“If she was killed within the past two hours, then we can rule out the Militia Guard,” I advised. “If time of death is longer, then he’s still good for a suspect.”
Kelly let out his own rush of air, not so measured.
“How will you tell more accurately?”
“Temperature of the internal organs.”
Something passed over his face, his eyes darting to the side where I knew Helen’s body still lay. Out of the fountain now, covered in a blanket from the back of the inspector’s curricle.
“Do you have a mercury thermometer or some such with you?” he pressed.
“We need only an estimate,” I countered, my voice becoming stronger the more I spoke. Or the more we argued, I was unsure. “Exact time of death can be determined in the surgery. For now, I can guess from experience.”
Kelly’s sharp eyes returned to my face and he said, voice low, “And you have experience of such a thing?”
I nodded my head. How many times had my father insisted I feel with my hands what the instruments told me? I could gauge the temperature of an organ to within degrees, by simply placing a finger to them.
“Experience with such a victim?” Kelly pushed, his words soft, belying their sharp sting.
I made to move past him, unable to utter a sound.
“Anna,” he said, reaching for me, but then lowering his hand when I paused, my eyes on his fingertips; so close, yet still so far away. “We don’t need to know the specifics yet,” he said, his hand returning to his side ineffectually. “Don’t put yourself through this.”
Footsteps sounded out; the deep thud of well soled shoes. A constable at a guess. My time was indeed running down.
“I need to know,” I whispered, just as a uniformed officer approached.
“Inspector Kelly?” the constable enquired. “Did you blow your Hudson, sir?”
“Yes, Constable,” Kelly said, turning to face the man. I took the opportunity to move closer to Helen. “There’s been another murder.”
The sound of the shocked gasp from the constable rang out on the air, just as my feet brought me to the side of Helen’s body. I stared down at the woollen blanket the inspector had placed over my friend. Knowing what lay beneath it. Dreading what I’d find, but unable to stop myself from looking. I crouched down as the inspector ordered the constable to “Get it together, man!” and lifted the edge of the cover, finding Helen’s arm.
I tugged my glove off with the use of my teeth and wrapped shaking fingers around her hand.
Oh, Lord. She was cold. So cold. Tears welled in my eyes. My throat ached with emotion. I rubbed my thumb across her palm, again and again and again.
With shaking hands I lifted the blanket off completely, sucking in a mortified breath at what was revealed. He hadn’t cut her face. That was perhaps the greatest shock. Helen stared back at me from empty eyes. Her features as familiar as my own. But her shining smile gone. And her quick wit doused forever.
How dare he? This man who hunts the innocent. How dare he?
I couldn’t hear what the inspector was instructing the constable, but I knew he’d be aware of what I was doing by now. He hadn’t stepped closer. He hadn’t called out, ordering me to halt in my discoveries. His soft words to the constable remained a constant backdrop to the thundering beat of my broken heart.
I’d done this. I’d brought my frail cousin and her darling friend into this world, exposing them to this rot. This was all on me. I’d done this.
I stifled a sob and blinked back perpetual tears, then catalogued the injuries I could see in the dim moonlight.
He’d slashed her throat. Left to right. That made him right handed. Not enough.
He’d cut away her corset. Precise strike of the blade, right down the middle. Like parting pages of a book. Not enough.
He’d sliced her breasts. The left superficially. The right… I swallowed back bile. He’d removed her right breast completely, and from what I could ascertain, with merely a glance, the tissue was missing. Not enough.
I moved down her body, bypassing the one area I needed to examine most. Her legs were bruised and covered in minor lacerations. All of which could have been achieved by the gravel on the ground. I looked around where I knelt, noting the scuff marks and blood splatter and the odd imprint of a boot.
“Is that one of yours?” I asked, knowing the inspector was now at my back, closer as the constable had departed.
“No, it is not,” he replied, voice level but full of unbridled emotion.
I wanted to look over my shoulder at him, to determine just what that tone meant. But the dead was calling. Helen was calling. I nodded my head and moved back up to her torso, uncovering her abdominal cavity, and finding it practically bare.
Enough.
My still gloved hand came up to my mouth, holding the sob in. My bare hand reached into the hollow, searching for something that had not been removed. Her heart still lay behind her ribs; he’d not bothered to crack them. There had been enough for him to play with inside the abdomen itself.
Tears coursed down my cheeks as I laid my fingers against that most fragile of organs. Its stillness a taunt to my ragged emotions. Its coolness indication of time of death. For a moment, I couldn’t pull my hand back. As though Helen’s heart clung to it as I had done the inspector’s jacket. For a moment, I thought I’d be trapped there; with my guilt and heartache and anger.
A handkerchief appeared over my shoulder, enough of an impetus to make me move. My hand came back out from under Helen’s ribs, blood coating it completely. It was hard to believe she had any left.
I cleaned my fingers as well as I could and stared at the forlorn body that had once housed a wonderful woman. My friend.
“Four hours. No less,” I said.
Kelly huffed out a breath of air. It was hard to tell if he was incredulous or just surprised.
Carriage wheels sounded out from the entrance to the park, then, breaking our silence. The inspector’s horse throwing its head back and whinnying in welcome.
“The cart is here, Anna,” Kelly advised softly. “We’re removing her to the Station Surgery forthwith.”
I nodded. Unable to say the myriad of words, demands, that were on my lips.
“Let them take care of her,” he pressed gently. “I’ll see you from this place. See you warm again.”
The care he offered with his soft tone and kind words only made it more difficult not to break down and cry. I nodded my head again, aware I was in shock. Aware this was more an emotional reaction than a physiological manifestation of anything untoward. But no matter my understanding of what I was feeling, I could do nothing to ward off its effects.
“Come, Anna,” Kelly murmured, his hand wrapping around my bare one, his thumb stroking in a fashion similar to what I had just done to Helen.
He led me over to the curricle, the space now swarming with uniformed officers going about their duty without uttering a word. They had their instructions, just like Drummond would have his as well. What did they know of Helen? How would they care for my friend?
“I want to do the post-mortem,” I said, once Kelly had made sure everything was in order and climbed up beside me again.
“I don’t think that’s wise,” he said without inflection.
“Because of Drummond?” I argued.
“Because it’s Helen,” he replied succinctly.
I felt lost, so lost. For the first time in close to a year I wanted my father dearly. The need to have him comfort me, as if I was a little girl again, was too great. As the curricle left the park grounds I succumbed to the weight of his absence and began to weep. My shoulders shaking, my body aching, inside and out. I didn’t make a sound, but God, I felt everything.
Kelly’s hand came over my side of the curricle and he quietly wrapped his large gloved palm around my still gloveless one. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t look at me or make a sound. He just held my hand, the hand that had touched Helen’s heart, and ke
pt it warm.
The rest of me was frozen solid.
I was surprised when he brought the curricle to a stop before the police station. I’d expected him to run me home, and then return here. He handed the reins off to the stablehand, and then turned to help me down the buggy’s steps. His eyes met mine and must have seen the questions lurking there. He let his gaze flow over my face, my hair, my state of dress, answering the query without having to say a word.
I looked a mess, and could hardly be brought before Wilhelmina in such a fashion.
Oh, good Lord. Wilhelmina. How was I to tell my cousin of this?
“You can rest in my office for a short time,” Kelly declared, as we made our way in through the rear doors. The Station was busy, even though the hour was late. News of another murder bringing officers out of their beds. Drummond would be awoken in short order, as well. I dreaded crossing paths with the man, but the thought of returning home just now did not come easily.
I nodded my head at Inspector Kelly’s words and followed him inside.
The old familiar smell of oiled wood met my nose. Lemon and vinegar, used liberally for cleaning, mixing with the nicer scents of time worn wood. Uniformed officers were hurrying from one side of the vast entrance room to the other. Those behind the desk pulling out sheafs of paper and giving out orders to the men. I walked like a ghost across the space I had once called my second home and finally found myself in a small room, a cot in the corner, a desk with bookshelf across the back, soft leather chairs on either side of a pitted table. The sounds of a waking station swept away as Inspector Kelly shut the door behind us.
“Say something,” he ordered, his words tentative not demanding. “Your silence is beginning to worry me.”
“I…” I started, but couldn’t find adequate words to fill the void.
Kelly looked at me, from where he stood several feet away. His shirt slightly crinkled, his jacket removed, long gone. His cravat askew, from when I’d clung to him.
He had never looked so desirable.
His eyes, though, were tired. Exhausted. Not from the late hour, but from, no doubt, another death to wear on his conscience.
He had no such worries. The blame was all on me.
“Anna,” he said softly, crossing the small space between us, his intent obvious. And much welcomed. His body heat already stretching out to reach me. My heart already leaping at the prospect of his touch.
A loud bang sounded on the door at my back, and in walked Superintendent Chalmers.
“What have you got for me, Kelly?” he demanded, and then spotted me.
He stalled in his forward motion, but his eyes travelled from my startled stance to the position of the inspector. No more than two feet away from me.
“Am I interrupting something?” Chalmers queried politely. Too politely, I think.
“Not at all,” Inspector Kelly replied immediately. “Miss Cassidy was with me when we found the body.”
The body. Already Helen was being relegated to one of many.
“Was she now,” Chalmers drawled. “I thought you were investigating the pugilist rings tonight?”
I refused to fidget, but neither could I come to Kelly’s rescue.
“We did, indeed, sir,” Kelly announced. “And have identified a suspect.”
Chalmers ignored what should have been the promising news of a suspect and turned his attention on me.
“You like the rings, Miss Cassidy?” he asked.
I merely blinked. I still wasn’t quite sensible enough to talk.
“You like your men rough and ready?”
“Superintendent,” Kelly reprimanded in a firm voice.
Chalmers held up a hand to hold him off. “Find your patients in the illegal arena of prizefighting?” he said instead. “Is that how it goes?”
“Superintendent,” Kelly pressed, ignoring the man’s second attempt to cut him off. “Miss Cassidy was a witness aiding in the identification of a Militia Guard from the Margaret Thorley scene.”
Chalmers swung an angry glare at Kelly, then abruptly turned and opened the door. He held it ajar and stared hard at me, then indicated I should walk through it with a stiff nod of his head. I forced my legs to move, even though I was sure at any moment they would buckle. Kelly stood by silently, his eyes averted from my face, his glare all for the superintendent.
The door slammed shut at my back, but the voices within were loud enough to carry as far as Wellington. I looked about the space, spotting a seat to the side, against a wall, and gratefully lowered myself into it. Then listened to the argument the rest of the Station all heard as well.
“What the hell is all of this, Kelly?” Chalmers demanded. “She’s a woman!”
“I’m well aware of that fact, sir.”
“I bet you bloody well are. Think with your head, man. Not your…”
“She is an accomplished surgeon,” Kelly rushed to say.
“She is unqualified and too big for her boots.”
“I disagree.”
“Of course you do. You’re no doubt tupping her!”
Silence for a beat, my cheeks flaming as officers about the room all turned their, until then pointedly distracted, attention to me. I lifted my chin and my brow, challenging them.
“I will have you apologise for that,” Kelly said in a low and ominous voice that somehow still travelled through the walls of his office. “Miss Cassidy is a lady of good repute.”
“Then perhaps you should think more on that, Inspector, and save the chit unwanted embarrassment.”
Silence again, and if more words were spoken, I could no longer hear it.
At some point Constable Mackey appeared with a cup of tea. I gratefully took it. And some long minutes after that Sergeant Blackmore walked in. He took one look at me sitting outside the inspector’s office, then at the closed door to the room, and crossed to sit himself beside me.
“All right, then, Miss Cassidy?” he asked.
“Fine, Sergeant. And yourself?”
“Fit as a fiddle,” came his overly cheerful reply.
“You have found nothing of note,” I surmised.
He smiled, then shook his head. “But don’t be telling the inspector I told you first, now,” he ordered good naturedly.
We sat in silence for a while longer and then finally the door to the inspector’s room opened and Superintendent Chalmers stalked out.
He took one look at Blackmore and demanded, “Don’t you have work to do, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir!” the sergeant announced, jumping up from his chair.
Chalmers stared at me for a suspended moment, and then turned on his heel and stormed off.
I was up and in Kelly’s office in the next heartbeat, the sergeant appearing at my back, no doubt for support.
“Well?” I said, most ineloquently.
“Miss Cassidy,” Inspector Kelly began, and I didn’t need to hear any more.
Miss Cassidy.
“I’ll have a constable see you home.”
I stared at him for a moment longer; disappointment, frustration, anger fuelling my veins.
“It’s all right,” I whispered. “I can make my own way.”
“Out of the question,” he insisted, his face set, his cane tapping the side of his foot in agitation.
“Very well,” I said quietly. There was no battle to be won here.
I was a woman. And this was men’s work.
“Will you be all right?” he enquired, once I’d turned my back and started to walk out. Blackmore’s eyes met mine from the doorway; a wealth of compassion within.
I offered him a small smile.
“I’ll be fine, Inspector,” I said, then kept walking, back straight, head held high.
“And Wilhelmina?” Kelly’s voice sounded out from just over my shoulder.
No. He didn’t get to concern himself with my cousin. Not when he’d all but abandoned me to the wolf.
“We’ll manage,” I whispered. We always man
aged. We always would.
“I’m sorry,” I thought I heard him say, but my ears were ringing and my heart was breaking and I knew I still had a mountain left to climb this day.
And I simply did not have the energy to spare to climb Inspector Kelly’s mountains, as well.
Sixteen
This Had To Stop
Inspector Kelly
“Another murder, sir?” Blackmore asked after the silence had stretched too long post Anna’s departure. I glanced up from where I’d been staring at the floor blindly and saw him looking back out toward the main office. Men hurried from here to there, instructions held in tight fists, dour looks on tired faces.
Another murder. Now we’d had three.
“It would seem so, Sergeant,” I said, returning to my side of the table and taking a seat. Blackie walked farther into the room, but didn’t assume his own chair.
“No one was able to identify the Guard for us,” he advised, shifting focus, thankfully. “And as for the Swan. He’s not a regular, so no luck there.”
“Your delay not their undertaking?” I enquired.
“Hard to say, sir, but at a guess they was none the wiser.”
“So he moves in a pack, but isn’t affiliated with the Swan Hotel or the pugilist fights held there.”
“Other than the fact he was eyeing the bookie and knows how to do down a man.” I eyed the bruise on his left cheek, the cut above his left eye. Blackie had indeed been taken unawares, it seemed.
“You said, you thought he was about to rob him?” I asked, not bringing attention to his wounds. He would not have wanted such.
“Looked like it, sir. I interrupted the job, so to speak. His team was all crows, spotted me in a thrice, they did.” He shifted on his feet, hat in hand, embarrassment obvious to see. “I missed ‘em.” He shook his head in agitation. “Hadn’t even thought he’d have back-up, as such. Not like that. Not so tuned into their surroundings.”
I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers, thinking.
Four hours ago someone was murdering Helen Nelson. By the looks of it, in Albert Park itself. He could have easily had his men on lookout, ensuring no one crossed the grounds towards the fountain and his stage for the night.
Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series Page 13