A Murder in Time

by Julie McElwain

  Aldridge met her eyes. “Yes,” he answered her unspoken question. “The maid’s been found.”

  52

  In a distant corner of her mind, Kendra was glad that she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, because she knew that her stomach would’ve revolted. As it was, the sour taste of bile surged up the back of her throat, making her want to gag. She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if she had the power to keep the churning acids contained by her touch.

  “Where?” She didn’t ask whether Rose was alive. She knew that she was not.

  “Near the lake, where the first girl was found.”

  Just a short distance from the hermit’s hut. Had the tweeny been dumped there while they’d been talking to Thomas? Had they just missed the murderer?

  “We searched the area yesterday.” Alec came up behind Kendra, and laid a warm hand on her shoulder.

  “He knew,” Sam said, looking angry. “The bastard’s been watching us.”

  “Rebecca is waiting for you inside the castle, Miss Donovan,” Aldridge began.

  “I have to go to Rose,” she said sharply. “I need to see the body.”

  Alec’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “Is that truly necessary?” He was furious suddenly. “Hell and damnation, why put yourself through that?”

  “I have to go! It’s why I’m here!” she shouted. But was that true? Why was she here if she couldn’t save anybody? If she couldn’t save Rose?

  Alec frowned, puzzled. Before he could question her, Aldridge lifted a weary hand. “I will allow you to accompany us, Miss Donovan. But you shall not attend the girl’s postmortem. Is that understood?”

  Kendra shifted her gaze to the Duke. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Then come.” The Duke’s expression was bleak, but fiercely determined. “Whatever has been done, has been done. ’Tis time to bring the poor girl home.”

  Someone had covered Rose’s naked body up with a coarse wool coat. Two men stood as sentries next to the body, tears shimmering in their eyes. This wasn’t like Lydia or April Duprey—Rose was one of their own. They probably knew her family, had watched her grow up.

  She was only fifteen.

  Kendra had looked down at other fifteen-year-olds who’d suffered the butchery of a serial killer, and had felt pity. Now she also felt a sorrow so heavy that it made her heart ache.

  “You do not need to subject yourself to this, Miss Donovan,” repeated Alec, his voice low. “Why are you punishing yourself this way?”

  Am I punishing myself? Self-flagellation for not protecting Rose? She didn’t know.

  “Let Dr. Munroe take care of her,” he persisted softly, so close that she could feel his body heat.

  Kendra was tempted to do as he suggested, to take the coward’s way out. No one here would think less of her—but she’d hate herself for it.

  Straightening her shoulders, she shook her head. “I need to see this through.” She turned to look at the circle of faces. “Who found the . . . who found her?”

  A tall, gangly youth whose ears stuck out almost sideways from his close-cropped sandy hair shuffled forward. “That would be me, ma’am. Me and Gerald.” His pallor was a sickly green, his face tear-streaked. His freckles looked like they’d been drawn on with a Magic Marker. Ridiculously young. He stood before her nervously, twisting a knit cap with his hands. It struck her that all the men around her had taken off their hats. Not a courtesy to her, but as a sign of respect for the dead girl at their feet. A lump formed in her throat.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Colin, ma’am.”

  “When did you find her?”

  “Er . . . ’alf hour. No more.”

  Kendra scanned the area. Rose had been placed near the grassy knoll where they’d had the nuncheon, about ten yards from the lake. Unlike the path upon which April had been dumped, this was isolated enough. The area, as the Duke said, had been searched the previous evening. There was no reason to search it again. Rose could’ve lain here for days before anyone found her.

  “What made you and Gerald come to this area, Colin?”

  “Nothin’ really.” His gaze fell to the cap he was twisting. “Me and Gerald . . . we just wanted ter talk a bit.”

  Kendra looked over at Gerald. Same age as Colin, but smaller in stature with flaxen hair and baby blue eyes. The boys were still at that developmental stage in their life, probably eager to slip away to share their horror in private, away from adult ears. Too bad for them, then, that they’d encountered a fresh horror.

  “It’s significant that the killer didn’t dump . . . the body in the lake.” The body. The victim. It was easier for her to think of Rose in more impersonal terms. “He wanted her to be discovered, but it would’ve been too risky for him to put her on a more public path. Too many people searching, too many possible witnesses. When, exactly, was this area searched yesterday?”

  Someone spoke up from the back of the crowd. “We went through ’ere at about ’alf past ten.”

  “It was dark. Could you have missed her?”

  “Nay, ma’am. We ’ad lanterns. We would’ve spotted ’er.”

  “Aye. Or one of the dogs would’ve found ’er.”

  “Okay. If everyone would step back, please . . .” She gave a nod to Dr. Munroe. He’d been waiting, and now squatted down beside the shrouded form. He opened up his black bag and withdrew a magnifying glass.

  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 a
nd 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 knive
s, 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.”