Something would need to break, and soon, for he couldn’t continue to have his attention so fractured. The only question was, what did he want more: her or his position? And he did them both a disservice by not giving them his full concentration.
The mood from earlier was broken and didn’t carry over to the trip to Hyde Park. By the time they arrived at the scene, William’s frustration had built until his attitude suffered. It didn’t improve when he stared down at the dead body of a man this time.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
“Indeed.” The chief inspector nodded. He glanced between William and Francesca but said nothing.
“But why?” It made no sense. Kneeling at the corpse’s side, he peeled back a portion of the man’s greatcoat and then blew out a breath. A jagged stab to the abdomen had spilled the innards, exactly like the three previous cases. “Well, shit.”
“Oh, good heavens.” A tiny sob escaped Francesca as she dropped to her knees on the man’s other side. “I know him.”
“Beg pardon?” William scowled across at her.
“Who is he, Miss Bancroft?” Chief Inspector Pryce asked with interest in his expression.
“This is Lord Coxhill.” She put a finger to the side of the man’s head and turned it so that he looked upward. As she did so, there was a noticeable lack of blood pooling on the ground, excepting the residual that spilled as the innards continued to ooze out of the cavity, meaning the kill was fresher than the others had been when they’d been found. “He’s Lord Wainwright’s best friend.” When she met William’s gaze, sadness clouded hers. “This was the friend the viscount went to go be with and left me at the British Museum earlier.” She shook her head. “They go to the same club.”
Now was not the time to give into sympathy for the dead. “Which club?”
“I don’t know. There was never a reason to inquire.”
William’s growl was tinged with frustration. “Why the devil is it a man this time? It simply makes no sense.” He shook his head as he moved the clothing to examine the body’s shoulder. “Yet oddly enough, there is no initial carved into either shoulder. It can’t be the work of our serial killer.”
Francesca snorted. “That doesn’t mean anything. The cause of death is the same.”
“Yes, but the first three were women—excluding the maid—and were branded.” Perhaps the maid wasn’t connected, and a different killer had merely taken advantage of these current cases.
“And?” She looked at him with a frown. “There are holes in your theory, Inspector.”
His superior uttered a bark of laughter but quickly hid it beneath a cough.
She continued without acknowledging him. “Does not a serial killer mean a series of murders committed by the same person, not necessarily sharing a gender?”
“Perhaps, but why the sudden aberration?”
“Lord Coxhill might have seen something he shouldn’t have. Perhaps Lord Wainwright mentioned something telling in passing to this man, which might have prompted rage or fear on the viscount’s part.” She shrugged but stared at the body. “Or, perhaps Lord Coxhill saw something his friend had carried out—assuming that Lord Wainwright is the guilty party—and that made him a liability.”
Damn it all.William exchanged a look with the chief inspector. He would need to increase his surveillance on Francesca to keep her safe, much more than following her around London in his carriage. “Who did Lord Coxhill pay court to? Did he have a favorite lady within the ton? Did Lord Wainwright tell you anything regarding that?”
“He didn’t, and I have no idea who Lord Coxhill was sweet on. I merely know that he and the viscount often competed for the same lady’s affections at times. And Lord Coxhill was much more of a rogue than Lord Wainwright.”
“So you assume,” he said under his breath.
She narrowed her eyes and frowned. “That wasn’t well done of you.”
William ignored that comment. He glanced at his superior. “Does his family know?”
“Not unless gossip reached them first.”
“Damn it.” There was every possibility it had if Wainwright had been informed earlier. “I will call on them straightaway.”
Bang!
The whizz of a ball passed so close it grazed William’s cheek, and it had come from somewhere behind him. There was no time to think about it; he merely reacted. “Francesca!” He lunged over the body of Lord Coxhill and tackled her to the frozen ground covering her frame with his. “Pryce, secure the bloody area and have someone chase down the shooter.” Which one of them had been the target—him or Francesca?
The sound of running footsteps met his ears to blend with shouts and the shrill blast of a police whistle. For long moments, the pounding of his heart thudded in his ears. Finally, Francesca beat a hand against his shoulder.
“Let me up, Inspector. The danger has passed, surely.” Her breath skated over his cheek and warmed his skin. “This isn’t necessary.”