Forcing herself to look, she found a face pale and swollen, the features blurred but not beyond recognition. The skin had a waxen hue, the mouth drawn tight, caught somewhere between pain and peace.
He leaned closer, studying the jawline, the matted fair hair, the dark bruise at the throat. “It doesn’t look like him.” His voice faltered on the words.
“You’ve not seen him for a decade.”
“No.” Regret roughened his tone as he whipped off his hat and raked a hand through his ebony hair. “Why the devildid he not confide in me? I would have given my life to protect him.”
She didn’t doubt it for a second.
“Because he’s not the man you thought he was.” Some people were conniving enough to hide behind a permanent mask.
The last thought brought a vision of her attacker. The beaked disguise, menacing in the dark. The exposed mouth beneath it. Smooth. Almost pretty. Just like the man in the box.
Shock sent her stumbling back. “Good Lord, it’s him.”
Gabriel’s hand steadied her. “Him?”
“My attacker.” Her pulse thundered in her ears. She remembered thinking how many women had mistaken that soft, delicate mouth for gentleness. “This is the fiend who fired at us on the lane.”
Gabriel fell silent, studying the man who had evaded him for years. “What makes you so sure?”
She pointed to the perfect bow, the faint dimple beneath. “Few men have a mouth as delicate as his. And his front incisor was chipped.” Strange, the things one remembered when fighting for breath.
Gabriel hesitated, then took a thin metal tool from the table and eased it beneath the cadaver’s jaw. The lips parted just enough to reveal the broken tooth, a small flaw in an otherwise flawless smile. He drew back slowly, the truth settling heavy between them.
“When he fired, I doubt he recognised you,” she said, seized by a sudden urge to ease his pain. “It was dark, and it all happened so quickly.”
“He recognised me.” The venom in his tone shocked her. “He knew exactly who I was, and he meant to put a lead ball between my brows.”
She turned to him. “So this is Justin Lovelace? You would swear upon it in court?”
Pain shadowed his eyes before his stare turned to flint. “No. I can’t swear to it, and I’ll be damned if I know why.”
“It’s all right. We’ll find a way to prove it once and for all, so you might put this dreadful business behind you.”
He tilted his head at her. “After what you’ve endured, most women would be weeping into a lace handkerchief or pacing a cell in Bedlam. Yet you wish to slay my demons?”
“They’re our demons now. Our fates are bound by friendship.” Yet despite her brave tone, she could not picture a happy future for them. “Let’s begin by noting everything we observe here.”
They turned their attention to the body.
He was half-dressed, his shirt open at the throat, no waistcoat, no shoes or boots, only a pair of black trousers. The linen was fine, the tailoring neat, hardly what one expected of a common intruder. Bruises marred his throat and shoulder, the remnants of a recent struggle. Someone strong had held him down.
“The letter was found in his coat,” Gabriel said. “Where is it?”
“Perhaps with the coroner, or stored safely somewhere. I’m sure Mr Daventry will have that information.”
Gabriel nodded. “Then we’ve accomplished all we can for now.”
He led her into the main room, pausing at the crude desk where Mr Barker sat, his colleague slouched on the bench beside him, puffing on a pipe.
“Do you keep a record of those who’ve been to see the body?” Gabriel asked.
“Glad you mentioned it, my lord. I’ll need you to sign the visitors’ log.” The watchman reached into a drawer and removed a black ledger, its edges frayed and stained with age.
As Gabriel took up the quill, he read the list of names before signing his own. “So besides the coroner, Reverend Clay, and the Earl and Countess of Berridge, no one else has entered the room?”
“No, my lord. Leastways, no one I’ve seen.”
