“It could’ve been quicker if an air bubble entered the jugular vein, causing an embolism,” Kendra said. “Same with Jenny. Her throat was slashed too.”
Everyone’s eyes tracked across the room, to where the maid lay sprawled.
“Thornton invited his killer into his inner sanctum,” Kendra said slowly. “He asked Jenny to bring tea . . . or, more likely, the killer asked for it.”
Alec frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“The murders happened sometime last night. The candles in the hallway are burnt down,” Kendra added, anticipating the question she saw in Sam’s eyes. “The killer didn’t think to put them out before he left. Why bother? And since it was evening, Dr. Thornton would be more likely to offer his guest something stronger than tea.” She flicked a hand at the decanters on the side table. “Jenny was a witness. As soon as she opened the front door . . .”She was as good as dead.“The killer knew she had to be eliminated. That’s why he turned down an offer of brandy or whisky in favor of tea. He needed Jenny to go down to the kitchen to make it.”
“Giving him time ter slit the doctor’s gullet.” Sam pressed his lips together in a tight, grim line. “Cold-blooded bastard. Beggin’ your pardon, lass.”
“Heisa cold-blooded bastard. He stood facing Thornton—a man he called a friend, I think—and he slit his throat in a quick, violent attack. Then he waited . . .”Waited while Thornton’s blood pooled and cooled around him. “When Jenny returned, she saw what happened and threw down the tray. She tried to run.”
Alec said, “She didn’t have a chance.”
“No.” Sadness rose inside Kendra as she contemplated the young woman. Girl, really. What was she, seventeen? Eighteen? Murder was wrong on any level, but Thornton wasn’t completely innocent. He’d waded nose-deep into danger. Jenny, on the other hand,wasinnocent.
“Her wound is consistent with the killer coming at her from behind,” Kendra said. “He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back to expose her throat before slashing it.”
There was a brief silence, weighed down in horror as they imagined the scene. Kendra was aware of the noises outside the window, the earth continuing to spin.
She cleared her throat. “There’s no way the unsub wouldn’t have gotten blood on him. He probably removed his outerwear at the front door and handed it to Jenny. Before he left, he would have put his coat on, covering the blood. Maybe he walked home or got a hackney. If he has a carriage, he wouldn’t have used it. His coachman would be one more witness.”
“I’ll have me lads inquire around the neighborhood,” Sam said. “Maybe someone had their peepers out and saw him arrive or leave. He ain’t a ghost.”
“We spoke to the housekeeper next door. She was the one who told us that she hadn’t seen Jenny or Dr. Thornton at all today.”
Sam frowned. “If she thought something was wrong, why didn’t she find a watchman or constable, raise hue and cry?”
“It was more subliminal than that,” Kendra said. “It struck her as odd, but I don’t think she really had any idea what had happened.”
Alec looked at Kendra. “Who will do the postmortem?
The question was a good one. Munroe was a friend of Thornton’s. If this were the twenty-first century, another ME would be called in. The problem, at least from her perspective, was that she didn’t trust anyone else.
Especially now, when she was starting to suspect that the person responsible was in the medical community: one of Thornton and Munroe’s colleague’s.
She blew out a breath. “We have to let Dr. Munroe know. Then we’ll go from there.”
***
Munroe was paler than normal as he surveyed the scene twenty minutes later. “I’ll have the bodies transported to my morgue.”
Kendra regarded him closely. “I don’t think it would be wise for you to do the autopsies, Dr. Munroe. You knew the victims. But I was hoping you’d recommend someone else?”
“No. I want them done under my supervision. I won’t do the actual postmortem. I’ll have Mr. Barts do it.”
“Mr. Barts? Is he . . .” She didn’t know how to ask about the apprentice’s competency without it sounding insulting.
A small smile flickered on Munroe’s face. “I can set your mind to rest, Lady Sutcliffe. Mr. Barts has been my apprentice for five years now. I can assure you that he is good. Quite good, in fact. He ought to be striking out on his own, but he’s a retiring sort of fellow, and is more comfortable working under my management.”
The sound of heavy footsteps trudging up the stairs reached them. Sam appeared in the doorway, followed by several men carrying a canvas shell for the body.
“I’ve got me lads knockin’ on doors ter find out if anyone saw or heard anything last evenin’,” he informed them briskly. “A wagon is downstairs for . . .” He gestured toward the two bodies, then looked to Kendra. “Where’d you want them transported?”
“My morgue, Mr. Kelly,” Munroe answered. “Mr. Barts will take over the postmortem, but I want to be close by if any questions arise.”
They watched in silence as the men loaded the bodies. They weren’t exactly gentle, but they were efficient. Within minutes, they were carrying the bodies out of the room, footsteps reverberating as they descended the stairs. Without the bodies, the blood spatter around the study seemed more pronounced, more garish and ghastlier.
