Echoes in Time, page 7
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “You think she witnessed the murder and the fiend killed her too?”
“It’s possible. Though I’m hoping she got away, since the only body we’ve seen so far is Lady Westford’s.”
“He could have caught her outside the theater,” Alec pointed out.
Kendra glanced at her husband. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I’ll make inquiries,” Sam said. He tapped his finger against his whisky glass, his expression thoughtful. “How did the villain know that Lady Westford was meeting this lass, Edwina, on Sunday mornin’?”
“It wouldn’t be that difficult,” Kendra replied. “Her husband would know her schedule. Even if she didn’t tell him directly, he only had to ask the servants. I doubt they’d keep it a secret.”
“You’re thinking his lordship killed her?” Sam’s voice was flat. There was no surprise in his gold eyes—they were all cop. Wary. Cynical. Seen-it-all.
“He has to be considered.” As far as Kendra was concerned, the husband always had to be considered when a wife was murdered. “But the staff could have shared the information with a third party. Or been bribed to share it. Or the killer was watching her—or had someone watching her.” She finished her sherry and set the glass down. “There are several scenarios.”
No one said anything as they considered.
This time, Munroe broke the silence. “There’s something I must tell you, my lady.”
Kendra looked at him and the back of her neck prickled at the expression on his face. She couldn’t quite decipher it. Caution? Fear?
He didn’t go on right away. Kendra waited.
“I had a visitor on Friday morning,” he finally said. “I believe that visitor was Lady Westford.”
Whatever she’d imagined he’d say, this wasn’t it. “I’m not sure I understand. How can you not know if your visitor was Lady Westford? Either she was or she wasn’t.”
“My visitor wore widow’s weeds and was heavily veiled. Of course, I recognized that she was a gentlewoman from her speech and manners, but I’ve never been introduced to Lady Westford. I am aware we have attended many of the same events, but I don’t know her voice. I certainly had no reason to suspect that she was my visitor.” His black brows furrowed. “The only thing that stood out about my visitor was that she was extremely petite. The instant I laid eyes on Lady Westford earlier, I thought of the veiled lady.”
Now Munroe’s strange expression as he’d surveyed Lady Westford’s body made sense. He hadn’t been disturbed that Dr. Thornton had rushed to declare her death an accident—or, rather, that wasn’t the only thing that had disturbed him. He’d recognized the victim.
Alec contemplated the anatomist. “Lady Westford isn’t the only diminutive lady in society.”
Munroe nodded. “Yes, I am aware of that, my lord, which is why I didn’t mention it earlier. However, when I requested her maid bring me everything Lady Westford had worn on the day of her death, I also asked the girl if her ladyship had recently dressed in mourning. Understandably, she was reluctant to gossip about her mistress. Mr. Kelly convinced her to tell the truth.” He glanced at the Bow Street Runner.
“She confessed that Lady Westford had dressed in a veil and widow’s weeds on Friday,” Sam told them. “She didn’t know why.”
The maid would never have asked, Kendra knew. No servant would question their betters.
“What did she want of you?” asked the Duke before he took a swallow of whisky.
“She wished to see a corpse that had been fished out of the Thames on Wednesday.”
The Duke choked. Lowering his glass, he gaped at the anatomist. “I beg your pardon. Why the devil would she want to see a dead body?”
Kendra knew. Or had an idea. She asked, “Was the dead body a woman?”
Munroe’s shadowed eyes met hers. “Yes.”
“You think that corpse and Clarice the missing actress are one and the same,” Alec guessed.
“It’s a remarkable coincidence—and I don’t like coincidences.”
They went quiet for a moment, then Alec shook his head. “The timing isn’t right. Lady Westford went to the theater to ask about Clarice after she viewed the body.”
Frowning, Kendra shifted her gaze back to Munroe. “Did you show her the body?”
“When she arrived, she told me that she had read about it in one of the scandal sheets. I am aware there is a fascination for the grotesque, and tried to protect her from her own curiosity.” His mouth curved in a faint smile. “Not everyone has your fortitude, my lady, when it comes to viewing the grislier aspects of our mortality.”
Alec said, “Apparently, that didn’t work.”
“No. She was quite adamant, and . . .” His smile widened. “Well, your wife has disabused me of the notion that females are frail creatures. Of course, I was careful when I lifted the sheet, so only the woman’s face was revealed.”
Kendra eyed him curiously. “How did she react?”
“Because of the veil, I couldn’t really see her face, but I thought she recoiled. In that moment, I feared that I’d made a grave error of judgement. But she rallied, and even stepped closer, leaning down to study the corpse. Naturally, I asked her if she knew the woman, hoping she’d be able to identify her. She said no. I then inquired whether she was looking for something in particular. She didn’t respond. At the time, I thought she was too shocked to speak. Now . . . now I don’t know what to think.”
“And she didn’t say anything else?” Kendra pressed.
Munroe shook his head. “She thanked me for my assistance and left. I escorted her to the front door and watched her get into a hired hackney. It was an odd encounter.”
“Is the woman from the Thames still in the morgue?” Kendra asked.
“Yes. Normally, I would have already conducted the postmortem—one does not want to let these things go on for too long—and released the body to the authorities. However, she came to me late Wednesday and I already had several other cadavers on my schedule. I also was planning to travel to Aldridge Village for your nuptials, my lady.” Munroe shot Kendra a fleeting smile, then set down his drink and stood. “I’d expected to see to her upon my return.”
He snatched up a candelabra from his desk and walked to the door, where he paused and waited for the group to join him. Together, they walked down the long hall to the other end of the building.
Kendra had been to Munroe’s morgue several times, but she still found it creepy when the anatomist opened the door and cold air wafted up from what seemed like a black abyss. The candle’s flames flickered in a mad dance as the party descended the stone steps.
It was smart to use the basement for a morgue, as the naturally lowered temperature kept the rancid odor of death in check and slowed the decaying process of the cadavers. However, there were no chemicals invented yet to eliminate the stench entirely or to sterilize the subterranean chambers. Death had become embedded in the stone walls and floor and Kendra doubted that this building would ever be free of the odor. Would its future occupants ever wonder about the strange smell emanating from the basement?
She pushed the fanciful thought away as they moved into one of the chambers. The light from Munroe’s candelabra illuminated shelves and counters that held the tools of the anatomist’s trade—amputation saws, scalpels, dissecting forceps, scissors, knives and wooden buckets filled with pink-tinted water. A half-full whisky bottle was on the counter. Kendra almost smiled. This was her contribution, having convinced the anatomist to douse his hands with the spirits after he conducted his autopsies. Not exactly modern-day standards, but it worked as a rudimentary disinfectant.
Kendra’s gaze traveled over the three narrow slabs. Only one was occupied, the cadaver’s shape clear beneath the dirty linen sheet.
Munroe stared at the figure. “I don’t understand . . .” he muttered, and hurriedly crossed the room. He yanked back the sheet to reveal the peaceful visage of an elderly gentleman. Munroe spun around so quickly that the flames of the candelabra he held flickered and threatened to go out.
Kendra’s skin tingled, and in a flash of precognition, she knew what Munroe was going to say before he said it.
“She’s gone.” The anatomist gestured to the empty table behind him. “She was there. And now she’s gone.”
Chapter 10
“Gone, sir? I-I don’t understand.”
Mr. Barts, Dr. Munroe’s apprentice, stood next to the table that they occupied at the Green Lantern, a tavern with a low, timbered ceiling, a fire roaring in the rugged stone hearth, and a dark mahogany bar that ran the length of the far wall. Serving maids wove around the tables or worked behind the tap, handing out tankards sloshing with ale and plates piled high with meats and vegetables. The room was noisy with the clatter of cutlery and conversation, a homey congeniality that Kendra thought solidly middle-class, the customers mostly clerks, merchants, and shopkeepers.
Forty-five minutes ago, they’d retreated to the tavern to satisfy their hunger and wait for Mr. Barts. By the time the apprentice, a pale young man with wispy blond hair and a weak chin that disappeared into his cravat, came jogging through the tavern door, they were almost finished with their meal.
“The dead woman from the Thames is not in the morgue,” Munroe said now.
Mr. Barts blinked. “But . . . I didn’t move her. No one came to claim the body. It must be there.”
“It’s not. Please, sit down, Mr. Barts. Do you want any food? Something to drink?”
“Oh. Thank you, no, sir. I ate earlier.” Barts had taken off his tricorn hat, but kept on his greatcoat as he pulled out a chair and sat. He frowned at Munroe. “This is most unusual, sir.”
“Did anyone ask to see the body?” Kendra asked. She saw the flash in Barts’s pale eyes and knew he was thinking of the veiled lady, and clarified, “Not the woman on Friday.”
“Oh.” Barts’s face fell. “No. No one.”
“Did you notice anyone loitering outside the school?”
“No. Well, at least, I don’t think so. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Do you think—” Barts stopped abruptly, casting a quick look at Sam.
Munroe lifted his tankard. “Go on, Mr. Barts. If you have a suspicion, please, speak freely. You are amongst friends.”
The young man’s eyes darted uneasily around the table. With the exception of Munroe, she suspected that he didn’t view them as friends. And maybe not even Munroe, who was his employer.
“I only . . . well, could a resurrectionist be involved, sir?” Barts said. “Stealing the body to sell to one of your competitors?”
Munroe’s dark brows lifted in surprise. He was quiet for a moment as he considered the possibility. “I concede that this is a competitive business,” he said slowly. “I have certainly vied with my fellow anatomists in purchasing bodies. However, we outbid each other—we don’t steal from one another.”
Kendra regarded him. “How difficult would it be to steal a body from the morgue?”
“It’s never happened before, but I daresay it wouldn’t be very difficult,” Munroe admitted. “You’re familiar with the building, my lady. If Mr. Barts and I were in our offices or in the operating theater, it would be fairly easy to go into the morgue without our knowledge. And the building has various entry points besides the front door. Someone could sneak in with no one the wiser.”
“I locked up when I left in the evening, sir,” Barts insisted. “I did it every evening when you were gone.”
Munroe nodded. “I don’t doubt you, Mr. Barts, as I had to unlock the door when Mr. Kelly and I arrived earlier. However, I never checked the other doors. I saw no reason to do such a thing. Someone could have broken in.”
“I’ll send me lads ter the flash houses, see if anyone’s heard of a body being stolen.” Sam angled his head as he considered the matter. “’Tis a queer job for a housebreaker ter steal a body—queer enough that they’d most likely boast about it. And somebody would be paying them, ’cause they wouldn’t be doing it on their own. These buggers would steal their own mum out of her bed and sell her for a guinea.”
A barmaid, ample hips swinging like a pendulum, sashayed up to their table, her dark eyes on Barts. “W’ot can Oi get fer ye, love?”
“Oh.” Barts seemed startled to be addressed. “Nothing. Thank you.”
“Well, if ye change yer mind . . .” The barmaid gave him a wicked grin and wink that had Barts turning red and swallowing nervously.
Kendra addressed the apprentice when the maid swung to the next table. “You worked in the morgue when Dr. Munroe was gone?”
“No, I didn’t conduct any postmortems. I taught a few classes for the students,” he replied stiffly. “I also did paperwork and ordered supplies, as instructed by Dr. Munroe. Everything was normal. But I . . .” He looked to Munroe. “I didn’t go down to the morgue, as there was no reason to do so until your return, sir.”
“You did nothing wrong, Mr. Barts,” Munroe reassured him.
They had no more questions for the apprentice, so Munroe dismissed him. Kendra watched Barts weave his way across the room to the door. After he’d disappeared, she turned back to Munroe. “Do you think Mr. Barts could be involved in the theft of the body?”
“Good God, no. Absolutely not.”
Kendra didn’t say anything, but she wondered if Munroe’s faith was misplaced. Barts had been nervous. Sure, he always struck her as nervous. But Barts had access to the school and the missing body. Kendra didn’t know how much assistants earned during this time, but she suspected that it wasn’t much. Bribery was a long-standing practice. Barts could even rationalize it: Who would it hurt? The woman was already dead.
Frowning, Munroe picked up his tankard again. “Bodies are always valuable to those in the medical field. However, if the interest was dissection, I had two bodies in the morgue. Why only steal the woman? Women and children aren’t worth as much as an adult male. Why—” He drew in a sharp breath, and something flickered in his intelligent gaze.
“You’ve thought of something,” the Duke prompted.
“Yes. Possibly.” He set down his tankard without taking a drink. “There was a peculiarity about the woman that I failed to mention. When the River Police brought her to me, she wasn’t clothed. That’s not the oddity,” he added hastily. “I’m merely mentioning it to give you a full understanding.”
Kendra nodded. “Go on.”
He said nothing for a long moment. A strange expression had settled behind his eyes. Then he expelled a breath. “As I told you, I didn’t have time to conduct a postmortem, so I cannot say the cause of death. But I can say, based on my visual examination, she was not shot, stabbed, or strangled. I believe—although I can’t be certain—that she was in the Thames for only a day or two. In my experience, cold water can slow decomposition. The river is also dreadfully polluted, which hinders marine life. This allows the body to be more preserved than, say, if she’d been pulled from the ocean.”
Kendra wasn’t surprised. The stench coming off the river was like a living thing, and was also the main reason wealthier citizens abandoned their homes near the river to move west to the Mayfair District, which was conveniently upwind of the Thames.
“She had abrasions around her wrists and ankles,” Munroe continued.
“Abrasions? Like she’d been restrained?” Kendra was careful to keep her voice neutral, even as her stomach did a quick roll.
“The marks would be consistent with some type of restraint—a sturdy material rather than metal, I’d say,” he acknowledged cautiously. “She also had puncture wounds on the insides of her forearms.”
The Duke looked to Kendra with apprehension. “Dear heavens. Is this the same kind of madman as before?”
When Kendra had first arrived in this period, they’d found the nude body of a young girl floating in the lake at Aldridge Castle. Kendra had eventually killed the sadistic serial killer preying on prostitutes. Could they now be dealing with another likeminded madman? Was that why the body had been stolen? Was the killer afraid it would yield incriminating evidence upon closer scrutiny?
A chill prickled the back of her neck. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with—yet.”
Munroe added quietly, “The restraints and puncture wounds weren’t the most peculiar thing.”
Kendra eyed him. “What else did you see, doctor?”
“It was what I didn’t see. Livor mortis.”
Everyone stared at him. The laughter and conversation around them seemed out of place for their talk.
“How is that possible?” the Duke asked.
“I know of only two possible causes. The woman was either severely anemic and had very little blood in her veins to produce lividity when she was killed, or she simply had no blood in her veins at all. The puncture wounds, the restraints . . .” Munroe shook his head, his gray eyes dark with worry. “I’m afraid that someone took this woman, restrained her, and then drained her dry.”
***
The mood inside the carriage was somber as the horses trotted down the dark streets to Alec’s residence at 25 Bedford Square. The amber glow from the interior brass lantern illuminated the lines on the Duke’s face, making him appear older than his fifty-plus years.
He met Kendra’s gaze. “This morning, we had one murder to investigate. Now it appears that we have two—if the woman from the Thames is connected.”
Three, Kendra added silently. If Edwina had indeed witnessed Lady Westford’s murder and had been caught by the killer.
But she didn’t point that out. Instead, she said, “I don’t see how they aren’t connected.”
She considered the timeline. On Wednesday, Jane Doe had been found in the Thames and delivered to Munroe’s morgue. A scandal sheet had an article about the body on Thursday, and Friday morning, Lady Westford arrived to view the body. For some reason, the countess waited until Saturday night to go to Bowden Theater, inquiring about Clarice, the missing actress. The next day, Lady Westford was murdered. And now the body from the Thames—a body that may not have had any blood—had disappeared. What the hell’s going on?
