“What—?” he began, but she was already dashing down the hall.
The door to Thornton’s study was open. Jenny’s body lay across the threshold, face down in a pool of dried blood.
“Bloody hell,” Alec cursed as he came to a halt next to Kendra, his gaze locked on the young maid.
Kendra moved into the room, careful not to disturb the blood or the body. A silver tea tray was overturned about a yard away from the maid. A porcelain teapot lay on its side, cracked. Tea had soaked into the area rug. Two cups and saucers, plus bowls for sugar and milk, were part of the debris, scattered around the tray. Milk and tea mixed with blood. There was blood spattered on the wall.
Kendra’s eyes fell on the other body in the room, sprawled in front of the fireplace. Dr. Thornton was lying face up, his eyes open and filmy. His mouth was slightly agape, giving him a surprised look. His cravat, shirt, and vest were black with his blood.
Alec lifted his gaze from Thornton to Kendra’s eyes. “My God . . . why?”
“Because he was the weak link,” she said softly. “Thornton may have told Lord Westford that his wife killed herself, but it wasn’t his idea. Someone told him to do it.”
A wave a guilt washed over her. “I knew he was involved; I could tell when I talked to him yesterday. He was sweating, nervous. If I’d pushed him more, he would’ve given me the person who told him to shut down the investigation into Lady Westford’s death. I should’ve pushed him.”
“Stop it,” Alec said firmly. “This is not your fault, Kendra. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
“I should have known it was a possibility.”
“Kendra—”
“Okay.” She held up a hand. “Give me a minute, okay?”
She drew in a deep, shaky breath, counted to three, and let it out slowly. This wasn’t the time for self-recriminations. That could come later. Now was the time to focus.
“All right,” she finally said. Shoving her pistol back into her reticule, she squatted down to study Thornton. Using one finger, she carefully pushed down the cravat. The material was stiff with dried blood, but she managed to expose a deep slash across Thornton’s throat.
“His vocal chords have been cut,” she said, and met Alec’s eyes. “Expedient or symbolic? Someone made damn sure Thornton would never talk.”
***
“God’s teeth,” said Sam Kelly, his gold eyes hard as he stared down at the carnage in Dr. Thornton’s study. “What madness is this?”
Kendra shook her head. “It’s not madness. The killer is covering his—”Ass, she nearly said, but caught herself. “He’s eliminating threats.”
“Dr. Thornton was a threat?”
Again, she had to take a moment to battle back the guilt. “I came here yesterday to talk to him. I knew he was hiding something, and I thought it was that he’d let Lord Westford pressure him into having Lady Westford’s death declared an accident. But we spoke with Lord Westford today. He said that Dr. Thornton was the one who told him that his wife’s death was a suicide and offered to cover it up.”
The Bow Street Runner let out a low whistle. “So, Dr. Thornton was deliberately shielding the murderer. And the villain paid him back by killing him.” His gaze moved to Jenny. “And his servant. Why now?”
Bile rose in Kendra’s throat. “I pushed him hard. He must have contacted the killer. Either he was seeking reassurance or he wanted to warn him. Maybe both.”
Sam shook his head. “Can’t blame yourself, lass. He made a choice. He might not have killed Lady Westford, but he made damn sure ter cover for the monster. He would’ve gotten away with it, too, if the Queen hadn’t asked you ter inquire into the matter.”
“Jenny didn’t make a choice,” she said softly.
Sam said nothing.
Kendra forced herself to concentrate on the crime scene. “The postmortem will give us the full story on what happened,” she said, careful to keep her tone brusque. “Based on my visual examination, the only injury that Thornton appears to have sustained is the slash across the throat. It looks deep, from ear to ear. I believe he was facing his killer when his throat was cut.” She surveyed the blood spatter on the wall and fireplace. The arterial spurt pattern showed the last beats of Thornton’s heart.
She brought her eyes back to the dead man. “He doesn’t have any defensive wounds, but his palms are bloody. He brought his hands up to his throat to staunch the flow of blood.”
“The poor bastard must’ve known he was dying,” Sam said.
“Oh, yeah. He had a minute, maybe two.”
“That’s an eternity for someone feeling their life’s blood seeping away,” Alec said grimly.
