A Murder in Time(81)
“Oh, no. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Both are doing well, thank you. You must come and see for yourself. Already he promises to be a champion Arabian like his sire. Strong legs, great hindquarters.”
“Is your plan to race him, sir?”
Kendra listened with half an ear as the two traded horse information. Horses weren’t her thing. What she knew of racing came from meeting Sid the Greek, one of her informants, who spent most of his time at the racetrack—it seemed like a lifetime ago. Or a lifetime from now. God, time travel really screwed with one’s syntax.
“I think we’re boring Miss Donovan,” Dalton said suddenly, smiling at Kendra.
“Oh. Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
His expression turned somber. “Have you heard any news from the Runner?”
She met his gaze. Simple curiosity? Or something more? “We’re following a couple of leads.”
“I see. Well, I pray that the thief-taker uncovers the identity of the madman. If I can assist in any way, you must let me know.”
That, Kendra decided, was as good an opening as any. “Actually, you can. We’re questioning men in the area. Where were you on Sunday night and early Monday morning?”
He stopped walking and stared at her. If she’d stripped naked and sang “Yankee Doodle,” she doubted if she could’ve surprised him more. “Me? Are you . . . are you, perchance, asking me if I killed that girl, Miss Donovan?”
“Please don’t take offense, Mr. Dalton,” Rebecca said hurriedly. “As Miss Donovan stated, ’tis a question we’ll be asking everyone.”
He blinked, then shook his head. “I am not certain that lessens the insult, my Lady.” He was quiet for a moment, glancing down at the hat in his hands. “I attended Lady Atwood’s dinner party, if you recall. It was the first evening of the house party.”
“What time did you leave the castle?” Kendra asked.
“I don’t know whether to be amused or insulted by this line of inquiry, Miss Donovan.”
“Try to be understanding. We just buried that girl over there. Questions need to be asked.”
His eyes darkened. “I saw what was done to that girl, Miss Donovan. I conducted the postmortem. I don’t know if I can be so indulgent when you clearly think I am capable of that atrocity.”
“That’s one way to look at it. Or you might try looking at it from a different angle—we’re trying to eliminate you from being suspected of that atrocity. It would help matters if you had an alibi for the time in question.”
He frowned. “I cannot accommodate you. I returned home and retired for the evening to my bedchamber. I was asleep when the wh . . . that Unfortunate Woman was being viciously murdered.”
“You don’t have anyone to verify your whereabouts?”
“No.”
“What about your valet?” asked Rebecca. “He must have assisted you before you retired.”
He flicked her a glance. “As I was uncertain when I’d return, I told Roberts not to wait for me. I spent many years in the army, your Ladyship. Unlike the gentlemen of the Ton, I am not as reliant on the services of a valet. Now, I must take my leave. Lady Rebecca, Miss Donovan.” He gave a slight bow, before walking quickly away.
Kendra watched him for a minute, then looked at Rebecca. “How unusual is it for a gentleman to tell his valet not to wait up for him?”
“It’s not unreasonable to be considerate of one’s servants, Miss Donovan. And he explained that his years in the army have given him a different sort of disposition.”
“Yes. He did, didn’t he? Without any nudging, too.”
Rebecca frowned at her. “You make it sound as though he did something wrong. Mayhap Mr. Dalton was simply being helpful.”
“Hmm.”
Rebecca gave her an exasperated look. “Would you prefer that he be evasive and unhelpful?”
“I prefer he had an alibi.”
Kendra liked Simon Dalton. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a murderer.
Some of the most notorious serial killers had been well-liked until their crimes had been uncovered. Ted Bundy, handsome, charming, who even worked on a suicide-crisis hotline, had been the model of decency. A mother, Kendra was sure, would’ve been thrilled if her daughter had brought him home to dinner, would never have suspected that he had killed more than thirty women and young girls. John Wayne Gacy, not so handsome but equally popular in his neighborhood, had been a successful entrepreneur who entertained sick children by dressing up as a clown—until he was caught and convicted of murdering thirty-three teenage boys and men. More than one unsub, even on cases Kendra had been involved in herself, had turned out to be the grandfatherly figure down the street, the helpful neighbor, the good-looking doctor.
Whoever had said that appearances were deceiving was only partially right; they could also be deadly.
For a second, the image of Terry Landon blowing off Daniel Sheppard’s head flashed through her mind. She’d worked beside him for eight months and hadn’t realized he was a traitor, she reminded herself bitterly. And she hadn’t really even liked him. Dalton she liked, but damned if she was going to trust him.
Despite the castle’s enormous size, Kendra felt stifled after returning. The overcast skies and cold temperature of the day brought everyone indoors. The ladies were in the drawing room, embroidering and gossiping. Kendra had no desire to join them, and suspected they had no desire for her company either. Rebecca was spending the afternoon painting in the conservatory. The men were in another room playing cards, with the exception of the Duke, who was in his laboratory.