Cut to the Quick (12 page)

“Do you remember what time you left your master’s room?”

Dipper wet his lips. Julian knew that gesture of old—Dipper did

it when he was nervous or playing for time. “It wasn't quite half past four, sir.”

“How do you recall that so precisely?"

“I had a look at the clock, sir, to see how much time I had before dinner. "

“And why did you want to know that?"

Dipper looked down, looked up again, swallowed. “ 'Coz I wanted to go for a walk, sir. I’d been indoors most of the day."

“The servants dine at half past four. That didn't leave you much time for a walk."

“No, sir. I was late to dinner."

The mobcapped maid, Molly Dale, started to giggle. Sir Robert gave her a look, and she clapped her hands over her mouth.

“So you went for a walk?" Sir Robert pursued.

“Yes, sir."

“Where did you walk?"

“Outside, Round about."

“Round about the house, you mean?"

“Yes, sir."

“Think carefully. Are you quite sure you didn't see a red-haired young woman in a yellow dress, either near your master's room or outside the house?"

“No, sir."

“And you didn't see any stranger going to or from your master's room?"

“No, sir. I'd have nabbed any cove what went upon the ding around me master's room."

“Does that mean, you didn't see anyone?"

“No, sir."

“What about while you were out walking? Did you see any stranger going toward the house—or running away from it, perhaps?"

“No, sir," said Dipper, with lowered eyes.

“May I ask a question?" said Julian.

Sir Robert inclined his head.

“When you left my room, were the windows closed?"

“Yes, sir. I closed em meself."

“And bolted them?’*

“Yes, sir. If you don’t bolt 'em, they rattles a bit when it’s windy. I noticed it last night.'*

So much for the theory that anyone climbed in through the window, Julian thought. “What about the key to my room? Do you remember where you last saw it?**

“It wouldve been in the door, sir.**

“It would have been, or it was?*'

“I don't rightly remember, sir. It's mostly left in the lock on the inside, and I didn*t take it out or do nothing with it.*'

“You didn't by any chance lock the door on your way out and leave the key on the hall table?"

“Why would I do that, sir?*' asked Dipper, wide-eyed.

Julian sighed and shook his head. “I haven't the remotest idea."

XTLave you any reason to doubt your servant's word?" Sir Robert asked Julian, as they went upstairs to Sir Robert’s office.

“No reason in the world."

“He has no history of lying or dishonesty?"

“He's been with me for two years, and in all that time he's never given me cause to distrust him;" Which is perfectly true, thought Julian, if not perfectly honest. But, for God’s sake, whatever Dipper may have done in the past, he's been a model of probity ever since he came to work for me, and he deserves better than to have his past dragged into the light at a time like this. Sir Robert would be bound to think it significant—and I daresay he’d be justified. He doesn't know Dipper as I do, and when a crime’s been committed, it’s only natural to suspect a seasoned criminal. But picking pockets is a far cry from murder. I should as soon believe I killed the girl myself, in a hallucinatory fit, as that Dipper had anything to do with her death.

In Sir Robert’s office, they found MacGregor pacing the floor. He had finished examining the body, and suggested they all return to Julian's room, so that he could explain his conclusions about the crime on the spot where it took place. Sir Robert ordered Rawlinson to come with them and take notes.

On the way, Sir Robert told MacGregor what little information he had gleaned from the servants. MacGregor was particularly interested in Dipper’s statement that he had left Julian’s room at nearly half past four. “That’s more or less consistent with what I've concluded about the time of death. I don’t think she could have been killed much before half past four, or rigor mortis would be more advanced.”

“How late might she have been killed?” asked Sir Robert.

“Well, obviously she’d been killed by six, when Kestrel found her, but my guess is she’d been dead for at least twenty or thirty minutes by then. He said she was turning cold when he found her, and that wouldn’t have happened right away, especially since most of her body was covered up. So let’s say she died between half past four and, oh, twenty minutes to six, at the latest. Rough estimates, but for want of anything better, they’ll have to do.”

“Senderby is establishing the whereabouts of all the servants between half past four and six o’clock,” said Sir Robert. “The sooner they are thoroughly cleared of suspicion, the better.”

They went into Julian’s room. The girl’s shawl, bonnet, and gloves were still piled on the shieldback chair by the wall. The rest of lier clothes, down to her undergarments, lay across an armchair. The bedcurtains were closed. Julian wrenched his mind away from thinking of the girl lying naked and cold behind the crimson hangings.

Her reticule was lying empty on a table. Beside it were what must have been its contents: a haircomb, a spool of thread with a needle stuck in it, a handful of coins, and a white lawn handkerchief smeared with dirt. Julian picked up the handkerchief and ran his eyes over it.

“No monogram,” said MacGregor. “I looked. The fact is, she hasn’t got a blessed thing that would tell us who she is—no monograms, no papers, nothing. All she kept in her reticule are the same sorts of frippery things any woman carries.”

Beside the reticule were the girl’s amber necklace and the one earring she had been wearing. There was also a silver ornament about an inch wide, shaped like a scallop shell. It had a hole bored in it, through which a blue riband was strung. Julian picked it up. “I don’t remember seeing this before.”

“She had that hanging round her neck, under her dress," MacGregor said. “I didn't find it till I undressed her."

“Curious," said Julian. “I suppose it must have had some sentimental value. It certainly hasn't any real worth—the silver is paper-thin. It looks like the sort of thing a child might wear. It could well be a childhood keepsake—it's rather the worse for wear, though she's kept it clean and polished."

Sir Robert frowned over the scallop shell, then turned to MacGregor. “Now then, Doctor, please be so good as to tell us what you've learned."

Rawlinson sat down at the desk in the window recess and prepared to take notes. Sir Robert stood with his back very straight and his arm lying along the mantelpiece, as though he were having his portrait done. Julian examined the girl's clothing piece by piece, looking up from time to time when MacGregor said something of particular interest.

MacGregor began, “The girl was stabbed with a sharp, pointed instrument. It struck the aorta at a downward angle—the aorta's the principal blood vessel running down from the heart—and the blow must have killed her almost instantly. The wound is about four inches deep, but the blade could have been somewhat shorter. There's only a single wound track, and no scratches or minor wounds, which means the killer got it right the first time and didn't strike her again."

Julian asked, “Can we assume from that that the murderer knows something about anatomy, or perhaps that he's killed before and knows exactly where to strike?"

“We can assume precious little about anything, I’m sorry to say. It does look as if the killer knew what he was doing, but there’s always the chance it was a random blow that just happened to be fatal. One thing's clear: She was struck with a good deal of force. There's bruising round the outside of the wound."

“Does that mean the killer must have been fairly strong?" asked Julian.

“You ask good questions, I'll give you that. I wish I had better answers. I'd like to tell you the killer must have been six foot high

and weighed at least fifteen stone, but I can't make those kinds of estimates without knowing more about where the girl was and what she was doing when she died. The amount of force that’s delivered by a blow depends in large part on whether the body that’s struck is free to move. If the girl were standing in the middle of the room and somebody came up behind her and stabbed her in the back, he’d have needed a good deal of strength to drive the knife in with such a deep, clean thrust. In fact he'd probably have had to grab her round the waist and hold her j>till in order to kill her that way. On the other hand, if she were up against a wall or lying facedown on the bed or the floor, it wouldn’t have taken much strength to drive the knife in. A small man could have done it, or even a woman.” “Is there any indication that she struggled?” asked Sir Robert. “None that I can find. Mind you, stabbing in the back is the act of a coward. The killer creeps up on his victim and takes him by surprise. This girl was almost certainly killed with a quick, single blow. The killer could have shoved her down on the bed and stabbed her before she had a chance to draw breath for a scream, let alone a struggle. She was such a little thing, she’d have been easy enough to overpower,”

There was a silence. Julian asked grimly, “Was she raped?” “Not a sign of it. No bleeding or tearing—nothing to suggest she’d been interfered with that way.”

“There’s a stain of blood on the sheet that made me wonder—” “I know the stain you’re talking about, but it doesn’t mean what you think. Whatever else was done to her, I’m pretty confident she wasn’t raped.”

“Might she have been enjoyed with her consent?”

“You mean, was she bedded before she was killed? That’s harder to be sure about, but it doesn’t look that way to me.”

“Was she a virgin?”

“This is a most distasteful line of enquiry, Mr. Kestrel.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir Robert. It seems rather important. The girl was very beautiful, and her body was found in a bed. She may have been killed defending her honour. Or she could have been quarrelling with a jealous husband, an unfaithful lover—”

"I must say, your mind runs to extremely sordid possibilities.” “More sordid than this crime?”

Sir Robert was silent.

MacGregor said, “If it’s all the same to you, Kestrel, I'd just as soon not give an opinion about whether she was a virgin. I don’t think a physical examination’s conclusive on that score, and I don t want to speak ill of the girl without just cause.”

“She might have been married,” Julian pointed out. “Although she wasn’t wearing a ring. But she might have lost it, or taken it off. The killer might even have stolen it, and her earring, too, though why he didn’t take the rest of her jewelry is anyone’s guess.” He thought for a moment. “Women who are accustomed to wear a wedding ring often have a mark scored in the third finger of their left hands when it’s removed. I didn’t think to notice whether the girl’s finger had that sort of mark.”

“I didn’t either,” said MacGregor. “I’ll have a look, though, presently.”

Rawlinson cleared his throat, “Excuse me, Sir Robert. Am I to make notes on the part of the enquiry about whether the young lady was— was—”

“You are to make notes on everything we say that concerns the investigation. That includes Mr. Kestrel’s recent enquiries and Dr. MacGregor’s responses. You need not record the colloquy between Mr. Kestrel and myself. I’m afraid I’m a trifle overwrought, Mr. Kestrel* I beg your pardon. Naturally, we must consider every possible motive for this crime.”

“I took no offence. I beg you won’t think of it again.”

“The idea that such a repulsive and unspeakable crime was committed under my roof— But I interrupt you, Doctor. Please proceed.”

MacGregor nodded. “Now, I can’t tell you where in the room the girl was killed, but I know she was moved after she died. Kestrel found her lying on her back under the covers, which she couldn’t have been doing when she was stabbed. And why would she have gotten into bed fully dressed? She hadn’t even taken off her shoes.” “I’m still trying to fathom what she was doing in my room at aU,” said Julian.

“Look here," said MacGregor, “are you quite sure you don't know anything about this girl?"

“I am absolutely positive that I’ve never seen her before. I couldn’t know less about her if she’d arrived today from the Antipodes."

MacGregor, to his own annoyance, was beginning to believe him. “All right. Let's get on with it. Here’s what I think the murderer did with her body after he killed her. —Hmm. This’ll be easier to explain if I show you just what I mean.”

He twitched the bedcurtains apart. Julian, Sir Robert, and Raw-linson started, like puppets jerked on a single string. But they were spared the sight of the girl’s naked corpse: MacGregor had drawn the bedclothes over her head, and all they could see was the shape of her body lying facedown underneath.

They gathered around MacGregor, who said, “I think that, after he stabbed her, the murderer laid her body on the bed face up, on top of the covers. Here’s what makes me think that. A wound like this would tend to bleed inward, most likely into the pericardial .sac—which means, by the way, that the murderer probably didn’t get much blood splashed on him when he killed her. You'd only be likely to see much external bleeding from this kind of wound if the victim were lying on her back, which would make the blood flow down and out. Now, look closely at the coverlet, there.”

At first there did not seem to be anything to see—just the same claret-coloured brocade as the hangings. But closer inspection revealed a darker patch. “Is it blood?” asked Sir Robert.

"As best I can tell, yes.”

“May I sit down for a moment?” asked Rawlinson, who was swaying a little.

“Are you all right, man?” asked MacGregor.

“Yes. I’m terribly sorry. Yes.” He lowered himself into a chair and clasped his head in his hands.

“Dizzy?” said MacGregor. “It’ll pass in a minute or two. The sight of blood takes some people that way. Just sit quiet, and don’t take any more notes till you feel more the thing. Do you want a drink of water? There’s some left in the ewer.”

Rawlinson looked toward the washstand and shuddered. “N— no, thank you. I’m sure I’ll be all right in a moment.”