Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(53)

“Her lady’s maid, Miss Ellis.”

“At what time was the body discovered?”

“Approximately half past midnight.”

“And the manner of death?”

“According to the post-mortem, Miss Hallcox was strangled with the cord from her dressing gown,” Hulme replied.

“Was there anything else about the scene that you found unique?”

Keats set his jaw. He’d already heard the details from Wescomb. To look away might indicate to the jury that he was responsible for such a horror.

“She was…unclothed and her hands were placed on her breasts. Her legs were parted and—” Hulme halted abruptly, took a deep breath and then continued, “and a fireplace poker was lying on the bed, pointing toward her female regions.”

There were gasps throughout the courtroom.

“What does it indicate to you, Inspector?”

“An extremely disturbed mind.”

“Sexual deviancy, perhaps?” Arnett asked.

Wescomb rose. “Your lordship,” he protested, “my learned colleague is leading the witness.”

The judge nodded sagely. “Indeed you are, Mr. Arnett.”

“As your lordship pleases,” the prosecutor conceded.

“With due respect, your lordship,” Wescomb continued, “unless Inspector Hulme is an expert in deviant sexual behavior, his opinion is hardly worthy of speculation.”

“Certainly it could be argued that a police officer has daily contact with just such behavior,” Arnett retorted.

“He well may come in contact with it,” Justice Hawkins replied, “but that does not make him an expert. I am in the company of criminals every day, however I certainly wouldn’t be inclined to consider myself an expert safecracker or forger.” Justice Hawkins peered down at Hulme. “Confine yourself to the facts, Inspector.”

“Yes, my lord,” Hulme replied with a deferential nod.

Arnett smoothly transitioned to the next question. “Was there any sign of a struggle or disarray in the room?”



“None.”

“What did that indicate to you?”

“That the victim knew her killer, and that he overpowered her before she could cry out.”

“At what point did you summon Chief Inspector Fisher from Scotland Yard?”

“After I found the prisoner’s calling card tucked underneath the deceased’s jewelry box. I then spoke with the butler. He admitted that the prisoner had been the last to see his mistress alive.”

Wescomb rose. “My lord, that is conjecture on the butler’s part.”

“The jury should make note of that fact.” The judge gestured to the prosecutor. “Proceed, Mr. Arnett.”

“Why did you feel the need to summon Chief Inspector Fisher? Have you not handled murder investigations in the past?”

“I have, sir,” Hulme replied brusquely. “I thought it proper that the chief inspector be made aware that one of his sergeants might be involved in this matter.”

“What did you do while you awaited his arrival?”

“I sent for the coroner, continued my inspection of the murder scene, and spoke with the witnesses.”

“Ah, yes, the coroner. We’ll get back to that. What did the butler,” Arnett consulted a paper, “what did Mr. Landis tell you about the prisoner’s numerous visits prior to Miss Hallcox’s death?”

Wescomb shifted positions, indicating his displeasure.

Hulme flipped a page in his notebook. “Mr. Landis stated that the prisoner arrived at the house on the evening before the crime and then twice on the night Miss Hallcox was murdered. On that particular evening, the first visit was at quarter past eight. During that time, the prisoner had a verbal confrontation with the mistress of the house and left ‘in a fine fury,’ as Mr. Landis put it. The prisoner then returned at approximately quarter of eleven. He did not make his presence known, but ascended the stairs directly to Miss Hallcox’s bedroom.”



“When did the butler say he left?”

“Sometime before half past twelve, when the lady’s maid went to check on her mistress.”

“He did not see the prisoner depart?”

“Initially, he said he did. During later questioning he admitted he was otherwise engaged.”

“Did you visit the prisoner’s rooms?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find anything of value there?”

“I found a set of lock picks.”

“Are those standard issue for a detective-sergeant?” Arnett quizzed.

“Not that I am aware.”

Keats perked up. The lock picks were a gift from the night he’d caught Fast Eddy Klein removing a king’s ransom in diamonds from a Hebrew jeweler in Whitechapel. The criminal had promised to retire if Keats would let him go. Keats hadn’t, but after Eddy finished his sentence, he’d delivered a new set of lock picks as a memento of his last caper, and even shown Keats how to use them. Last he’d heard Eddy was in Paris, living a gentleman’s life of leisure.

While I’m in the dock.

Realizing he’d been woolgathering, he pulled himself back to the present. Arnett had seated himself. Wescomb rose, adjusting his embroidered waistcoat. Keats felt his breath catch.