“I was teaching a class when I received your message, my lady,” said Munroe, digging out his timepiece. “Mr. Barts stepped in, but he ought to be able to conduct the postmortem afterward. Would two o’clock be sufficient?”
Kendra nodded. “I’ll be there.”
Chapter 26
Later that afternoon, Kendra sat alone in the library, Alec having accompanied the Duke to view a possible business venture. Munroe had sent her the list of Metamorphosis Club members, and she was now carefully perusing the names.
Without Munroe or Barts’s names on the list, the club’s members totaled thirty-eight. However, Munroe had put a line through twelve names, with a helpful notation to explain those gentlemen were either out of the country or had retired to the country for the summer months.
Kendra went down the twenty-six remaining names and began crossing off everyone Munroe identified as sixty-five or older. Sir Preston was in that group. She might even be able to go down another decade, given that Bridget had claimed the man she’d seen was younger.
That left her with fourteen names. More could be eliminated once they factored in physical description—average height and weight—and verified alibis.
Still, fourteen names out of thirty-eight wasn’t bad.
She went to the slate board, grabbed a rag she’d wetted earlier, and scrubbed off Lord Westford’s name. She could envision him being angry enough to put bruises on his wife because of her involvement with Goldsten, but he was a piece that no longer fit the rest of the puzzle.
Goldsten, however, remained on the list.
She began to pace. The man checked all the boxes, didn’t he? He’d dedicated himself to medicine, working at both his own clinic as well as St. George’s. He was intimately involved with the victim. He’dliedabout the last time he’d seen her. And—this was the kicker—he’d been seen by Lady Westford with a younger, prettier woman.
Before death claimed her, Clarice had been younger and prettier.
Clarice was the key. ThereasonLady Westford was murdered.
Kendra stopped pacing to read the words she’d written about the actress:Clarice Chapman (now confirmed) – exsanguinated, body stolen, body recovered, eyes and uterus removed.
Why remove the eyes and uterusafterthe body was stolen from the morgue? If the killer had wanted them, why not remove them at the time the victim’s blood was drained? For that matter, why remove them at all?
She understood the Duke’s fear that they were dealing with a serial killer—they were known for taking trophies off their victims. The infamous murderer Ed Gein had decorated his Wisconsin farmhouse with a macabre collection of severed noses and heads, bowls fashioned from skulls, and even a lampshade made from the face of one of his victims. Most serial killers felt compelled to take souvenirs because they wanted to maintain an intimate connection to their victim, to relive the murder over and over again in their minds.
But a serial killer would have removed the eyes and uterus the first time. The only thing taken from Clarice before she’d been dumped in the Thames had been her blood. No torture, except for the puncture wounds and chafed skin where she’d been restrained.
No, they weren’t dealing with a serial killer. She’d stake her reputation as an FBI agent on it—even if that reputation wouldn’t be made for another two-hundred-plus years.
“My lady.”
Wakely stood in the doorway with a look on his face that suggested he’d been trying to get her attention for a while.
“Sorry, I was lost in thought,” Kendra said. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Kelly is at the door. Are you at home?”
“Yes. Show him up.” When the Bow Street Runner appeared, she said, “Mr. Kelly, please tell me that you’ve learned something.”
He removed his tricorn hat. “A maid across the street saw a carriage outside Thornton’s last night, and a gentleman went inside. She didn’t think he was a stranger, as Jenny invited him in immediately. Unfortunately, she couldn’t give a description, as he and his coachman were bundled up because of the rain. She didn’t see a crest on the carriage, but it wasn’t a public hackney.”
Kendra bit back a sigh. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy, could it? She brought the list of names over to Sam. “This is the list of Metamorphosis Club members that Dr. Munroe sent me. He eliminated everyone who’s not in town. I crossed out those that are too old.”
Sam’s eyes were troubled as he took the paper. “These men . . . physicians, sawbones, surgeon apprentices and apothecaries. They’re dedicated ter healing.”
“You know as well as I do that murderers come in all forms and classes, Mr. Kelly.”
He exhaled a long breath. “Aye, I do. It don’t make much sense, though. These are clever men. Why would one of them kill Lady Westford in a way that was bound ter attract attention?”
A very good question.
“It wasn’t very clever, was it?” she murmured, her eyes on the slate board as she let the possibilities run through her head. “And we aredealing with intelligent men.”
