A Murder in Time(46)

Kendra saw the look in his eyes, knew that he understood. He’d seen what she had. That close to the body, it would’ve been impossible to miss.

“She’s been strangled,” he said.

“Yes.” Kendra knelt, scanning the girl’s white face. “God, she looks so young. Fourteen. Maybe fifteen,” she murmured softly, feeling a tug of pity. She cleared her throat. “She hasn’t been in the water long. Less than twenty-four hours, I’d say.”

“What, are you a bloody body snatcher?” laughed one of the loitering young men, earning a few uneasy chuckles from his peers.

A man with ash blond hair and soulful brown eyes came forward, squatting down beside her and Alec. “I may be of some help. I was a surgeon. Simon Dalton,” he introduced himself, meeting Kendra’s eyes. He shifted the jacket aside. It took Kendra a moment to realize he was being careful to preserve the girl’s modesty before lifting her arm. “She’s still in rigor mortis.”

“The water’s cold, so rigor mortis could be slowed.”

“You seem remarkably well-informed, ah . . . ?” That was from the tall, russet-haired gentleman standing next to the Duke. He was handsome—not quite in Alec’s league, but there was something compelling about his dark blue eyes in the tanned, raw-boned face as he stared down at her.

“Kendra Donovan. I’ve had some experience.”

He lifted an incredulous brow. “In murder? Forgive me, but you are a woman. A maid!”

“So?” Since that response seemed to flummox him, Kendra went back to studying the dead girl. “I suspect we’ll find the hyoid bone and the thyroid and cricoid cartilages compressed from manual strangulation.” She glanced up at Simon Dalton. “And look at the eyes, Doctor—subconjunctival and petechial hemorrhage.”

Surprisingly, he flushed. “I’m not a physician; I’m a surgeon.”

She frowned. What the hell was the difference?

“I noticed,” he continued, in response to her observation, and then explained to the group at large, “Petechiae is when the blood vessels around the eye rupture due to asphyxiation.”

Alec scowled. “Does anybody recognize her? Is she from the area?”

Flies, ever in tune with the scent of death, began to arrive. Alec waved his hand impatiently to disperse them, a temporary reprieve, as they simply buzzed back in greater numbers.

The men surged forward to get a better look at the dead girl. Kendra got the impression that it was curiosity that drove them, not a desire to help. One of the young men made a noise low in his throat and stumbled back.

“Watch it, Gabriel!” another man grumbled, pushing lightly at him.

“Have you seen her before?” Kendra asked Gabriel sharply. He looked to be around her age, good-looking with tousled dark brown hair and hazel eyes. His reaction could’ve been the shock of seeing a dead body. Or something else.

“No . . . No . . .” Gabriel moved away. As Kendra watched, he reached into his coat and pulled out a silver flask, unscrewing the lid and drinking deeply. Judging by his flushed face and somewhat glassy eyes, she suspected this wasn’t the first time he’d used the flask today.

Alec was watching, too. “Try avoid getting foxed, Gabe.”

The younger man stiffened, shooting Alec such a blistering look that Kendra was surprised she couldn’t feel the heat of it.

“It’s difficult to tell . . . but she doesn’t appear familiar,” Aldridge murmured, rubbing the back of his neck as though it ached. “No word has gone around about a missing girl. Have you heard anything, Morland? The local magistrate is usually the first to hear such things.”

“Eh?” The man with the russet hair—Morland—gave a start, then shook his head. “No, Your Grace. I’ve heard nothing.”

Aldridge stared down at the girl somberly. “Somebody had to have been mad with rage to strangle this poor child and throw her into the river.”

Kendra hesitated, chest tightening. Again, she considered letting this go, just agreeing with whatever they said . . . dammit. She couldn’t.

“This wasn’t rage,” she said slowly. “It was calculated. Cold and calculated. The man who did this did it deliberately.”

Again there was a stunned silence. Then the man named Morland demanded, “What the devil are you saying?”

“I’m saying this girl wasn’t just strangled. She was strangled repeatedly. The pattern of bruising round the neck is large, irregular, meaning he strangled her and then allowed her to breathe again. He then brought his hands back, the position slightly different—see?” She pointed to the irregular shadowy smudges around the victim’s throat. “And he strangled her again. And again.”

Morland glared at her. “That is utterly preposterous! Who are you? Really, sir.” He turned to the Duke. “You can’t expect us to swallow such a preposterous tale. And from a mere servant . . . from a . . . a woman!”

Kendra had to bite back a scathing reply. This is not my era, she reminded herself. If they didn’t believe her, she’d have to let it go.

Still, her mouth felt dry as she shifted her gaze to the Duke of Aldridge. His brow was furrowed, but she couldn’t read him. Would he dismiss her findings because she was a woman?

He shook his head. “’Tis not the time to argue about it, Morland. We need to do something with this poor girl.”