A Murder in Time (54 page)

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

The Duke of Aldridge pressed a teacup and saucer into Kendra's trembling hand. “Drink this, Miss Donovan.”

They'd returned to the study, where a fire had been lit. But while Kendra sat near the crackling flames, they couldn't penetrate her frozen state.

Rose had been transported to the icehouse, where Dr. Munroe and Sam Kelly were conducting the postmortem. Kendra didn't need to view the slice and dice to know how Rose had spent her last hours on earth. They'd been filled with unimaginable pain, unimaginable terror.

And I'm responsible.

The teacup rattled in her hand. How was that possible? How was
any
of this possible? How could she be responsible for the death of a girl who'd died before she was born?

It wasn't the grandfather paradox, a theory many quantum physicists often dusted off to illustrate that time travel into the past was impossible. A person could
not
go back into the past and kill his own grandfather before his own mother or father was conceived, they argued. That would negate his existence in the first place, which in turn would make it impossible to kill his own grandfather. The ultimate Catch-22. An endless loop of impossibilities.

But could someone go back in time and inadvertently cause the death of someone who had nothing to do with her own future existence? Rose wouldn't affect Kendra's own time line, unless the tweeny was the great-great grandmother of someone who would eventually affect her future. Kendra felt like her head was going to explode.

“Mayhap Miss Donovan requires something stronger than tea,” Rebecca suggested.

“No. I'm . . . this is fine.” More because it was expected of her than out of any real desire, she took a swallow of tea. Then she set the cup and saucer down.

Aldridge said firmly, “You are not to blame for the maid's death.”

“I knew he was escalating. He deliberately placed April Duprey where he did because he wanted to engage us. I should have seen this coming!”

“You are not omniscient, Miss Donovan,” snapped Alec.

A knock at the door startled them. Harding's face looked graver than usual as he stood on the threshold. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. Mr. Morland has arrived. He is wondering if you are at home. What shall I tell him?”

Aldridge looked at Kendra. “Do you wish to see him?”

Kendra straightened. “Yes.”

“Very well. Tell Mr. Morland that I am at home. Put him in the Chinese drawing room. Miss Donovan and I will be there shortly.”

Morland stood in front of the Palladian windows overlooking the flower gardens, but turned as soon as the Duke and Kendra entered.

“I heard that you visited Tinley Park last evening, Your Grace . . . and about the tragedy that has befallen your household. May I offer my condolences and any assistance that you may require?”

“That is very good of you. Won't you sit down?”

“You can assist us by answering questions,” Kendra said bluntly, taking the seat opposite him.

He frowned. “As you know, I was not in residence when your maid went missing. I was in London. In fact, I only returned a couple of hours ago.”

“So you say.”

He stiffened. “I understand you are in distress. Nevertheless, I find your implication offensive. I would like to point out that I came as soon as I heard the news—you did not need to seek me out.”

She eyed him. It could be neighborly consideration that brought him here. But sometimes cold-blooded killers enjoyed getting close to the victim's family, watching the devastating aftermath caused by their crime. Like demonic parasites, they fed off the grief.

“We appreciate your concern, Mr. Morland,” Aldridge interjected smoothly. “And my sympathies in regards to Lady Anne. I understand she had some sort of seizure yesterday?”

Morland lowered his gaze to his hands. “Yes. As you saw yourself, my mother is not well. When I visited her yesterday morning, she . . . she had a fit.” He drew in a deep breath. “She was quite out of control. I left immediately to ride to London.”

“Why you?” Kendra asked. “Why didn't you send a servant to bring back a doctor?”

“Of course I considered that, but . . .” He shrugged, lips twisting. “I confess, I wanted to escape. 'Tis not a noble thing to admit, but I simply did not wish to deal with my mother's current reality. Have you ever had to watch a family member slowly go mad, Miss Donovan?”

“No.”

“Then you cannot possibly understand the state of mind I was in yesterday.”

“You left yesterday morning. Yet you didn't return until a few hours ago. I'd have thought you'd be more eager to bring help back for your mother.”

His mouth compressed as he looked at her. “I sought out the mad-doctor that had treated my mother previously. He was not in Town. I spent several hours searching for another doctor. When I finished my quest, night had fallen. 'Tis not safe to travel the country roads alone. There are highwaymen lying in wait. I chose to put up at my town house for the night.”

“Sadly, robberies are too common an occurrence on our highways,” agreed Aldridge.

Kendra didn't take her eyes off of Morland. “Your staff at your town house should be able to confirm your whereabouts.”

“I do not keep a staff at my town house when I am not officially in residence.”

“Did you go to your club?” asked the Duke.

“No. I went to a nearby pub. Anyone there can confirm my presence, I'd assume.”

“And everyone you spoke to in your search for a doctor,” Kendra added.

Morland inclined his head. “Naturally. I spoke with servants, nurses at Bedlam in search of Dr. West. As he was not in Town, I was directed toward other hospitals, but it proved a fruitless search.”

“Regardless, we'll need a list of everyone you spoke to.”

He gave her a look of annoyance. “I am not used to having my word challenged in this way.” He paused, then sighed. “Dr. West is on staff at Bethlem Royal Hospital. When I discovered he was not in residence, I continued my inquiries at St. John's Hospital, and then St. Luke's.”

“And they didn't have any doctors who could help you?” Kendra wondered.

He shrugged. “When I was at St. Luke's, I realized that I had been hasty in my journey to London. I did not wish to further upset my mother by inflicting upon her a strange doctor. Again, I do not expect you to understand the emotional duress which motivated my desire to go to Town.”

It would be easy enough to send someone to London to follow up. After all, how often could the gentry go searching for a mad-doctor? Then again, it could happen every damn day, for all Kendra knew.

“Are you certain your maid was murdered by the fiend who killed the other women?” Morland asked, shifting his attention to Aldridge.

“We can't go into details,” Kendra interrupted.

He glanced back at her. “Why ever not?”

“It's an ongoing investigation.”

He looked incredulous. “You will not tell me if the madman is now targeting servant girls? Pray tell, should I be concerned for the safety of my own household?”

“Tell all the women on your staff not to go anywhere alone. They shouldn't trust any man. No matter who he is.”

Morland glared at her. He stood up. “I shall relay your message to my staff, but I will emphasize yet again that I am an innocent man.”

Kendra met his eye. “I've never met a guilty man who doesn't say the exact same thing.”

54

By the time Kendra and the Duke returned to the study, Dr. Munroe and Sam had appeared, having apparently completed the postmortem. Munroe eyed Kendra with concern over the cup of tea he'd poured for himself. “Are you quite certain you wish to hear this, Miss Donovan?”

No, she didn't want to hear it. But she had to. “Yes. Give us your report, Doctor.”

Dr. Munroe shot a glance at Rebecca. “And you, your Ladyship? I am aware of your progressive nature, but what I have to report is not pleasant.”

“Thank you for considering my tender sensibilities, sir. However I am made of sterner stuff.”

“Very well, madam.” He drew in a breath, like a diver before plunging deep beneath the ocean waves. “The maid was strangled like your first victim. Likewise, the perpetrator used four different knives, primarily in the rectus abdominis.”

Kendra tried to block out a mental image of Rose as he talked.

“The number of lacerations, however, are different from Lydia Benoit.”

Surprised, Kendra asked, “More or less?”

“More. I counted sixty-five.”

Aldridge glanced at Kendra, frowning. “What does that mean?”

“I'm not sure,” she admitted slowly. “It could mean that the number of incisions are not significant.”

“Or the perpetrator is becoming more unstable,” said Munroe.

Aldridge looked at him. “Why do you say that, Doctor?”

“You must understand that since I did not conduct the first postmortem, I only have Miss Donovan's notes as a guide. Still, I've found those notes to be remarkably detailed, and have no cause to doubt their veracity.” He offered Kendra a slight smile. “You wrote that the incisions were slashes or deliberate cuts. Half of the lacerations on this victim followed a similar pattern. Varying degrees of length and depth, but still deliberate incisions. However, more than a dozen were consistent with stabbing rather than slashing. The wounds were deeper, longer, wider, and more jagged.”

Kendra remembered her sense that something was off when she'd looked at the wounds. Subconsciously, she'd recognized the difference. “Which were made first, Doctor?”

He shook his head. “I have no way of determining that, Miss Donovan. If I were to surmise . . . I believe the more deliberate incisions came first, followed by the stabbing.”

“I see. That's why you think the unsub is becoming more unstable.”

“Yes. Comparing the two types of wounds, there appears to be more of a frenzy to the stabbing lacerations. I cannot determine whether those wounds were inflicted postmortem or before.”

Kendra raised her brows. “Why do you think those wounds would be postmortem?”

“Because, Miss Donovan, I believe the girl died before the perpetrator could do his work.”

“I don't understand.”

“She died from trauma to the brain.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Alec broke it. “She didn't die from strangulation like the first victim?”

“She was strangled repeatedly like the first victim. She was also sexually assaulted. The rest you know from your own visual examination—the bite mark to the left breast and abrasions on her wrists indicating she was restrained.” He stood up, clasping his hands behind his back as he addressed the room. “However, this victim received a head injury. Possibly from a rock, or a cudgel of some kind, although I found no wood slivers or particles in the wound.