect she worked at an academy. Most likely London.”
Sam glanced down at the sketch he held. It had been a clever idea to make use of Lady Rebecca’s artistic talents in such a manner, he thought. It would make his job easier—if knocking on more than a thousand brothel doors in London Town could be considered easy.
“You found the lass in a local lake?” He lifted his gaze. “And you believe she was murdered?”
“She was murdered,” Kendra answered. “Specifically, strangled. Before that, she was held for a period of time. The abrasions on her wrists are consistent with being restrained. Metal, not rope. She was strangled repeatedly. Raped repeatedly. And cut repeatedly. The latter were shallow cuts, nothing mortal. He wasn’t trying to kill her, just hurt her.”
She’d gotten the detective’s attention, which was what she’d wanted. She also wanted to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation. Their eyes met for a long moment. She couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.
He finally shifted his gaze back to the Duke. “Is what she’s saying true?”
“Yes. I viewed the body myself.”
“I’d like ter see the lass as well.”
“Certainly. I’ll escort you to the body, but Miss Donovan is giving you an accurate account.”
Again the golden eyes flicked in her direction. They were still carefully blank, but Kendra suspected that he was wondering who the hell she was. She couldn’t blame him. She’d be thinking the same thing if she were in his shoes. In his eyes, she realized, she was the civilian.
“He also cut off sections of her hair,” she told him.
He frowned. “Why’d he do that?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He has a reason, though. I think he has a reason he selected that particular girl. And there’s a reason he bit her on the breast once, no more.”
Sam leaned forward, fascinated. “He bit her?”
“Yes.”
Aldridge asked, “Mr. Kelly, have you encountered anything like this before?”
Sam rubbed the side of his nose, thinking. “I’ve seen bawdy baskets bite each other and yank their hair almost clean outta their scalps when they get into flaming rows. Never what you’re describing, though.” His eyes dropped to the portraiture again. “Have you considered that a client of hers might’ve taken exception ter something the lass did or said?”
Instead of answering, the Duke glanced at Kendra.