A Murder in Time (55 page)

“The blow fractured the girl's skull, causing epidural hemorrhaging,” continued Munroe. “The blood clotted, putting immense pressure on her brain. She would have lived for several hours after the blow, but the head injury is the cause of death.”

“A rock suggests that this was a crime of opportunity,” Kendra said. “She wasn't targeted, per se. Not like the other girls.”

Kendra turned to study the slate board, although the words were now burned into her brain. “Control is important to the unsub. But he's been losing that control ever since the first victim was found. Part of his need to engage us is to reassert his control. If . . . if Rose . . .” the name lodged in her throat. “If she died prematurely, he would have been enraged. That would explain the postmortem stabbing frenzy.”

“Like a child having a temper tantrum,” Rebecca said softly, and shivered.

Munroe said, “One more thing of note. I discovered small wool fibers on the body, embedded in the wounds. With the aid of the Duke's microscope, I've determined that the source of those fibers come from a coarse wool blanket, rug, or sack.”

Rebecca gave him a look. “How can you be so precise in your determination, sir?”

“'Tis simple, my Lady. The fibers lack what is known as crimp. The more crimp a wool fiber has, the finer the material it is spun into. Conversely, the less crimp in the wool fiber, the more coarse the material.”

“Someone—one of the boys who found her—put a wool coat over her,” Kendra reminded him.

“The skin would have to come in close contact with the material—the body
wrapped
in the wool coat, for instance—to get the degree of contamination that I observed.”

Aldridge frowned. “It would make sense for the fiend to have transported her away from the castle in a sack.”

“He's bold and quick,” Sam said.

“And now he's frustrated,” Kendra said quietly. “His fantasy was disrupted.” They stared at her, and she added, “You might want to speak to your sister about ending the house party early, Duke. There's no predicting what the unsub will do.”

55

The Duke followed her suggestion, and spoke to Lady Atwood about ending the house party early. The guests' planned departures for the next day resulted in a flurry of preparation—clothes and linens had to be laundered, pressed, and packed into trunks—but it couldn't dispel the somber mood that had invaded the castle.

By evening, the ancient fortress had settled into a calm. Dinner was a simple affair, followed by cards rather than dancing. Unable to go through the pretense, Kendra stole a bottle of brandy and a glass from the Duke's study and crept up to the roof.

The night air chilled her skin, but by her third glass, she didn't notice. The alcohol ensured she didn't feel the cold as she sat huddled halfway up the stairs that led to the battlements. Above her, the clouds of the day had thinned to reveal a handful of stars and the moon, which spilled icy light across the roof.

“I thought I'd find you here.”

Kendra stiffened, glancing down as Alec materialized out of the shadows. She lifted her glass. “You should be a detective.”

He frowned. “You missed dinner.”

“I brought my own.”

He watched her toss back the brandy in one gulp. “You are abusing good brandy, Miss Donovan,” he said gently. “'Tis meant to be sipped, not swilled.”

“Well, thank you, Miss Manners. If you're going to criticize, go find your own party. I didn't invite you.”

Sighing, he removed his coat. “You are not only foxed, Miss Donovan, you must be frozen.”

“Actually, I'm quite warm, thank you very much.” Still, she didn't protest when he climbed the steps to drop his coat around her shoulders. “And I'm not drunk. Yet.”

“Getting drunk will not help you.”

She poured more brandy into the glass. “Right now, it's not hurting either.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he said softly, “It is not your fault, Miss Donovan.”

“Then why am I
here
?” she wondered bleakly, staring into the glass. “If I can't save anyone, why am I here?”

“I do not understand you, Miss Donovan.”

She laughed, but the sound was bitter. “Yeah, I'll bet you don't.”

“How would your presence here stop fate?”

“There has to be a reason,” she muttered into her glass.

“I do not know why you bother with using a glass at this rate.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “You're right. It's probably an unnecessary step.”

“Miss Donovan.”

“Lord Sutcliffe.”

He sighed heavily, and sank down on the step beside her. “You are following the same path as Gabriel.”

She was silent, feeling sorry for herself. “I just want to forget about everything for one damn night. Is that too much to ask?”

“That,” he pointed at the bottle, “will not make your pain go away. It will be waiting for you tomorrow. Along with a headache.”

“I don't need a lecture.” She leaned forward and pressed the cool glass to her hot forehead. “God. I just want to go home. I want to go where I belong. I don't belong here. I'm making things worse.”

“Miss Donovan—”

“April Duprey died because of me.”

“No.”

“Rose is dead because of me.”

“No. You cannot blame yourself.”

“Yes, I damn well can!
I'm
the reason the killer turned his attention to the castle! If I hadn't been here to tell you that you had a fucking serial killer on your hands, you'd have thought Lydia had tripped and drowned while bathing!”

He regarded her steadily, disturbed by the profanity and her pain. “Do you think we are so stupid that we would not have recognized that Lydia Benoit had been strangled? That we would not have known we were dealing with murder?”

The rage left her as suddenly as it had taken hold. She slumped against the stones. “I don't know,” she whispered.

“Is crime detection so much more sophisticated in America?”

She couldn't stop herself. She began to laugh helplessly. “
My
America, yes. In
my
world, yes!”

“You forget, Miss Donovan, I've been to America—”

“No. No, you haven't.” She suddenly knew what she was going to do. What she
had
to do. She was going to take a chance, a leap of faith, her courage helped along by the bottle of brandy. “My America is the world's superpower.”

“America may have won the war, but your country is hardly that powerful—”

“
Superpower
—one word. It refers to global dominance.” Her hand trembled as she splashed more brandy into the glass. “The term was coined around World War Two.”

“World War Two?”

“In the 1940s.”

“I . . . see.”

“I can't seem to remember the exact date. And I have an excellent memory.”

“Why don't you give me the brandy?” He reached over to extract the brandy bottle, but she yanked it away, hugging it close to her chest. He sighed. “Miss Donovan . . . Kendra, the brandy has addled your wits.”

“No, it hasn't. In my world, the United States of America is a superpower.” She tossed back the contents of her glass and ignored the little voice in her head that was yelling,
Shut up!
“This . . . all of this . . .” She waved the empty glass around. “It's not my world, Alec.”

“I see.”

“Ha!” She leaned back and wagged her finger at him. “I
told
you that you wouldn't believe me!”

“Believe you about
what?
You are not making any sense.”

“You're not
listening
.” She shifted and nearly toppled over. Alec caught her, but she barely noticed. She leaned against him. “This is not my world.”

“You are talking as though you are from another planet.”

She frowned, considering that. “I'm from this
planet
, but not this
time.
Do you understand?”

“I understand that you have drunk half a bottle of brandy.”

“I'm being serious! Alec . . . I'm different.”

“I cannot dispute that.” He reached again for the bottle of brandy, and this time she relinquished it.

“Dammit, Alec. Have you listened to what I'm saying?”

“Yes. You are saying that you are from the future, the 1940s.”

That made her laugh again. “Oh God, no. That was
way
before I was born.” Her laughter faded when she caught his gaze. “I can't prove anything I've told you. I don't have any device from the future to show you, no time travel machine. I only have my knowledge . . . and it might not be wise to share too much of that with you.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Because it could change the future. Look, you can send Sam Kelly all around England, and he's not going to find my name on any ship manifests or in any place of employment. Ever. Don't you see? I don't exist in this time.”

“You may have used another name. Or Kendra Donovan may not be your real name.”

“Why do you have to be so damned logical? I know how insane this sounds, but I'm telling you the truth. I went into the secret passage in the twenty-first century, and when . . . when I came out, I was here.”

He stared at her uneasily. “This is inconceivable.”

“It takes a little getting used to.”

“Let's say I believe you. How did it happen?”

“I don't know. It was outside of my control.” She shivered as the memory came flooding back to her, the suffocating darkness, the terrifying sensation of being ripped apart and then knit back together. “My best guess is that it was some sort of vortex or wormhole.”

“A
worm
hole?” He sounded skeptical.

“Basically a shortcut between dimensions or through space and time—if space and time folded in on itself.” She sighed. “It's complicated. At first I thought it was a random event. Horrible and strange, but still random.” She stared unseeingly out into the darkness, talking softly, almost to herself. “But then Lydia's body was found.”

“What does that have to do with . . . your tale?”

She roused herself, looking at him. “Because I knew Lydia had been murdered, and her murderer was a serial killer. And in my time line, that's my job. I hunt serial killers.”

“You
hunt
killers?”

“
Serial
killers. Otherwise known as stranger killings. I'm a special agent in the FBI. I study this type of killer, determining his patterns and predict what he might do next.”

“But you are a woman!”

She glared at him. “So? You think nothing is going to change in two hundred years for women? Let me tell you something, buddy . . . Oh, God, what am I doing?” She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, tried to focus. “I'm getting off track. Let me just say that women will accomplish great things.

“And I am good at my job. Or I used to think I was.” She was silent as a wave of remorse hit her. “I never even considered that Rose would be in danger. I didn't anticipate that.” She rubbed a hand across her face, feeling suddenly weary. “I screwed up. What good am I here if I screw up? What's the
point
?”

She put her head in her hands. Alec watched her, saying nothing. Eventually, he prompted, “FBI?”

“Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she mumbled, then jerked her head up to look at him. “Do you believe me?”

“I shall need time to consider it,” was all he said. He stood up, grabbing her hands and hauling her to her feet.

The world swirled, and Kendra found herself clutching at his arm. “I think I may have drank too much.”

“I
know
that you have drunk too much.”

She peered up at him. “That doesn't mean I'm lying. Or inebriated. I'm not seeing pink elephants.”

“You say the damnedest things.” He hauled her to his side, practically carrying her down the remaining steps.

“Are you going to tell the Duke about what I've told you?”

“Do you want me to tell him?”

She bit her lip. “I don't know.”

“If anyone would be open-minded about such a fantastical subject, it would be the Duke.”

“I'll think about it.”

Alec took her by surprise when he skimmed a finger across the blunt bangs. “Your hairstyle . . . is this typical of women in the future?”

Kendra had to think about that for a moment. “It's not
a
typical. We have trends, but there's a lot more variety in hairstyles and fashions during my time.”

Alec shook his head. “I cannot believe I am having this conversation. 'Tis outrageous.”

“Welcome to my world, Lord Sutcliffe.”

Alec was silent again. Then he laughed softly. “Actually, Miss Donovan, if what you are saying is true, it is I who should be welcoming you to
mine
.”