“I don’t know at this point.” When he put the woman on her back, he plucked at the front of her bloody gown. A panel came easily away for it had been slashed. “Damn. Stabbed and then gutted, exactly like the other victim.”
Fanny stared at the destruction. Bloody entrails spilled from a deep slash in the woman’s abdomen. The metallic smell of the blood clogged her nose, and the sight of such gruesome violence—to say nothing of a human’s innards—sent her stomach into mad spasms. “Excuse me.” She bolted from her position, her sight blinded by quick tears, and at the first bit of shrubbery she found, she cast up her accounts, heaving again and again until her stomach had emptied.
Why would someone ever kill another person? And in such a gruesome way?
By the time she rejoined William, she had herself under control. Silently, he offered her his handkerchief, and she gladly took it, wiping her mouth as she sank down onto her knees at the other side of the body.
“My apologies,” she whispered, and was glad for his scent that clung to the linen; it kept the unpleasant smells away.
“The reaction happens to all of us the first few times.” There was no censure or lecture in his voice, only honesty. “It’s crass to say you grow used to it, but that’s exactly what happens.”
“I suddenly have more respect for you and your chosen field, but no one should become accustomed to such things as murder and violent death.” She gripped her hand tight around her notebook while trying not to look directly at the vulgar evidence of someone’s rage. “To think you do this every day, every week.” Her stomach heaved again, but she pressed the handkerchief to her mouth, and nothing came of the convulsions.
“Indeed.” William nodded, his expression grim. “Look here.” Gently, he tugged down a portion of the dead woman’s bodice. “Like my last victim, there is a W carved into the skin of her shoulder, done postmortem.”
“How odd. Why go to the trouble of doing something like that after the murderer has already killed the victim?” She scribbled a few notes.
“My point exactly.” He leaned over the body, sniffing, which caused her stomach to heave again, but she tamped her reaction. “No spirits or the presence of laudanum or other opiates. No trace of a man’s shaving soap either, so she wasn’t in a passionate embrace.” William sat back on his haunches. “Her jewelry is still intact.” He pointed to her neck where a choker of pearls encircled the slim neck. Matching earbobs hung at her lobes. “Clearly not a robbery.”
Fanny gingerly lifted the woman’s skirts and peered beneath, feeling at once like prying and helping with the investigation. “There is no bruising, fluids, nor any other marks that would indicate sexual assault.”
“Very good, Miss Bancroft.” His smile was tight. “Exactly like my previous victim.”
“Are the cases related? Same killer?”
“I don’t want to say that yet, but it’s shaping up to look so.” He frowned and took the young woman’s wrist in his hand. “One of her fingernails is broken, but there are no defensive wounds on her palms as there were with the previous victim.”
“Does that mean she knew her attacker?” Her pencil nub fairly flew over pages in her notebook.
“I’m not sure, but she’s not wearing outer garments, nor does she carry a reticule, indicating that she left somewhere in haste. The absence of bruising suggests she wasn’t coerced.”
“Then she knew them.” Fanny examined the skirting, being careful to avoid the soiled panels. “It’s fine lawn, but not as expensive as what one might wear as the daughter of a titled man.”
“But a member of the gentry.”
“Yes. However, this gown is dear enough that she’d wear it to an evening event. See the embroidery around the hem, sleeves, and bodice?” She indicated the stitchwork with a finger. “If she was at a rout or some such last night, why did the killer wait so long in ridding himself of her body? If he dispatched her in a carriage, it would have made a horrid mess.”
“All good questions.” He pointed to the one remaining slipper. “What say you? Ready-made or custom done for this woman?”
She touched a finger to the footwear. “It’s loose on the foot, and since she so easily lost the other one, it was too big. Could have been loaned or a hand-me-down. I rather doubt it came from a shop. See how the edges are worn and some of the embroidery not as bright any longer?” She indicated the signs with the point of her pencil. “I’ll wager she has older sisters.”
“Impressive, Miss Bancroft.” Admiration flashed in his eyes. “It’s a good point to begin our inquiries.”
Warmth from his praise slid through her insides. The fact he’d included her in everything sent a tiny tremor into her heart. As she cast her gaze about, it fell onto the mess of the dead woman’s innards. Again, her stomach heaved, which was an odd juxtaposition to what she felt for William. “The wound suggests hatred and violence. I’m having trouble imagining such a wild swing of emotions that would drive someone to this.”
“Indeed. It almost borders on madness. The W suggests someone wants to make a statement.”
“For what purpose though? Especially if that purpose is only known to the killer. And why leave her here? It’s hardly a hiding spot and he would have put himself at risk of being seen. Mornings are often when men take their rides through the park.” Every question brought three more. It was at once horrifying and curious. No wonder the inspector enjoyed his work.
William shrugged. “Perhaps the killer was interrupted before he could gain the relative privacy of the park?”
“Yet killing at a different site would necessitate the need for cleaning and even more discretion. Sounds like rather a bother. To say nothing of the premeditation involved.”
“Another good observation.”
Before either of them could continue theorizing, a heartbroken wail came from one of the watchers being held back by the constable and the chief inspector.
Fanny sighed. “Shall I question a few of them? They might take it better coming from a woman instead of a man.”