A Murder in Time(101)

Aldridge nodded. His expression, as he scrutinized the corpse, was grim. “You were right, Miss Donovan. You predicted the madman would kill again, and he has.”

“Yes, but . . .” Kendra frowned, her own gaze dropping to study the body again. “This isn’t right. This is all wrong.”

“I do not comprehend.”

“Our killer has a type. It’s his signature. It means something deeply personal to him, and he won’t change it. It’s not a whim that he targets young girls with the dark eye and hair color. This woman doesn’t fit the victimology. She’s opposite in every way—blonde, statuesque, and much older. She wasn’t even killed in the same method as our Jane Doe. Look—no strangulation.”

The Duke raised his brows. “I recognize the anomaly in appearance and even manner of death, Miss Donovan, but I refuse to believe we’re dealing with two separate killers. The mathematical odds of that would be staggering. We’re not in a large metropolis.”

Alec reached over and threaded his fingers through the victim’s tangled hair. It was easy to see that several sections had been hacked off. “This remains the same.”

The sound of approaching feet—more than one pair—had everyone turning. Martin was trotting down the path, carrying the requested items, followed by several more workmen, and Sam and Rebecca.

Flies, Kendra knew, weren’t the only thing drawn to death. There were always gawkers around crime scenes. That’s why yellow tape was rolled out and a perimeter established.

Beside her, Alec sighed. “Becca, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense, Sutcliffe! Mary told me another woman had been discovered . . .” She paled a bit as she stepped near to study the dead woman. “’Tis true, I see. Dear heaven . . .”

Kendra asked, “Does anyone recognize her?”

“Nay, miss,” said one of the men. “She be a stranger.”

She wasn’t really surprised by that answer. Clothing often determined a person’s socioeconomic status, especially in this era. Even damaged, she could see that the woman’s coat and gown weren’t that of a servant or someone in the lower classes.

“She’s unfamiliar to me as well,” Aldridge murmured.

“I can identify her,” Sam spoke up.

“What?” Startled, Kendra turned to look at the Bow Street Runner. “You know who she is?”

“Aye. She was a cagey one—all bawds are. But I didn’t know—didn’t suspect—she was telling me a Banbury tale. I interviewed her during the course of my inquiries about the lass in the lake. Her name is—was—April Duprey. She owns an academy on Bacon Street.”

Alec frowned. “You showed her the sketch?”

“Aye. She claimed not ter recognize the lass.”

The Duke said, “It would seem she lied to you, Mr. Kelly.”

“Aye.” He let out a sigh. “She lied.”

Kendra caught his eyes, and knew what he was thinking: April Duprey had lied, and it had cost her everything.



Kendra did what she could. She walked the area. She studied the path. She made copious notes and a rough sketch of the perimeter and the body within it. Twenty yards, she judged, to the edge of the forest and open glen. Even though she didn’t think it would mean a tinker’s damn, she dropped to her knees and went over the dead woman with the magnifying glass and tweezers, carefully plucking some of the tiny twigs and leaves from her hair and placing them on the sheet of foolscap, which she folded into an improvised envelope.

“There’s a slash through the glove on the back of her right hand, and what looks like blood,” she observed, frowning. She slid the tweezers into the gap and pried off the leather, stiff now with dried blood, to view the cold, bluish-gray flesh beneath. “Hmm. It appears to be only one laceration. Odd.”

“Why is that odd?”

She twisted her head to look at Alec. She’d forgotten she had an audience. Her eyes traveled to the dozens of curious eyes circling her. Remembering how quickly gossip had flowed through the castle with the last victim, Kendra shook her head, sat back on her heels, and sighed, “There’s nothing more I can do here. We might as well move the body.”

“To the icehouse?” Rebecca glanced between Kendra and the Duke.

Kendra shrugged. “There’s a vacancy.”





39

The woman was laid on the same wooden table as the first victim. The Duke’s normally soft blue eyes were shadowed in the lamp-lit room, his expression forbiddingly grim.

Kendra looked at him. “Dalton can’t do this autopsy.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I see where that would pose a problem.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Ah, Your Grace, I may be of assistance. I know a London sawbones that the Watch uses on occasion. Dr. Munroe—he was actually trained as a doctor before he studied in Edinburgh ter be a sawbones. He opened an anatomy school in Covent Garden two years ago. I can vouch for his character.”

“Very good, Mr. Kelly. If you give me his address, I shall post a letter immediately.”

“Well, as ter that, sir, I feel I should go back ter Town, show the sketch again ter the other light-skirts at the brothel. ’Tis clear Miss Duprey misled me the first time.”