The Bellingham Bloodbath (6 page)

“Your prince awaits . . . , ” Denton Ross purred from out of nowhere, startling me enough that I dropped the sheaf of papers. He chuckled. “On edge, are we?”

“I'm fine!” I snapped too vigorously, and as though to prove my point I stuffed the papers back into the file and slapped it closed before pushing myself up onto legs that were, in truth, not quite ready to support me. “Let's go.”

“You sure?”

“I've seen victims of violence before,” I reminded us both.

“And so you have.” He swept his arms wide like a carnival barker. “And this is one, I am sure, you will
never
forget.”

I scowled at him as I started for the door. “It's remarkable, the pleasure you take from your work.”

He chuckled again. “No one
ever
complains.”

I pushed past him and back out to the frigid examination room. Little had changed save for the fact that there was now a draped body reclining atop the table at the room's center. It was a morbid sight, but then it always is, for there can be only one explanation for the cause of that shape beneath the cloth.

I tried to keep my breathing even as I felt my feet begin to drag. I desperately did not want to see Trevor Bellingham.

“Don't be shy,” Denton clucked as he shoved his soft, pudgy hand into the small of my back, propelling me forward. But when we got within reach of the table he lurched past me and yanked the drape free, allowing the shattered, naked husk of Captain Bellingham to suffer one last humiliation.

Had I not gasped at the sight I would like to believe I would have turned on Denton Ross and pummeled him for his lack of propriety. But I did sink back, unable to say anything or even pull my eyes away from the travesty that lay before me.

Denton had split the body vertically at the center of the chest from the base of the neck to the midpoint of the groin so that Captain Bellingham's organs could be inspected. He had sewn the captain back together hastily, however, leaving him to look rather like a garment that has been buttoned incorrectly. Yet it was not this savage wound of enquiry nor its careless attempt at resuturing that was most horrifying, but rather the blight that covered the central section of this young man's body. He was spotted with an unfathomable amount of black dots and his sex was blistered beyond recognition.

“I apologize for the slipshod work,” Denton muttered blithely, “but I really wasn't expecting gawkers.” He snickered and I felt his breath strike the back of my neck.

I suppressed the urge to shiver and forced myself to concentrate on a spot at the far side of the table as I attempted to steady myself. I would not let this revolting man see me crumble. With a great deal of fortitude I made myself ask, “Are there any burn marks on his back?”

“Oh!”
Again I was struck by the proximity of Denton's stale breath and sensed him leaning ever closer to me. “You
are
a randy one, aren't you?” he cooed. And then I felt one of his arms slither around my waist as he tugged me back against him.

Without a second thought, I reared back and shoved my right elbow deep into his sagging gut. He staggered backwards with a choked exhalation of wheezing breath before dropping to the floor.

“You will never touch me again!”
I screeched as I stared down at his crimson face, watching him struggle to breathe. “And if you do, I shall split you open just as you've done to this poor man.” He could only sputter and cough in reply. “And because you are such an offensive ruddy bastard,” I railed on, “I am taking Captain Bellingham's autopsy report and if anyone asks any questions you will say it was
your
idea.
Do you understand?!
” There was more than a note of shrillness seeping into my voice and I knew I had best collect what I'd come for and get out.

I hurried to the tiny office and snatched up the captain's file, quickly tucking it beneath my arm. As I raced back through the examination room I saw Denton push himself up to his hands and knees, hacking so hard that I thought him on the verge of spitting blood. He deserved it, I told myself with a measure of pride. Yet that pride would prove to be very short-lived.

B
y the time I got back home our flat was thick with the aroma of roasting lamb and potatoes. I was surprised to find myself tempted by food given what I had just seen, but my stomach was not to be deterred.

“ 'Bout time,” Mrs. Behmoth grunted from the kitchen doorway as I stepped inside. “Ya better be 'ungry. I been slavin' in 'ere 'alf the day.”

I wanted to point out that was one of the reasons we paid her but decided to let it pass, as I was much more excited to show Colin what I'd accomplished. “Colin back?”

“Upstairs.”

I hurried up to find him standing by the fireplace, his attention seemingly mesmerized by the flames even as his hands worked absently cleaning the barrel of a revolver he had taken apart and scattered across the nearest end table. “I have returned triumphant,” I announced, presenting the file in the flat of my palms.

He glanced around, his eyes blank a moment, and then a broad, disbelieving grin spread across his face. “He
gave
it to you?!” He set the gun's barrel onto the mantel and rushed over to me, pulling me into a hug that threatened to choke the air from my body. “This is extraordinary!
You're
extraordinary!” He grabbed the file and immediately began thumbing through it as he headed back to the fireplace.

I watched him flip through the photographs without the slightest change of expression, continuously referring back to them as he read through Denton's report. Only after he had plunged into his chair, lips pursed and eyebrows tightly knit, did he finally look back at me. “Did you see the captain's remains?”

“I did.” I told him everything I had seen, omitting only the last few moments of my time there. I saw no reason to rile him up when I had done a perfectly good job of defending my honor myself.

“Awful,” he muttered when I'd finished. “Though it certainly offers insight into what likely happened that night.”

“Does it?”

“Absolutely.” He picked up the pieces of his gun and quickly began reassembling it. “When you went into their flat, what was the first thing you noticed?”

“How very clean and orderly it was.”

“Precisely. It was faultless. Even with a young boy running about, it was pristine.” He sighted down the gun's barrel before setting it between us. “And what does all that order imply?”

I gave a shrug. If there was something to be learned from the state of their flat it was lost on me.

“Whatever the killer was after was not
in
the flat,” he supplied. “Nothing was disheveled. Which suggests one thing: The killer was after that most elusive of desires . . . information. Information that only Captain Bellingham could give. There can be no mistaking that fact.”

“Which is why he was tortured . . . ?”

“And yet . . . what of it?” He glanced at me and I could almost see the cogs in his mind turning. “So specific. So . . . unusual.”

“An effective way to get a man to talk, I should think.”

“Well . . .” He leapt up and stalked back to the fireplace. “I don't think that was the point.” He snatched up the file and flipped through it again until he came to a specific page. “It says the captain endured three hundred and seventy-one match burns, and that his sex organs were nearly burned from his body. Do you really suppose he would suffer all of that and
then
choose to talk?”

“I could hardly think of a better time.”

“I'm asking a serious question.”

“I'm deadly serious—”

“You're being lazy.” He scowled, folding his arms across his chest. “Apply yourself.”

I let out a breath and tried to concentrate on what he had just gone over, but if he was expecting it to suddenly coalesce for me, he was woefully disappointed. “Why don't you just tell me what you think?!” I groused.

“What I think . . . , ” he said, waving the file at me, “. . . is what I posited before. That Captain Bellingham invited the killer into the flat and took him up to the attic. Once there, the killer caught the captain unawares with a clip to the back of his head, knocking him unconscious long enough to bind him to that chair.”

“A clip to the back of his head?” I repeated.

“Didn't you read the report?” He tossed the file at me. “I think you'll find it mentions a small hematoma less than two millimeters in diameter just below the left foramen magnum on the occipital bone.” He pointed behind and below his left ear. “The cause was a blunt instrument, probably the butt of the very gun later used to kill him. Once he had the captain lashed to the chair the killer stole back downstairs, sealed little Albert in his room, and then murdered Mrs. Bellingham, dispatched without a second thought. And then, and only then, did he return to the attic to dispense his torment against the captain.” He stroked his chin and dropped back into his chair. “But why . . .” He shook his head. “That's what I shall need to figure out.”

“I thought you said he was after information?”

“If it was only information the killer was after, then why wouldn't he have used the captain's family as leverage against him?”

I shut my mouth and stared at him. That thought hadn't occurred to me.

“I'll tell you this . . . ,” he went on. “The one person I should most like to speak with right now is the lady Private O'Fallon mentioned.”

“Dahlia Stuart.”

“Right.”

“And do you have any idea how we might find her?”

He gazed into the fire a moment. “I suppose we could ask Private O'Fallon. He says he kept the captain's schedule. He should know where their visits took place.”

“I hope so. But tell me.” I finally settled into my chair. “How did you do at the Nesbitt-Normand estate? Did you find any traces of her pup?”

He shook his head as he seized his dumbbells near the bookcase by the door and began curling them to his shoulders. “I am afraid I found precious little. It's quite vexing and the more time that passes the greater the danger she's likely to be in. I cannot understand why no one has contacted Lady Nesbitt-Normand for a ransom yet.”

“Then you're convinced she has been taken?”

“I am. I discovered two rib bones in the bushes by the side yard, and since Lady Nesbitt-Normand insists they never fed the pup pork, it would seem she has indeed been snatched.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“With nothing but questions,” he exhaled.

“I really wish you hadn't taken that case.”

He frowned at me, the muscles of his arms flexing and relaxing in tandem with his movements. “You must stop saying that. You're supposed to be the one with the boundless compassion and yet you dismiss poor Priscilla as though she were a rodent. She is the woman's companion. A source of unconditional love in what must otherwise be a rather remote and dreary existence. Surely you can see that?”

“I suppose—”

“We should get our own dog . . . ,” he muttered as he set the dumbbells back and crossed to the windows. “However, at the moment, it occurs to me that I have yet to ask exactly how you managed to get Captain Bellingham's file.”

“The file . . . ?” The incongruity of his statement prickled the hairs on the back of my neck as I craned around to look at him.

“Yes. Your morbid Mr. Ross is downstairs with a couple of bobbies.” He turned to me, letting the drapes fall back into place. “Is there anything you want to tell me before Mrs. Behmoth brings them up?”

“P-p-police . . . ?” I stammered. “He's brought police?!”

“Never mind.” He waved me off as he hastily reassembled the file in its original order. “I've seen all I need.” He tossed it on the table by the settee. “He can have it—”

A violent commotion burst up from downstairs, cutting Colin off. I hadn't even heard the door creak open before the thunder of multiple feet pounding up the stairs blunted all other sounds.

“ 'Ere now!” I heard Mrs. Behmoth bellow with outrage. “Ain't ya lot got any bloody manners?!”

There was no reply as two navy-blue bobbies' domes bounced into view, followed closely by Inspector Varcoe, wearing his ever-present expression of profound distaste, with Denton Ross, red faced and breathless, bringing up the rear.

“There!”
Denton howled as he gripped the handrail, pointing a fleshy finger in my direction.
“There's the scoundrel who assaulted me and stole my file!”

Varcoe's gaze landed on me with a frown. “I thought you said it was Pendragon.”

“Scoundrel?” Colin looked at me and I could tell he was restraining a laugh. “Did he just call you a scoundrel?”

“He's confused,” I said smoothly. “I didn't steal his file. He loaned it to me. Isn't that right, Mr. Ross.”

“There is
no
confusion!” he snapped back. “I was viciously attacked by this . . . this . . .”

“Careful now . . . , ” Colin warned.

Denton reddened. “I was very nearly rendered unconscious for the sole purpose of stealing my file.”

“Unconscious . . . ?” The inspector glared back at Denton. “By Pruitt?”

“Nearly . . .” His face flushed deeper as he repeated the word with less enthusiasm.

It took a moment before Varcoe realized he wasn't going to get the prey he'd been hoping for. So there was far less vitriol in his voice when he finally spun around and stared at me. “Well, Pruitt, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Come now, Inspector—” Colin started to say.

“No one's talking to you, Pendragon!” he barked.

“Excuse me . . . , ” Colin said, puffing out his broad, muscular chest like a rooster. “You cannot come in here spouting venom and expect that we are going to stand for it. Accusing Ethan of assault? That's mad and even you know it.”

Varcoe's lips curled with displeasure. “Bugger the assault. I'm talking about a file that
I
ordered sealed, which is right now sitting on
your
damnable table!”

“He did assault me—” Denton Ross chirped from the doorway.

“Shut up!” Varcoe blasted without taking his eyes from Colin. “So how do you explain that, Pendragon?”

“Neither of us will explain anything with that formaldehyde-drenched pox standing in our flat.”

“I don't have time for this, Pendragon.”

“And neither do I!” he snapped back.

“Inspector!”
Denton sputtered.

“Me lamb's ready fer servin'!” Mrs. Behmoth hollered from downstairs. “Ya best get that room cleared out. I ain't feedin' that lot a shites.”

“Enough!” Varcoe bellowed. “We'll all take a ride to the magistrate's and let
him
sort this out. Grab that file!” he barked at one of his bobbies.

“You cannot be serious,” Colin protested. “We haven't time for these games, Emmett.”

“You will do as I say, Pendragon, or it will be my personal pleasure to have you
forcibly
removed!”

Colin gritted his teeth and looked about to throttle Varcoe as he fixed his gaze on me. “Let's make this fast!” he growled, storming across the room and yanking our coats from the hall tree.

“We'll see how full of spit everyone is when we get to the Yard,” Varcoe crowed. Colin didn't say a word as he tossed my coat to me before bounding down the stairs.

“Wot's goin' on?” Mrs. Behmoth was standing in the entry with a ladle clutched in one hand and a wadded kitchen towel in the other. “Where do ya think yer off to with me supper ready?”

“We'll be right back,” I mumbled, Colin having already stalked outside, his posture as rigid as I knew his mood must be.

“Ya can't leave now!”

I shook my head, avoiding her glare, as I closed the door and walked to the inspector's waiting carriage.