Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [87]
“God Almighty! You think I killed her!” Julius said, aghast. “I haven’t even seen her since last night.” He swung round. “Is she…?”
Pitt moved rapidly past him to block his way to the dressing room and the connecting door. “No, sir. Not yet. Don’t oblige me to handcuff you to the bed. That would be most unpleasant for you.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Julius said quietly, letting his arms fall to his sides. “And I didn’t touch the other woman either, poor creature.”
Pitt went back to the main door and turned the key in the lock, then he put it in his pocket and went through the connecting door, pushing the bolt home on the farther side. He did not know what to believe, but he had to follow the evidence.
In spite of what Cahoon had said, he was not prepared for the sight of Minnie Sorokine sprawled across the floor of her bedroom, her throat scarlet, her gorgeous flamingo-pink gown half torn off her, and the lower half of her torso ripped open and bright with blood.
He walked toward her, feeling sick, and kneeled down beside the billowing skirts. There could be no question as to whether she was dead or not, and not much as to what had caused it. No one could live with a throat wound like that. It was almost from ear to ear, and her head lay at a crooked angle, as if her neck itself were broken.
She was cold to the touch. He had expected her to be. She was still wearing her evening gown. Her lady’s maid had not been in. He would have to inquire as to why not, but he assumed it was a matter of discretion. She would come if she were sent for, and, if not, maintain a tactful absence.
Pitt forced himself to look at the mutilations. The throat wound was worse than Sadie’s, but the slashing of the lower abdomen was considerably less. In fact there was almost a hint of decency about it. The cut was higher up, less overtly sexual, and her bosom had not been exposed at all. Was that because some part of Julius’s brain had remembered, even in his madness, that this woman was his wife? The thought was repulsive, and peculiarly painful. Not that Pitt had never before known killers that he had liked, even understood.
But there was nothing understandable about killing Sadie. None of the men had ever seen her before. And now this! No wonder Cahoon Dunkeld had been half out of his mind with horror and grief. Julius was fortunate Dunkeld had not killed him. Had he been a slighter man, less fit, perhaps he would be dead now also, not simply locked up.
Pitt sat back on the carpet and considered what he should do. He must get in touch with Narraway, obviously; send for him to come to the Palace at once. It seemed as if the case was at an end, although there must be a great deal of evidence to collect. For what? They could hardly have a public trial of two murders at the Palace! Could it qualify as a state secret, because of where it had happened? Or would they decide that Julius Sorokine was hopelessly insane, and lock him away without a trial at all? That would be the obvious thing to do.
Even so, the evidence must be conclusive. No doctor of any honor would pronounce him mad except as proved by the fact that he had killed two women. If it seemed just as reasonable that it was actually someone else responsible, then there was nothing against him at all. All his other behavior was above reproach, even morally, let alone legally.
But considering the issues, no doubt a doctor would be found who would not be too squeamish in examining details, and who would be easily enough persuaded.
Pitt could not allow that. His own conscience found it unacceptable. If Julius Sorokine were to spend the rest of his life locked away in an asylum for the criminally insane, then Pitt must be satisfied beyond any doubt that was even remotely reasonable that it was he who had killed the women.
He could not leave Minnie’s body sprawled where it was without first making an accurate diagram of it, of the mutilations and the exact nature of them. He must also search and describe the rest of the room. There was probably nothing that