He walked over to the milling crowd, Marietta pressed behind him. Members of the court, patrolmen, and watchmen all gathered together talking. He recognized a few from their recent excursions and his previous case encounters, so he kept his head bent.
There was soaked blood on most of the cloth covering the body. He tucked Marietta farther behind him. She could look if she wanted, but he wasn’t going to force her to stare if she didn’t.
A man was cleaning the woman’s bloody face, which was bared above the cloth. Another man was making notes, and they were talking back and forth.
“Bruising on her wrists. Matches the second victim. The other two were without. Blow to the head. Slit throat. Open at the midsection…”
Gabriel let the words wash over him. The wet cloth was moving along the victim’s cheek and something was stirring inside him. A sliver of fear.
The cheekbones of the woman were both bruised, but there was something very familiar about her. Her brown hair was matted, but he could see a pearl comb hanging from a tangled lock of hair.
“Interesting cuts along her necklace—”
No.
“—emeralds, do you think? Someone with money.”
It couldn’t be.
“As if someone was outlining it. Taunting? Her money? Maybe a gift from a lover?”
A gift from her rich father. Flaunted and taunted. The report from his investigator had said she’d never parted with it even after the family money had dwindled away.
A forehead was uncovered, a pointed chin. The sheet slipped to the side and he could see the emerald and gold necklace heavy and dull at her throat. Covered by blood and set on a crusted red riverbed.
He heard a crash and looked to see the small table at his side on the floor, felled like an uprooted tree.
He had to get out of here.
He stumbled out of the room, barely registering Marietta at his side asking him if he was sick.
“Poor bloke. Some men can’t handle the sight, ’tis true enough,” someone said.
One of many faces he had hoped never to see again. Not that he particularly cared that she was dead. He hated her. Hated them all. But he had separated himself from his past long ago. What the devil was going on?
“Gabriel?” Marietta whispered.
Her voice came from far away, though there was a hand on his arm and another around his waist. He forced his eyes closed, then opened them again slowly as he’d been trained to do. To show no emotion. To show no affect.
He straightened, the hallway stretched in front of him toward the staircase. “Upstairs.” Better to keep communications short until he could truly take hold of his tangled thoughts.
Where was his father? When had Jeremy’s break begun? Where had his investigator gone? He hadn’t received a report in almost…almost a month. No.
No.
This could be a coincidence. Could be a nightmare. He had to see the sketches from the other murders.
He pounded against the door that read franklin lewis. It opened and a surprised Frank stepped aside. “Mr. Noble. I received your note. Are you unwell, sir?”
“I’m not unwell, Frank. I need a favor. I can pay.”
“’Course you won’t pay! My last favor didn’t pay my due. What can I do for you?”
“Can you obtain sketches from Coroner’s Court?” He tried to keep the desperation, the abject terror, from his voice.
Frank looked thoughtful. “For how long will you need them?”
“Ten minutes, that’s all.”
