Chapter 22

"Could you light the other lantern?" I requested, nodding toward where it hung on a hook near the door.

Dr. Wolcott slowly complied, allowing me a moment to observe the body without the doctor observing me.

Death could distort the appearance of an individual, having stolen their vitality, their animation…their soul. Yet there was no disguising the fact Branok Roscarrock had led a hard life. It was scoured across his face like the lines of a map. Wrinkles, scars, moles, and liver spots marked the skin revealed above his scraggly gray beard. I tried and failed to detect any resemblance to his relatives save for the line of the jaw and the cleft in his chin, but perhaps the relation would have been more obvious if I'd seen him alive.

His clothing was worn but well cared for, save the blood now soaked into the brown fabric of the coat. Unbuttoning it, I peeled it back to reveal that the white linen shirt over his left chest was even more saturated, however, not as extensively as I'd expected. The tear in the fabric was also not clean enough to convince me it was the entrance wound.

"Help me roll him onto his side," I told Dr. Wolcott as he rejoined me, having set the second lantern near the body's feet. The crossbeams helped illuminate the shadows which would have been created by just one.

I wedged my hands beneath the body near the hip and the shoulder blade, lifting upward as Dr. Wolcott reached across to pull. As the body shifted, I could see that the sheet underneath was more saturated than the front, though still not to the extent expected. This told me that Branok had lain dead for some time before he was found, his blood leaching into the ground. Leaning closer, I could also see that the fabric of his coat bore a telltale tear.

"He was stabbed from behind," I stated. "Straight through the heart, from the appearance of the angle. We'll be able to tell more definitively once the coat and shirt are removed."

Dirt and grime covered the fabric as well as his hair, likely collected from the place where he'd died. My gaze returned to the tear in the coat and then the smaller rent in the shirt as we lowered the body to its back again. "The blade must have been tremendously long."

"Aye," Dr. Wolcott agreed. "I'd say about nine inches. I've seen fillet knives of that length."

"Where have you seen them?"

"Most of the fishermen have them."

"Most?"

He looked up to meet my eye. "Aye. 'Tis a common knife in Cornwall."

Then finding such a blade would not necessarily lead us to the killer. "Perhaps there will be bruising from hilt marks."

Dr. Wolcott shook his head. "Not from a fillet knife."

I would have to trust his expertise in this, though I would be looking for bruising all the same. Particularly given his past deceptions.

I narrowed my eyes, contemplating the wound as a thought occurred to me. "Who did you tell about the puncture wound you allegedly found in the middle of Branok's back? The one you couldn't definitively state had happened in a fall." I'd tried and failed to keep the withering tone from my voice. "Or was that simply a lie made up on the spot for us?"

He flushed, telling me I'd hit upon the truth.

"Then I suppose it's a coincidence that this stab wound is just left of center." In any case, it seemed more pertinent that the wound went straight through the heart than that it slightly resembled a passing lie told by the physician. However, my aggravation having already been stirred, I couldn't resist layering on the scorn as I drawled, "Let's test for rigor mortis, shall we?"

I ignored his frown, directing my attention to Branok's face. The muscles around the eyes and mouth were constricted, as were those in the neck, as I felt gingerly along its length. His skin was cool to the touch, though not entirely devoid of warmth like the corpses Sir Anthony used to have delivered to his private anatomy theater in London.

"He's been dead for at least two to three hours," I ventured, moving to his arms and hands, as Dr. Wolcott followed suit with the opposite limb. They were also stiff, or in the process of becoming so. "Probably more like four to six," I added with a frown as I glanced about me for a clock. But, of course, there wouldn't be one inside an icehouse. "What time is it?"

"I glanced at my watch when I was summoned from bed, and it was just gone ten," he replied, still working the right arm.

"Then Branok must have been killed sometime between four and six o'clock."

We had departed for tea with Pasca Grenville at approximately a quarter to four, and Mery had said he'd last seen his grandfather at about the same time. Which meant that Mery might have been the last person to see him alive. He also might have followed Branok out to Kellan Head and killed him, but so might have any number of other people, including Bevil, Tristram, one of the Grenvilles, or even Dr. Wolcott.

I eyed the man across from me, attempting to read any nefarious intent in his features, but he seemed absorbed in his examination of the body.

Unfortunately, this broad window of time of death also didn't absolve my father-in-law of the possibility he might have had a hand in Branok's death. After all, we'd only stayed at Pasca's for about an hour. Which meant that by the time we returned to Roscarrock House, there was still approximately thirty minutes of time in which Lord Gage might have discovered his uncle's perfidy and killed him. If so, it must have been an impulsive action, for I could not imagine my father-in-law carrying around a nine-inch fillet knife for just such a purpose. But maybe Branok had been the one carrying the knife and it had been taken from him in a struggle. We would have to search the body for other bruises in addition to those caused by a hilt.

"I didn't want to lie to you, you know."

I looked up at Dr. Wolcott as he carefully lowered Branok's arm back to the table. His brow was tight, and his skin flushed despite the chill of the room. "Then why did you?"

He struggled to meet my gaze. "Because I felt like I had no choice."

I stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

He pressed his hands to the table next to the body, leaning into it so that the muscles in his neck and shoulders bunched. "Branok forced me to compromise my professional integrity. I was attending a woman who had gone into labor. The wife of one of his farmhands. Though that's not his only job," he muttered wryly. "The woman was near to delivering when Branok…" he gestured angrily toward the corpse "…and his men burst into the room and insisted on storing their contraband there. I ordered them to depart, and they did, but only after leaving their goods behind." He turned his head to the side. "You must understand, my chief concern was for the mother and the safe delivery of her child."

"Of course."

"But when the preventive officers arrived to search the farmhand's cottage, they were told there was a woman laboring in the other room so that they wouldn't search it…and I said nothing." He closed his eyes. "Though I wish to God I had now. But there was the mother to consider, frightened and straining to bring her first child into the world. I couldn't subject her to another group of men trooping into the chamber, not to mention whatever foul air they might be bringing with them."

"Being a new mother myself, I can appreciate that," I conceded. "But why didn't you say anything later? I'm sure you could have gone to the preventives and explained."

The look he gave me was sharp with cynicism and incredulity. "Clearly, you've learned nothing from your time here, Mrs. Gage. Had I gone to the preventives, Branok's retaliation would have been swift and fierce. And no one would have stopped him." He laughed harshly. "In fact, the preventives might have helped him."

I wasn't altogether surprised to hear this, but that didn't make it any less unsettling. "So Branok used threats and intimidation to keep you in line."

His gaze lowered again. "Anne warned me. She told me what Branok was like. But I didn't listen. Or rather, I thought I was beyond compromise."

I tilted my head, unwilling to allow empathy over his predicament to cloud my judgment. "So everything you've told me until tonight was pure fabrication."

He flinched, looking up into my vexed glare. I arched a single eyebrow daring him to lie.

"Branok concocted the ruse about his falling to his death, and I was supposed to fill in the necessary details."

"Such as the watch being found under his body?"

Now I knew why Bevil and Mery had reacted so strangely when I'd asked them about it.

Dr. Wolcott grimaced. "Aye, well, that was a mistake. When you asked about his state of rigor mortis, I didn't know what to say. I didn't expect you to know…"

He broke off, but I understood what he meant. Despite my macabre reputation, he hadn't expected me to know so much about dead bodies or their decomposition.

"I had to account for my failure to note the body's rigor in estimating time of death," he continued after clearing his throat. "And a stopped watch was all I could think of, ridiculous as it was."

I could sense how ashamed he was, so I decided not to press him further about his medical claims. All of it had been fiction anyway. Branok's alleged fall. Finding his body. Bringing him here to be examined. The scrapes, bruises, and other punctures.

I paused, thinking back over the statements we'd collected.

"How did he pull it off?" I asked. "Did they come here that evening? Or is Anne and everyone else aware of the trick?"

Dr. Wolcott shook his head. "Anne doesn't know. Most don't. Easier to keep the secret that way." He turned to stare at Branok's boots, his lemon yellow hair catching the lantern light and seeming to almost glow. "Bevil, Tristram, and Mery wrapped a bundle of reeds in a blanket and transported it here in the cart. They didn't let anyone else see or touch it, except a glimpse from a distance. Branok counted on the horrifying nature of his alleged injuries to keep most people away."

"He also counted on his injuries convincing people why observing the traditional vigil over his body would be unnecessary and a swift funeral and burial was best," I remarked wryly.

Branok's feigned death explained a number of inconsistencies with the statements and behavior of his relatives and neighbors, but his real death presented us with as many questions as it answered. Infuriatingly, we would have to begin our investigation all over again. The circumstances had changed and much of the evidence we'd gathered to this point was useless. Everyone we'd spoken to thus far had been either deliberately lying or operating under the same misapprehension we were.

I glared down at Branok's visage constricted in death, battling frustration. It was difficult to feel any compassion for the man and the fate that had befallen him after he'd manipulated everyone around him, including me, my husband, and Lord Gage. Yet murder was a tragedy, no matter the circumstances. I had to believe that, or I risked losing my humanity. At the very least, we needed to ascertain the truth. What happened then wasn't for us to decide, but at least the truth could point us in the right direction.

And that search for the truth began with conducting a thorough examination of the body.

I exhaled a long breath, releasing some of the tension knotting my muscles. "Shall we begin in earnest, then?" I asked, moving down toward Branok's feet so that I could start by removing his boots.

Dr. Wolcott didn't respond, and I could surmise from his uncomfortable expression what he was thinking. "You're truly going to stay?" he finally croaked.

"If you're protesting out of concern for my delicate constitution, I assure you, I've seen much worse, in much more advanced stages of decomposition," I told him as I studied the bottom of the first boot.

"Perhaps, but…" He made a sound between a groan and harrumph. "This is highly irregular!"

"Maybe for you," I reminded him, setting one boot down and reaching for the other. "But need I remind you that your past duplicity makes my presence doubly essential?" I flicked my gaze toward him. "How can we be certain you're not lying about your findings if I'm not here to corroborate them?"

He drew himself up in affront. "Then perhaps you would prefer that I depart, leaving you alone to complete this bleddy business."

"If you wish," I replied, refusing to be provoked by his threat or to feel abashed for stating the truth. "But given the fact that my father-in-law must also be considered a suspect, I thought it best that we both be present so that all parties are satisfied there is no tampering." I set the second boot next to the first and moved back up the body to his torso, facing Dr. Wolcott again. "However, if the idea of collaborating with a woman is too distasteful, I quite understand." I offered him a prim smile before returning my attention to the corpse.

Truthfully, if the man was going to continue to vex me, it might be best if he did abandon me to finish this examination alone. It would certainly prove less distracting, for I was used to scrutinizing human remains either alone or with only Gage for company. It was easier to concentrate that way. Easier to distance myself from what I was doing and the complicated mix of emotions and memories it aroused.

I lifted Branok's arm, debating whether the growing rigor would make it too difficult to remove the coat and shirt or if I should simply cut the garments off him. It was doubtful anyone would wish to keep them.

"I've scissors," Dr. Wolcott offered in a more conciliatory voice. And we set to work.

Istepped outside the icehouse door to discover a world blanketed in fog. At some point during the night, the mist had crept in from the coast and smothered the village in a damp haze. One that was as thick and muffling as the fog I'd experienced elsewhere in Britain, but in Cornwall it smelled of the sea.

I blinked my weary eyes, struggling to make out shapes as my mind still spun unpleasantly from the night's observations. There was also a familiar ache in my chest as I realized how long it had been since I'd held Emma. I wasn't used to being away from her so long, and after the night's efforts, I was particularly anxious to see her.

I rolled my shoulders to attempt to ease the stiffness in my muscles. Dr. Wolcott and I had examined every inch of Branok's body, determined not to miss the least bit of evidence it might yield. A full autopsy had proved unnecessary, but we'd combed through his hair and scrutinized his clothing and searched his pockets. All in an effort to uncover who had stabbed him, or at least to narrow down the details of when and how and what weapon was used.

Unfortunately, we'd discovered little more than what our initial inspection had already yielded. Branok had been killed by a long implement, likely a fisherman's fillet knife, roughly nine inches in length, at between four and six o'clock the previous afternoon. He'd been stabbed in the upper back, piercing or at least nicking the heart, and left to die somewhere near Kellan Head above Port Quin. This much was certain, and was precisely what Dr. Wolcott would report to the coroner's inquest when it convened within a few days' time. The jury would undeniably bring back a verdict of "murder by person or persons unknown." But the identity of the perpetrator was no clearer to me now than it had been before. With any luck, Gage might have uncovered some information that could further illuminate us, but for now, my thoughts were as obscured as the doctor's courtyard.

Dr. Wolcott joined me in my contemplation of the predawn mist, and a glance at his profile showed he was as bleary-eyed as I was. His shock of yellow hair stood up in tufts around his head and his jaw was dusted with pale stubble. I suspected I looked equally unkempt.

"We've answered much," he declared softly, though I couldn't tell if he was trying to reassure himself or me.

"Yes." I sighed. "Except the most critical question."

The only one anyone really cared about.

He scraped a hand over his jaw. "Aye."

His house was barely visible through the mist, the warm glow of a lantern set near the back door beckoning us toward it. But neither of us moved. We were both still held immobile by the night's events.

"Who do you think did it?" I ventured. When he was slow to respond—either because he was weighing his words or too fatigued to string them together—I prodded him. "Who has a motive? Other than you."

Dr. Wolcott squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I suppose I deserve to be a suspect. But I will tell you now, I didn't do it. I might have wished Branok to the devil a time or two," he grumbled under his breath. "But I didn't actually send him there." He straightened as if just having a thought. "And I have an alibi. Isn't that what they call it? I was summoned over to Trewetha a little around three to tend to a pair of sick children. Didn't return 'til after six," he finished resolutely, and I had to acknowledge that would remove him from suspicion. His claims would have to be verified, but I didn't expect to discover he'd lied.

"Then who?" I pressed.

His shoulders slumped again. "Any number of people could have done it. Branok wasn't exactly the most agreeable person. He wanted everyone to hop to his tune whenever he wanted it played, and not a moment later."

"And if you didn't?"

His expression was grim, sensing I'd already deduced the answer. "He found a way to make ye do so in the future."

I turned to gaze out into the swirling mist, wondering if my father-in-law had, in fact, been the lucky one. After all, if he'd remained here, he would have eventually found himself under his uncle's thumb as well.

If I were to believe Dr. Wolcott, that meant that Branok's tyranny made nearly everyone a potential suspect. If so, we had dozens, if not hundreds, of people to question and consider. The enormity of the task threatened to overwhelm me. Until I recalled one critical thing.

"Yes, but most people believed Branok was already dead. Who didn't?" I queried. "Who other than you, Mery, Bevil, and Tristram? And Amelia," I added. "Mery already admitted that."

Dr. Wolcott shrugged.

"What about the constable who was supposed to investigate? Mr. Cuttance?"

He paused, considering this. "I don't know. You would have to ask Bevil. But…" His pale gaze turned suspicious. "He seemed perfectly happy to accept my findings without ever seeing the body."

This could mean the fellow was simply lazy. Or squeamish. But at the very least, his failure to do so was a dereliction of duty. No wonder he hadn't wanted us investigating.

Well, we were definitely going to be "mucking in his matters" now, as he'd so eloquently put it.

We had five suspects, then, but that didn't mean someone else hadn't uncovered the secret. Joan or Dolly or someone in Port Quin.

Then there were the Grenvilles. Tamsyn had told us she'd seen Branok. She'd been certain of it, even from a distance. And she was right. Could she or any of her relatives have decided to take revenge for Gil's broken leg or any of the other grievances that family held against Branok and the Roscarrocks?

I pressed my hand to my head, feeling myself start to sway. Everything was such a muddle.

Dr. Wolcott grasped hold of my elbow. "There's nothing more to be done now," he told me solicitously. "So let's get you back to Roscarrock House."

I accepted his wisdom, allowing myself to be led toward his cottage. Perhaps everything would be clearer after I closed my eyes for a bit.