A young man, perhaps only a decade older than she was. He’d enjoyed his life, enjoyed his work at the Isca School, and had plans for marriage and a family. Now all his intelligence, talent, and enjoyment were gone forever. Now Phyllis Dale would never meet her lover in the gardens again.
All Joan could do for the man was to find his murderer but, oftentimes, solving this kind of violent crime was a hollow feeling.
Nothing brought the dead back.
Joan caught Gregor’s gaze, hoping for a signal on how to proceed. He pointed to his nose. She sniffed and smelled nothing but the vaguely musty smell of the books. Oh. Ah.
He nodded when he saw enlightenment dawn on her face.
Hanging was a dirty business, literally. Most victims released the contents of their bowels during their death throes. Cooper hadn’t.
Gregor knelt by Cooper’s corpse and pushed open an eyelid to expose the eyeball, shining a portable light into it. “All of you, do you see this?”
Nicholas shuddered. “It looks utterly normal. What should we be seeing?”
Jared reached across the body and closed the dead man’s eyes. “What the deuce do you expect me to know from that, brother?”
“When a person is strangled, it causes the tiny blood vessels in the eyes and other areas of the face to bleed,” Joan said, filling in the explanation. “If Mr. Cooper died in the manner he was found, his eyes would be filled with broken blood vessels.”
“In other words, they’d be bloodshot,” Gregor said.
“My word,” Moriarty said. “That’s an extraordinary observation.”
“That is science,” Gregor said flatly.
“But what of the bruises around his neck?” Moriarty asked.
“Hm…yes, he must have been hanging for several hours, to have caused such bruising postmortem,” Gregor said. “Since we know when you found him, Nick, the extent of the bruising will help pinpoint the time of death, at least.”
“Oh, God. You mean to say someone killed him elsewhere, dragged him to this library for the express purpose of staging this scene and no one saw anything?” Nick asked.
“That is what the evidence indicates, though we aren’t certain that no one saw anything. We only know that you three saw nothing. Someone else in the household may well have seen something that could lead us to the killer,” Gregor said. “But it is the manner of death that is the most suggestive of the identity of our quarry. Joan, come here.”
She slipped past the men and knelt next to Gregor. Cooper almost seemed undamaged, if you looked at his handsome face. Such a waste.
“Put your hand over the heart, close your eyes, and look with your magical abilities.” He waved at the duke and Nick. “You also, brothers, and Mr. Moriarty. I suspect nothing less than experiencing this yourself will convince you.”
Joan placed her hand flat over the middle of Cooper’s chest. The others did the same, careful to keep their fingers from touching hers. The duke kept up his impassive mien, Nick sighed and shook his head. Moriarty murmured what sounded like a prayer under his breath.
Joan closed her eyes and let her magical senses flow outward, as Gregor had taught her, much as she had in the flying carriage. The power swirled around her fingertips and flowed into Cooper, attracted by some unknown wisp of power in his chest. Faint, yes, but traces around his heart proved that magic had been literally pushed into the man.
The violence of the act still lingered, as it would with a physical blow.
She opened her eyes. The duke snatched away his hand and pulled it against his chest.
“I don’t understand. How can magic stop a heart?” he asked.
“A heart can be stopped by a forceful physical blow to the chest. There have been cases of cricket players being accidentally killed this way.” Gregor rose. “In this particular instance, our killer slammed magic into Cooper’s chest with the force of a single strike. Unconsciousness, then death, would have soon followed.”
“What a vile use of magic. I’ve never heard of this happening, ever,” Moriarty said in a tone that implied Gregor must be mistaken.
“You wouldn’t, would you? The traces of the magic are already fading, even to powerful mages like the three of you and Miss Krieger. Another thirty minutes and they’ll be gone altogether and Cooper’s death would be attributed to some other cause, likely the hanging, as even most doctors aren’t familiar with how eyeballs bleed during a strangulation.” Gregor shook his head. “For all we know, people have been murdered this way before and those deaths were attributed to other causes. Unless the corpse were found in time and by a mage, no one would know the difference.”
“That idea disturbs me almost as much as Cooper’s death,” Moriarty said. “It speaks of a mage who has no conscience at all.”
“Surely we’d notice if there’d been an excess of people dying from that type of blow,” the duke persisted.
“Without the hanging, this would look like a simple heart attack to a doctor,” Joan emphasized. “It would no doubt be attributed as such without anyone even wondering about it.”
Gregor straightened. “Our quarry wanted this crime known and remarked upon but also to hide the actual cause of the death.” He waved his hand. “Misdirection.”
“Then his death was designed to throw scandal on our house,” the duke whispered.
“It’s one possible motive, yes,” Gregor said. “But while the display of the corpse was no doubt to throw scandal and suspicion on both you and Nick—your cravat, his favorite library—that may have been an added feature and Cooper killed for other reasons altogether. I cannot know yet.”
“Dammit, brother, you were supposed to make this less complicated, not more!” Nick said.
“It’s the murderer who made this complicated,” Gregor said. “But if they didn’t expect anyone to find traces of the magical blow, then we are ahead of the game by knowing our killer is a mage.”
Though, if Cooper’s murder was related to the earlier attack, they’d already known that their quarry was a mage, Joan thought. But this narrowed down the suspect mages to the ones present in Lotus Hall.
“The only people besides Mr. Moriarty who are mages in this house are all members of the family, save Miss Krieger,” Nick said. “I can’t see anyone being a killer.”
Nick had conveniently left out his personal guest, Reginald Benedict. Joan vowed to follow up on that omission.
“Not true,” Moriarty said, challenging that assertion openly. “I assume if Miss Dale is Lady Anne’s teacher, she is a mage, which follows that Mr. Dale likely is as well.”
Gregor nodded, confirming that assertion, but he gave no sign, even to Joan, of what he thought of Mr. Dale. Nick had likely included Dale and his daughter in the “family” category, however.
“A magical murder, one done on a prominent member of the Metaphysical Society,” the duke whispered. “I cannot even begin to guess the fallout of that. Will it make the passage of the Mage Reform Act more likely or scuttle it altogether?”
“I…don’t know,” Moriarty answered. “But in Cooper’s memory, I will push for it, now more than ever.” He sighed. “Your Grace, you must send for the authorities. This is a crime. And I must tell the Metaphysical Society of this too. They must know there’s a rogue mage in our midst.”
“This is my home,” the duke said.
“The local constables cannot be avoided, unless you wish to cover this up and that’s near impossible at this stage,” Gregor said.
Silence fell. Some vestige of an old argument passed between the three brothers.
“Someone is going to pay for this,” the duke growled.
“And I will find that someone.” Gregor drew Joan to the window and the chain mechanism from which Cooper had been hanging. “It’s your home, brother. Humor me and explain how this chain works.”
The duke scowled (or was his face frozen that way?) and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Our draperies are automated and on a timer. This chain mechani
sm is powered by steam through the pipes. That steam turns a mechanism in this wall and that chain draws back the curtains. Alternatively, a mage can put his hand on this—” he tapped a metal plate on the lower well, hidden by the drapes, “—and send power into it. That will also open the drapes. It uses magic in much the same way as the mechanism that powers the flying carriage, though it needs far less power, of course.” He frowned. “You’re saying someone strung poor Cooper up there using magic at that point too.”
“Entirely possible, even probable, given that this operates on a timer that the killer had to override to string up Cooper, so to speak. I also bring your attention to the body and curious lack of marks on him,” Gregor said.
“But there are no other marks on him that we can see,” Moriarty said.
“That is the curious element.”
Chapter 11
“Gregor, I sympathize with your need for the dramatic, since it’s as similar to my own, but you must explain that one,” Nick said.
“Cooper knew his killer,” Joan answered instead. “Otherwise, Cooper would have been on guard and fought back.”
Gregor nodded. “Yes, such a bolt of magical force probably came from a hand placed over his heart.”
“And to get close enough to him to do that without a struggle, the murderer had to be someone known to him and someone not perceived as a threat,” Joan said. “That narrows the possibilities of the rogue mage further.”
“Maybe,” Moriarty said. “Cooper knew many mages, as did I, from our work with students and with the Metaphysical Society. He’d perceive no threat from any of them.” He stared at the duke. “But it was your cravat found on the body, Your Grace. I don’t see how, given we were together, but that does not look good.”
“An obvious attempt to throw suspicion on him,” Joan said.
“Yes,” Nick and Jared said in one breath.
“Quite,” Gregor said. “It goes along with making the death look like a hanging. You should alert the authorities now, Jared. How well do you know them? Are they the type to jump to erroneous conclusions, like much of Scotland Yard, or will they have the patience to investigate before deciding on the wrong answer?”
The duke shook his head. “And people call me arrogant.” He straightened his shoulders. “We have dealt with them satisfactorily over minor issues but never a murder.”
“Ah,” Gregor said. “In that case, Nick, you should go fetch them. You put people at ease, and you are the one who first touched the body.”
Nick looked at his elder brother for permission. The duke nodded and mock-bowed to his youngest brother. “As you wish, Greg.”
Whatever the circumstances, Joan doubted Nick would ever stop his habit of needling his brothers.
“Your Grace, you should wait here with Mr. Moriarty, to protect the crime scene.” A pause. “You pair also have the power to withstand the killer, should they return to the scene, though I admit that scenario is unlikely.”
“Sensible,” Moriarty said.
“And, what, pray tell, are you going to do while I am cooling my heels, Mr. Consulting Detective?” the duke asked.
“Investigate, of course. Come, Miss Krieger, the game’s afoot.”
And Gregor Sherringford strode out of the room, with her in his wake.
She hid a smile, as he’d once again made a dramatic exit. Some habits were impossible to break, whatever the circumstances.
At the end of the hallway, they descended another set of richly carpeted steps, to the floor below where Cooper had died. She could only imagine the work the servants did to keep the carpets clean. No wonder they woke at dawn to begin.
The brass banisters gleamed in her mage light, showing that someone polished them regularly.
She glanced around and saw no one. Good.
“Your brothers lack proper alibis,” she said in a low tone.
“True. As does Moriarty himself.”
“Also true. He left Jared’s office for a time, and Jared himself was not there all evening. And he was, admittedly, the last person to see Cooper alive.”
“Except for the footman, if he exists. And Miss Dale. She saw him tonight.”
He sighed. “Yes. Miss Dale may have pertinent information.”
“Is she a suspect as well?”
“We are both aware that intimate partnerships can often turn deadly.” He frowned. “Though it would be callous, indeed, to haul her dead love up as a display.”
“If she has power enough for that.” Joan glanced around again as they reached the top of the steps, to make certain they were alone. “Do you think the duke woke her when he returned Lady Anne to the nursery? It would be instructive to see Miss Dale’s reaction to Cooper’s death.”
“Jared would never leave his daughter alone when she was scared. I’m sure he woke Miss Dale. And equally sure that Anne would have told her why she was so agitated. That ship has already sailed.”
Gregor paused halfway down the hallway.
“But, nevertheless, Miss Dale is low on my suspect list. Why would she haul him to the library and risk discovery if she could leave his body alone, let the mage traces fade, and have the crime passed off as an unfortunate heart attack?”
“That’s a point. Objectivity causes me to mention your mother and Mr. Dale as suspects. But while they might kill for an unknown reason, I cannot see either of them wanting to pull the family into scandal.”
He grunted. “That is my thought.”
“But the answers you wanted about how they returned so secretly are more pressing now.”
Again, he grunted.
Ah. It was like that, was it? It was possible that the pair could alibi each other, as she and Gregor and Reg and Nick could. That might be yet another scandal, if publicly known.
For a family with such a sterling reputation, the Sherringfords held dangerous secrets. Cooper could have been killed to protect one of them.
Gas lamps blared to life, making her mage light irrelevant. She extinguished it. “Are these also on a remote timer, like the drapes?”
“I believe so, though I’m not familiar with this floor. It may be the duke ordered the lights on, knowing our destination.”
The walls had been decorated with paintings of scenes from the gardens, adding color to the corridor. The hardwood floor gleamed in the reflected light of the lamps. Gregor approached the nearest door and opened it without prelude. It led to a sitting room, much like the one in Joan’s rooms but decorated in a more masculine, darker style. The outer room held a couch and two chairs on a circular rug, with a desk for correspondence in the corner. Impersonal, but warm.
A door at either side led to the bedrooms, presumably.
“I’ll take the desk, you take Cooper’s bedroom,” Gregor said, and went to work. “Clothing falls well within your expertise.”
“Which door?” she asked.
“Check the clothing and it should be evident. If it’s the wrong one, well, Moriarty can hardly complain of a quick entry and exit, even if he knew. And exploring his room might be no bad thing.”
Logical. Joan crossed the room and opened the second door, clearing her mind, hoping to see and observe, as Gregor did.
A bed, not slept in, occupied one wall, a window the other, with a wardrobe opposite both. Again, elegant but impersonal furnishings, suitable for guests.
Start with the wardrobe.
She opened the unlocked wardrobe and jumped as the autoclothe gears clicked and whirred, wary, even if the mechanism in her bedroom had been safe.
She shielded, and watched.
Metal arms jutted out, full of clothing, including shirts, trousers, and coats. At the same time, the floor of the wardrobe slid forward and presented several pairs of shoes to her. The pants were clearly too short for Moriarty, so she’d chosen the right bedroom. She pushed the clothes aside and shined her mage light inside the darker interior. Bare walls, bare floor. She knelt to the shoes. Formal dress shoes, perhaps for the dinners here, and ano
ther pair of boots that Cooper’d worn when she’d met him just two days ago, footwear suitable for a day at the Isca School.
Soil still clung to the shoelaces. She pulled an envelope from her bag and tapped the dirt inside, for later examination. They would have to run spectrometer tests on that. Dirt might have nothing to do with the murder but, at this stage, she was concerned more with gathering evidence, not making conclusions.
She stepped back, hands on hips, and surveyed the wardrobe. If she were the one looking to hide something in such a thing, where would she choose? Ah, perhaps in the thing itself. She traced the hanging bars to the chain links that were part of the mechanism. They fed into a small hole that led into the shoe compartment. She moved aside the shoes, knelt down and cast a mage light to the back of the bottom compartment.
A slip of paper was jammed there, behind the chain.
She grasped an edge of the paper and drew it out. It was half torn and shredded from abuse by the chains. She smoothed it down to make it readable.
A handwritten list. It might be Cooper’s handwriting, it might not. (Never assume.)
It took her a moment to decipher the elegant “L” loops and to sort out the “E”s from the “I”s because the writer forgot to dot the latter. Once that was sorted, a list of names was revealed. Jasper Sherringford was at the top, the tear between the two “R”s of his last name. His ducal title wasn’t included. No titles were included at all on the list but she recognized the Christian names of several other members of the nobility.
Ten names in all.
Rachel Krieger was the last.
Mother.
Joan rocked back on her heels, staring dumbly at the list, a great silent terror roaring in her ears. She closed her eyes, forcing calm, hoping her mind would engage again. In a few seconds, she opened them again. Still here. She read the list again.
Rachel Krieger was still there.
What was her mother doing on this list and why was it in Cooper’s possession? For that matter, what the bloody hell was this list supposed to be?
A Hanging at Lotus Hall Page 14
