Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

S tokes had been to the Thames River Police's morgue multiple times before, and it was never a pleasant duty. The River Police's headquarters was a gloomy gray-stone building that squatted in the shadows of the Tower. Stokes made his presence known to the sergeant at the front desk and was promptly waved toward the narrow corridor that led to the even narrower stairs that gave access to the building's basement, in which the morgue was housed.

Stokes glanced at O'Donnell.

Immediately, the experienced sergeant said, "I'll wait here."

Stokes snorted and left him, knowing O'Donnell would use the time to see what he could learn from the other sergeant.

On his way down the stairs, Stokes felt a damp chill envelop him. This close to the river, any subfloor level was inevitably dank and cold, a fitting place to store the remains of the dead pulled from the river's embrace.

Steeling himself against what he would see and smell, Stokes pushed through the morgue's door. A quick scan of the three steel tables revealed that only one—the last in the row—was occupied. He'd been told that Findlay was the examiner on duty, which was something of a relief.

At the sound of Stokes's steps, the grizzled veteran medical examiner looked up from where he sat at a desk in one corner, then lumbered to his feet. "Stokes." Findlay nodded a greeting, but didn't offer to shake hands; few medical examiners did. Findlay tipped his head toward the shrouded form occupying the third table. "Heard you'd been given this one."

"Unfortunately for me," Stokes said. "It seems he's a marquess's heir."

"Oh-ho!" Findlay, whose girth was considerable, waddled to the table. "The plot is therefore thick to begin with."

Stokes had to smile. "So, what can you tell me? Dare I hope for an open-and-shut case?"

Findlay snorted. "With the nobs involved, what's the likelihood, heh?" He lifted the sheet and gently drew it all the way back to reveal the naked form of a very large and powerfully built man.

Taking in the full measure of the victim, Stokes silently whistled. "You said he was strangled. How the devil did anyone manage to strangle him?"

"That's the mystery, heh?"

Studying the corpse, Stokes moved to stand at its feet. He shook his head. "If it wasn't for the haircut and perhaps the features, I'd peg him for a Limehouse brawler."

Findlay grunted. "And I wouldn't argue. But the cards in his card case, which were wet but printed, so the ink didn't run, say otherwise."

Stokes glanced up. "Anything else in his pockets?"

"Two letters, which were sodden and useless, and several pounds' worth of coins." Findlay tipped his head toward the desk. "They're ready for you to take." When Stokes continued to frown at the dead man, Findlay added, "Given the way his clothes and boots fitted, they were made for him and by the best makers in town. If he isn't this viscount, he's nevertheless someone from that level of society."

Stokes grimaced. "The description I have of Viscount Sedbury is of a great hulking brute of a man."

Findlay waved at the table. "They don't come much more hulking than this. Sounds like Sedbury is, indeed, your victim. That said, we'll need formal identification by a family member."

Stokes sighed and nodded. "I'll have someone arrange it." He glanced at Findlay. "So, what can you tell me about how he died?"

Findlay tugged one earlobe. "Well, he was definitely dead before he hit the water—no trace of the river in his lungs. And if you look here"—Findlay pointed to marks about the corpse's neck—"you can see that he was strangled. The hyoid bone is broken, which would have required considerable force. Given the victim's size, musculature, and rude health, that suggests that, realistically, the murderer must be equally large, at least as tall, and at least as strong. In my opinion, you're looking for someone even stronger. It would have taken enormous strength to manage this man's weight while actively strangling him."

Stokes tried to imagine that. "Could he—our victim—have been subdued before being strangled? I mean by being knocked over the head or drugged or rendered unconscious in some way?"

Findlay nodded approvingly. "An excellent question, but the answer is no, or rather, not exactly. I've made a thorough examination and can find no hint whatsoever of inebriation or injury that might have rendered him unconscious. However"—he pointed to a large bruise darkening the bridge of the corpse's nose and one cheekbone—"that was done close to the time of death. I seriously doubt it knocked him out, but likely it would have stunned him for an instant. But nothing more. I say that because of the bruises and abrasions on his knuckles and the scrapes on his neck." Findlay picked up one flaccid hand and pointed at the damage. "Both hands. See? The marks are consistent with him putting up a fight. Quite a fight. And here"—Findlay set down the hand and pointed to marks scored in the skin of the corpse's neck—"he scrabbled desperately hard at the noose, as it were. He didn't die easily." He looked at Stokes. "If I had to guess, I would say your murderer should be sporting bruises at least and perhaps scrapes on his face and hands."

Stokes tried to imagine the scene. "So our murderer and Sedbury meet and…"

Findlay accepted the invitation to hypothesize. "At some point in the ensuing discussion, our murderer hits Sedbury in the face, stunning him for just long enough to loop a piece of leather around his neck. Sedbury struggles and fights, yet is nevertheless strangled."

Stokes frowned. "Piece of leather?" He'd never heard of a leather garrote.

Findlay beamed. "Yes! That's the single most interesting feature of this death. Look here." Findlay pointed to the strap-like mark that crossed Sedbury's thick neck. "I'd swear the man was strangled with a length of finished leather—either a whip or a rein. If you look closely, you can see that whatever it was had smoothed edges, and given the slight tapering in the width of the mark, my money's on the thong of a whip as the murder weapon."

Stokes peered at the mark on Sedbury's neck and couldn't fault Findlay's reasoning.

"Mind you," Findlay said, "that's even more remarkable because leather has at least a little give. Strangling someone with a leather strap would take even greater strength than doing the same with a rope or cord."

Stokes straightened. "So our murderer is remarkably strong."

Findlay nodded. "It might seem bizarre, but I truly believe you have a whip as your murder weapon."

Stokes grunted. "Sedbury was a whip collector."

"Was he?" Findlay looked at the corpse anew. "The odd choice of weapon might be relevant, then."

"It might, indeed." Stokes glanced at Findlay. "I take it no whip has been found?"

Findlay shrugged. "No telling where it might be now. The killer might even have taken it with him."

Stokes grimaced. "Time of death?"

Findlay regarded the corpse. "Judging from when he was found and the state of the body, I'd say between midnight Saturday to three o'clock on Sunday morning. I'll testify that he hadn't been in the water for more than twelve hours."

Stokes nodded. He stepped back from the table and surveyed the corpse again, weighing the possibilities. While a whip as the likely murder weapon and Charlie also being a whip collector suggested Charlie as a suspect, given Sedbury's size and weight versus Charlie's, and that Sedbury had fought yet Charlie had no mark on his face or hands, Stokes still couldn't see Charlie as Sedbury's murderer. The scenario was simply too implausible—too much of a stretch of the imagination.

"Oh—one last thing." Findlay flicked out the sheet, preparing to shroud the corpse once more. "Where he went into the river. It wasn't off any of the bridges, if that's what you were thinking."

"It wasn't?" Stokes perked up. "Where, then?"

"We can't say exactly, but the body fetched up in the marshes on the south bank near Cuckold's Point. I spoke to the rivermen, and in light of the conditions on the river and the tides on Saturday and Sunday, the consensus is that the body was put into the water from the north bank, somewhere between the Tower and the Duke Stairs. If I had to guess, then based on the time I believe he was in the river, I'd put the entry point farther to the west along that stretch."

This was why Stokes appreciated working with the more experienced examiners; they thought of asking the right questions of those around them. "Thank you. That will be a great help. We'd assumed a bridge because we were imagining an altercation between gentlemen." Stokes paused, eyes narrowing. "But if he died near where he was put into the river…"

Findlay nodded sagely. "Indeed. Rather more likely he was involved in some nefarious doings, and something went wrong. He wouldn't be the first lordling who bit off more than he could chew." He drew the sheet over Sedbury's body, then stepped back and looked at Stokes. "That's about all I can tell you." He clapped his hands together. "Right! You've got a murderer to chase, and I've got two floaters arriving any minute."

Stokes held up a hand in thanks and turned toward the door. "I'll leave you to it." He was infinitely grateful that the other two corpses hadn't been brought in while he was there.

As Stokes reached the door, Findlay called after him, "Don't forget the formal identification!"

Stokes waved in acknowledgment, but didn't stop.

He walked quickly up the stairs, down the corridor, and through the foyer, collecting O'Donnell with a glance. Once outside on the pavement, Stokes paused to finally fill his lungs. The aroma of the river wasn't the sweetest, but it was a definite improvement over the scents of the dead.

O'Donnell halted beside Stokes, and he swiftly filled the sergeant in on the information regarding where the body had entered the river.

O'Donnell frowned. "That's quite a stretch."

"It is, and until we know more, we have to assume that the murder site lies somewhere close to the river in that area." Stokes looked at O'Donnell. "You're in charge of the search, with Morgan assisting. Pull in as many constables as you can and see what you can learn. Start with any informants in the area, but ultimately, we're going to need witnesses."

O'Donnell nodded. "In that area on a Saturday night, someone must have seen something."

Stokes walked into the front hall just as Penelope was leading Barnaby and Charlie from the garden parlor to the dining room.

"Perfect timing!" She linked her arm in Stokes's. "You can join us for luncheon and tell us what you discovered at the morgue."

Stokes had to laugh. "Only you would look forward with such open expectation to news from that quarter delivered over the dining table."

Penelope opened her mouth to refute that statement, then shut her lips on a "Hmm."

They settled about the table, which Mostyn had already laid for four. The majordomo and the footman, Connor, brought in the platters, then retreated, leaving them to serve themselves.

Once they had, Barnaby said, "First, let me reiterate what we believe should be our next steps, then we can see how your latest information affects our thinking."

With a mouthful of ham, Stokes nodded agreement, and Barnaby quickly listed their agreed next steps, namely to learn more about Sedbury and his family, the Hales, to search for witnesses to Sedbury's movements after he left White's, and lastly, to find witnesses to Charlie's journey from White's to Jermyn Street.

"We know who to ask for the first and the third," Barnaby concluded, "but depending on where Sedbury went, his movements might prove more difficult to investigate. Not impossible, but it might take time."

"However," Penelope chimed in, "as there was little we could achieve during what remained of the morning, we delayed any decisions until after you returned and we heard what you'd discovered at the morgue."

Taking that as his cue, Stokes revealed, "In truth, I learned more than I'd expected, largely thanks to Findlay, the medical examiner who did the postmortem. He's an old hand with years of experience. Nothing much slips past him, and he's quick to put two and two together."

"That's convenient for us." Penelope folded her hands on the table. "So what had he deduced?"

"First, Sedbury was already dead when he entered the water, so it was, indeed, strangulation rather than death by drowning."

"Given Sedbury's physique," Barnaby said, "that's a clue to his murderer in and of itself."

Stokes nodded. "Findlay thought so, too, and I have to admit that, now I've laid eyes on Sedbury, I comprehend the situation rather better. More, there were indications that Sedbury had put up a significant fight. Findlay is of the opinion that Sedbury would have marked his killer—a scratch, a bruise, something like that. On face or hands or both."

Penelope looked at Charlie. "So definitely not Charlie."

Stokes smiled faintly. "Definitely not Hastings, but it'll take more than that to exonerate him in the eyes of the ton."

Penelope heaved a sigh. "Sadly, that's all too true. So what else did you learn?"

"The next point of note was that Sedbury went into the river from the north bank, and the experts—meaning the rivermen—say he went in somewhere between the Tower and the Duke Stairs."

Penelope's eyes flew wide. "Really? That's a rather rough area."

Barnaby frowned. "That's not the sort of place a gentleman would choose for a meeting."

"No, indeed." Stokes set down his cutlery. "And even more unfortunately, that location throws our list of suspects wide open. In that area, there's always willing hands to do a gentleman's dirty work for the right price."

Penelope huffed in disgust, but then canted her head. "Regardless, one has to wonder why Sedbury would go there." She widened her eyes at Stokes. "Perhaps he was killed somewhere else and brought to the river?"

Stokes pulled a face. "Until we learn where he went and why, we won't be able to formulate any reasonable list of suspects. As things stand, we don't even know what sort of man we might be after."

"Well," Charlie said, "other than that the murderer has to be someone who could take down a man like Sedbury."

Stokes nodded. "Sedbury was the very definition of a big, heavy bruiser."

"Mean with it, too," Charlie added.

"Findlay was very clear that we're looking for a man at least as large and at least as strong," Stokes stated.

"Sometimes," Barnaby said, "surprise might overcome a physical disadvantage, but I have to admit that seems unlikely with Sedbury. He always seemed highly alert and aware of his surroundings."

Charlie concurred. "Not the sort you expect to easily sneak up on."

"However," Barnaby went on, "if there was more than one attacker, even three, that might have tipped the scales."

"True." Stokes pushed away his empty plate and dabbed his lips with his napkin. "Regardless, the most notable insight Findlay shared was that he believes Sedbury was strangled with a whip. With the thong, not even the handle."

Barnaby and Penelope stared at Stokes in open surprise.

"Was he, indeed?" Charlie exclaimed, then added, "I wonder if it was his whip. How ironic if that were true."

Faintly puzzled, Stokes looked at Charlie. "I know you said that he carried his whip like other gentlemen carry swordsticks, but surely, he wouldn't have had it with him then? Not after visiting White's?"

To Stokes's surprise, Charlie nodded emphatically. "I told you—it was his favorite whip, and he carried it damned near everywhere he went."

Stokes looked incredulous. "Even inside White's?"

"No, not inside," Charlie admitted, "but only because the committee wouldn't allow it. Too outré for them. They made him leave it at the door with the porter, so the porter on duty that evening should be able to confirm if Sedbury had the whip when he left."

"If Sedbury headed for the docks that night, after he left White's, then I can't believe he wouldn't have taken his whip with him." Barnaby tipped his head toward Charlie. "As Charlie said, it was Sedbury's favorite accoutrement, and he carried it whenever he could."

"Wait!" Penelope held up a hand. "We've been assuming Sedbury was killed that night, sometime after he left White's." Lowering her hand, she looked at Stokes. "Do we have any grounds for thinking that?"

"We do," Stokes said. "Findlay placed the time of death—or at least, the time Sedbury's dead body was put into the water—as between midnight and three o'clock on Sunday morning."

Barnaby nodded. "So he was killed sometime in the window between him leaving White's and three o'clock in the morning."

"Exactly," Stokes said. "Returning to the whip—now the likely murder weapon—I'll get the word out to see if we can find it. It might be lying on the bottom of the Thames or…"

"Or it might be found somewhere that will help us identify the site of the murder," Penelope offered.

"Or," Barnaby more grimly added, "it might be in someone else's possession and lead us to the murderer."

"All good reasons to hunt for it," Stokes said. "I've already got a team under O'Donnell and Morgan searching for signs of the murder site. I'll ask them to keep their eyes peeled for any sign of the whip."

Penelope caught Barnaby's eye. "This might be a good case on which to enlist the help of your new network."

In unison, Charlie and Stokes asked, "What network?"

"It occurred to me," Barnaby explained, "that there are a lot of young lads who, for various reasons to do with their employment—or sometimes, lack of it—are out and about all over London."

"They see and hear and take notice far more than adults do," Penelope stated.

Barnaby threw her a fond smile. "We started with some of those who have passed through the Foundling House and expanded from there. They've proved surprisingly useful in gathering information whenever we've had cause to use them."

Penelope met Barnaby's gaze. "Aside from anything else, we should see if they can find someone who saw Charlie after he left White's."

Barnaby dipped his head in agreement. "Around St. James at that hour, it's even possible some of them saw him themselves." He smiled at Charlie. "To tick every box, we should also get Garvey's testimony."

"I'll leave all that to you," Stokes said. "And if your network stretches to the riverbank east of the Tower, you could get your lads asking around there, too. From the Tower to the Duke Stairs is a fair stretch to search, and if we do find where Sedbury was put into the water, we'll need to determine if he was killed nearby or elsewhere and brought to the spot already dead."

"Ultimately," Penelope stated, "we'll need to learn why Sedbury went to wherever it was he was killed."

No one argued. Stokes looked around the table. "Any other pertinent information?"

"Actually," Penelope said, "while I'm not up with the latest regarding any Hale family issues, when I wracked my brain, I recalled hearing some rather vague rumors about Sedbury looking to marry the Ellis girl, but she's barely out, and from all I've heard of Sedbury thus far, she doesn't seem the sort one would imagine would catch his eye. She's very much a sweet innocent, so I suspect the rumors are mistaken, but it's an oddity—one I'll clarify."

Barnaby said, "Earlier, Charlie and I were going over what we know of Sedbury's half brothers—the older two, Jonathon and Bryan."

"They're much younger than us," Charlie put in, "and so don't move in the same circles, so we don't know them well."

"True," Barnaby concurred. "Nevertheless, from what we do know, both live entirely unremarkable lives and have done nothing that would strike one as out of the ordinary."

"Out of the ordinary, and we would have heard of it," Charlie explained. "But in that family, as far as the menfolk go, it was always Sedbury who grabbed all attention."

"Albeit very much on the male side of the ton." Barnaby smiled at Penelope. "He was rarely seen in the ballrooms or drawing rooms."

Penelope wrinkled her nose. "It sounds as if I'll have to focus my inquiries on the other members of the Hale family and leave Sedbury himself to you and Charlie."

"On that point"—Charlie looked at Stokes—"if you wish, I could ask around the other whip collectors—put out feelers, so to speak—to see if any of them have heard of a Duckleberry Longe coming up for sale."

Eagerly, Stokes nodded. "That's an excellent point. For all we know, it could already be out there in some shop."

"Not necessarily in the hands of the murderer," Barnaby said. "Even if he took it, he would know it was the murder weapon and would pass it on as quickly as he could."

Stokes had pulled out his notebook and was jotting. "Indeed."

"I'll contact my usual sources," Penelope said, "and see what they can tell me about those rumors concerning the Ellis chit and also what they know about the other members of the Hale family and about any known tensions between them and Sedbury." She arched her brows. "Or for that matter, any known tensions between Sedbury and anyone else in the ton."

"That would be extremely useful." Stokes grimaced. "Especially as I will doubtless find myself answering to the marquess at some point. However"—he shut his notebook and pushed back his chair—"before we do anything else, you two and I need to search Sedbury's rooms and question his staff."

Barnaby readily pushed back from the table. "Where are Sedbury's rooms?"

"Number fifteen, Duke Street. First floor."

Penelope stood, bringing the men to their feet. "Right, then." She bustled around the table. "We each have work to do." Watching her fondly, Barnaby saw her eyes gleam behind her spectacles as she enthused, "Let's get to it!"

Stokes smiled and followed Penelope from the room, leaving Barnaby and Charlie bringing up the rear.

"Must say," Charlie murmured as they headed for the front hall, "I can see why you two get drawn into these investigations. Now that I know I'm free of official suspicion at least, I can see the attraction of puzzling out who actually did the deed."

Barnaby smiled. "Exactly."