Farther forward, nearer the tall glass doors leading out to the garden, were a pair of chaise lounges. And on one of these, lay the man they’d set out to find.
Adrian crossed the mosaic stone circle that made up the patio, his lantern held high so the light could spill across the immobile body. Unprepared for what was revealed, he flinched and muttered a curse which Moorland soon echoed.
Samantha’s gasp served to further underscore the horror of what they’d discovered. No wonder Miss Brighton was beside herself after witnessing this.
“Any idea who that is?” Adrian asked his host.
“I…” Moorland took a deep breath. “That’s, um…Mr. Keith Orwell. Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Orwell’s eldest son.”
Adrian gazed down at the stricken expression captured in death. Orwell’s glassy eyes stared toward the ceiling, but it was his mouth that snared the attention. A white length of fabric was stuffed inside, causing the cheeks to bulge. Mr. Orwell’s cravat, no doubt, since this was missing from around his neck. Instead, the flesh there was bare, marked by the brutal wound that had killed him.
Blood was smeared across his neck, shirt, and parts of his jacket.
Something crunched and Samantha winced. “I think there may be glass on the floor.”
Adrian lowered the light to the glistening fragments strewn across the tiles. Remnants from a shattered glass, the spilled liquid a sparkling pool of exquisite champagne.
Samantha, having stepped in it, retreated. “There doesn’t appear to be any signs of a struggle.”
“I’m guessing that means Mr. Orwell wasn’t afraid of the person who killed him,” Moorland observed.
Adrian frowned and returned the light to Orwell’s person. “He’s no small man. Had he realized his life was in danger, he should have been able to fight off his assailant with some success. Especially if it was a woman.”
“Does that mean a man did this?” Moorland asked.
Adrian blinked a few times in rapid succession before admitting, “I’ve no idea. We need more information and…I have to talk to Kendrick.”
“He’ll probably be here within thirty minutes,” Moorland said. “In the meantime, Mr. Orwell’s parents are in—”
“Moorland?” A man’s firm voice called to them from the entrance to the conservatory. Clipped footfalls began approaching. “Are you in here, Moorland? There’s talk of a murder and I can’t find my son.”
“Excuse me.” Moorland made a swift departure to go intercept Orwell’s father.
“If I’m not mistaken,” Samantha said once Moorland was gone, “this looks a lot like the crime scene Kendrick described when he came to ask for your help with that case he can’t solve.”
Adrian slid his gaze toward her. She was staring at Orwell’s face, or possibly at his throat, her eyes sharply assessing. “There’s not enough blood there.”
She indicated the wound by extending her index finger toward it. Adrian tilted his head and realized she was correct. It surprised him that he’d not made the observation himself, but his mind had been on preserving each detail to memory before Kendrick came and ordered the body removed to St. George’s.
“The blood stains on his clothes are also strange,” Samantha added.
This was something Adrian had noticed as well. He moved the lantern to focus the light on the stains in question. “The blood appears to be smeared, as though the killer used the clothes to clean their blade, perhaps even their hands.”
“Kendrick told us a woman was thought to have killed the man who was found in the carriage.”
“Had Orwell been standing, he’d have had the advantage, but looking at his half-slumped position, I expect he collapsed onto the chaise lounge.” Adrian dropped his gaze to the glass on the floor. “If he were poisoned first, he could have dropped the glass, then attempted to steady himself. Or maybe it was the other way around.”
“Does it matter?” Samantha asked.
He shook his head. “If poison were the cause of death, then the lack of blood from the wound makes sense. Either way, he didn’t die from having his throat slit. That was done later, after the fact.”
“To confuse the investigation?”
“Or possibly because slitting the throat is a vital part of the killer’s process.”
They were silent for a moment before Samantha asked, “Any thoughts about the cravat being shoved in his mouth?”
Adrian snorted. “It would almost suggest the killer wanted to silence the victim. Beyond that, I’ve no idea though it’s possible Kendrick might shed some light on these details.”
