A Murder in Time(53)

“Miss Donovan was correct.” He gave her a slight nod to acknowledge that fact. Kendra was aware of the veiled looks from everyone but the Duke. “The female had a crushed hyoid bone, thyroid, and cricoid cartilage. There was no water in her lungs. She died of strangulation, not drowning.”

“Strangled repeatedly as Miss Donovan suggested?” Alec asked, although he’d viewed the evidence with his own eyes.

“My findings support Miss Donovan’s theory. Although it’s impossible for me to determine the exact time of death, based on the degree of rigor mortis, I believe she died in the early morning hours, sometime between three and four, but that is only conjecture. Her stomach was empty; she hadn’t eaten for hours before that.

“I counted fifty-three cuts on the girl’s torso. Based on my measurements, we’re dealing with four different knives. And all fifty-three wounds were inflicted premortem.”

“Holy Mother of God,” Hilliard breathed.

“Whoever did this must be utterly mad,” Aldridge said, looking shaken.

“Yes and no,” Kendra said quickly. “His psychosis—his madness is internal. To all outward appearances, he will appear normal.”

Mr. Hilliard’s eyebrows rose. “How’d’ya know that?”

“Because . . . he’s organized. He’s done this before. He knows how to blend in.”

“We’ve never found a girl dead like this,” Morland protested.

“He may have worked outside this area. Or we were never supposed to find this girl.” She thought back to when she first came to the castle—a couple of centuries in the future—and the surrounding geography. “The ocean is, what? Two miles from here?”

Alec surveyed her with hooded eyes. “Thereabouts.”

“You said this area is a watershed. The killer could’ve dumped the body in the river, expecting the current to take it out to the ocean.”

“That was rather careless of him, wasn’t it? Why not bury the girl? Dispose of her in some way where she would not be found?”

“I don’t know.” And that bothered her. It was careless. “The unsub may be—”

“Unsub? What is an unsub, pray tell?” Aldridge eyed her curiously.

Oh, God. In spite of everything, she’d forgotten where she was. When she was. “Unknown subject,” she identified. “The murderer. He may be getting complacent. Or he may have wanted her to be found.” She looked at Dalton. “Was she raped?”

He flushed, unable to meet her eyes. “Yes.”

The Duke looked grim. “He is a monster.”

“Yes. But he won’t look like a monster. It’s very important that everyone understand that.” She scanned the faces in the room. “He will look no different than you or me.”

“Jesus.” Hilliard drank the rest of the brandy in one gulp.

“Right now the victim is our only connection to the killer,” Kendra said. “We need to find out her identity.”

“I don’t believe she’s from the area. She wasn’t a farmer’s daughter, a servant, or of the working class,” Dalton said slowly.

Kendra looked at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because of her hands. The palms were not rough. No calluses. No indication she did manual labor.”

Kendra raised her brows, surprised. Soft, smooth hands were so much a part of her world that she hadn’t considered it an anomaly during this time period.

“Could she be a Lady?” Morland wondered, sipping his brandy.

“Doubtful,” said Alec. “If a peer of the realm’s daughter disappeared, there’d be hue and cry by now.”

“Unless the peer in question is afraid of the ensuing scandal,” Morland countered.

Aldridge frowned. “You gentlemen are out and about in society. You didn’t recognize her?”

“She struck me as a bit young to have come out, Duke,” Alec commented.

“She could be some cit’s daughter,” Hilliard speculated.

“No. I don’t believe so.” Dalton cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable again. “I believe she was a prostitute.”

“I say—how’d you know?” The constable’s eyebrows shot up.

“The girl—I estimate her age to be around fifteen—she’d been pregnant, but the child was not brought to term.”

“I see,” Aldridge said slowly.

Alec straightened. “Miscarriage or abortion?”

“Abortion.”

“That would make her a prostitute?” Kendra asked.

All four men seemed to find her question shocking. “Miss Donovan, gently bred women do not procure the services of an abortionist,” was all the Duke said.

Kendra wondered if that was true. In her opinion, if a woman was desperate enough, scared enough, it would drive her to do anything, regardless of laws or societal restrictions.

Dalton continued, “Like her hands, her feet were soft, well-maintained. No calluses, bunions, or other imperfections.”

Morland lifted his brandy glass and muttered, “Sounds like a woman who worked on her back.”

Hilliard was the only one who found his crude jest amusing. Catching the Duke’s reproving stare, he transformed his laugh into a cough, straightening in his chair. “My apologies, gov—er, Your Grace.”