“Thank you.”
He and Barts disappeared through another door. A minute later, they reemerged, carrying a stretcher that held a figure draped in a cotton sheet. After setting the stretcher down on the middle table, Munroe adjusted his spectacles and looked at Kendra. “Now then. I realize that you are not a fainthearted female, Miss Donovan, but I would feel remiss not to warn you that this is grisly business.”
“Duly noted.” She strived to keep the bite out of her voice, but she was getting damned tired of being treated so carefully. If women were such feeble creatures as these gentlemen seemed to think, mankind would’ve died out a millennium ago.
“Mr. Barts, please help me roll the sheet up. We’ll keep her face covered, for the moment. I want everyone to concentrate on the injuries that killed her.”
As they exposed the body from toes to throat, Kendra saw that Dr. Munroe had already performed the autopsy. She ignored the standard Y-incision and poorly done stitches—MEs didn’t have to have the delicate touch of a cosmetic surgeon—and focused instead on the wicked lacerations marring Lady Dover’s chest.
“I counted forty-three stab wounds,” said Munroe. “Angled downward.”
“So the unsub was taller than the victim.”
Munroe peered across the body at her. “Or she was sitting down when he attacked her.”
Sam said, “She was found sitting down in the upstairs drawing room. ’Course, she could’ve fallen back onto the sofa when the attack happened.”
“Regardless, she died while sitting,” Munroe said. “She had lividity in her buttocks and the backs of her thighs.”
Kendra moved closer. “Do you have a magnifying glass?”
“Certainly. Mr. Barts?”
The apprentice retrieved a magnifying glass from one of the cupboards. He gave Kendra a strange look as he handed it to her. Ignoring him, she bent over the body and angled the glass to give her the best view.
“Definitely stabbed, as opposed to being cut,” she agreed softly, frowning. “But these are more like punctures. What kind of knife did this? The width looks narrow but the penetration appears quite deep.” Larger than an ice pick, she thought. But similar.
“The blade was seven inches long, half an inch wide. It also has a unique contour. Triangle in shape. The tip is sharp, but not the blade, making it ill-suited for cutting.”
Something stirred in the back of Kendra’s mind. Another case that she’d worked on . . . “Could the weapon have been a stiletto?”
Dr. Munroe looked surprised, then pleased. “Yes! Well done, Miss Donovan.”
“Stilettos are not a common weapon,” Aldridge remarked, intrigued. “Knights would often use them in the battlefield as their secondary weapon. They became known as a miséricorde. Do you know why?”
“Mercy,” Kendra translated easily. She had a gift for languages and was fluent in several, including French.
“Yes, Miss Donovan. A stiletto was thin enough to slip through the chain mail worn in the battlefield. Knights would often use it to finish off their wounded opponent. It was actually an act of mercy—hence the name.” The lantern’s light fell across the Duke’s face in such a way that it turned his eye sockets into grim, shadowy pools. “No mercy was shown Lady Dover.”
“No,” Kendra agreed softly, disturbed as always by mankind’s capacity for violence against one another.
“The stiletto was also an assassin’s tool,” Sam pointed out. “Quick and deadly-like. Easy ter hide in your clothing.”
“That brings up a good point,” said Kendra. “Was there a collection of ancient weapons in the room where Lady Dover was discovered?”
The Bow Street Runner looked puzzled. “Nay. Why?”
“Process of elimination. We’re not dealing with a crime of impulse. They weren’t engaged in a heated argument, where he grabbed a nearby weapon and killed her in a frenzied rage. He must have brought the weapon with him, which means the crime was premeditated.”
Frowning, Kendra scanned the lacerations tattooing the torso. Too many.
“He may have planned to kill her, but he’s not an assassin,” she continued slowly. “He lost control, became enraged while he was stabbing her.”
Munroe nodded. “I concur. There is a certain, as you say, frenzy about the wounds.”
“He must have had control at some point, though,” Kendra added.
The Duke frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Assuming the killer used the front door for his arrival, Lady Dover would have had to let him in. She wasn’t stupid—and you’d have to be stupid to invite a man in an uncontrollable rage into your house.”
“True, but as Alec said, Lady Dover was a beautiful woman, and confident in her beauty,” pointed out Aldridge. “Perhaps if he was enraged, she believed she could use her feminine wiles to calm him?”
Kendra conceded, “That’s possible, I suppose.”
She returned her attention to the body, and the gashes on the hands and arms. “He attacked her, but she wasn’t passive. She fought back, or at least tried to defend herself by raising her arms to protect herself. See? These are defensive wounds.”
“Yes,” agreed Munroe. “I believe the assault was quick and overwhelming—less than two minutes. She went into shock and collapsed—or was already seated. Unfortunately, her death wasn’t so quick. Because the knife was thrust in a downward motion, it struck bone as many times as it struck vital organs. Her ribs had several scrapes caused by the blade striking them. The bleeding was mostly internal, into her stomach cavity and lungs.”
“Aye,” Sam agreed, nodding. “There was very little blood at the scene given the number of injuries.”
Munroe said, “There wouldn’t be with this type of puncture wound.”
Kendra studied the injuries. “The killer is right-handed.”
Sam lifted his eyebrows. “How do—”
“Most of the wounds are angled to the left side of Lady Dover’s torso,” Kendra said, cutting off the Bow Street Runner. “And the majority of the victim’s defensive wounds are on her left hand and arm. If someone was holding a weapon with their right hand, they’d bring it down in a natural arc to the left.” She turned to the Duke, since he was the nearest, and pantomimed a knife attack with the magnifying glass. “If I were holding a knife, Your Grace, you’d lift your arms and hands to shield yourself from attack and—”
“You would be striking my left arm and hand, since that’s the natural trajectory. Yes, I see what you’re saying. Fascinating.”