Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [121]
“Was she … molested?”
“Good God, of course she was molested! What do you call that?” He jerked his head towards the body on the table, now covered with a sheet. “If you mean was she raped, don’t be so damned lily-livered about it. God, I hate euphemisms! Call a crime by its ugly name, and be honest with the victim. No she wasn’t.”
Pitt let out a sigh of relief. He had cared about that more than he realized. He felt the knots in his shoulders easing a little and something of the pain inside him dulled.
“When did she die? Can you judge a time?” he asked.
“Not close enough to be of much use to you,” the medical examiner replied with a snort. “Anything between eight and midnight, I should think. Being put into the river doesn’t help. Cold, even at this time of the year. Makes a mess of rigor mortis. Makes a damned mess of everything! Actually, talking about a mess …” He frowned, looking across at Pitt with a puzzled expression. “Found some odd marks on her body, very slight, ’round her shoulders. Or to be more accurate, under her arms and across the back of her neck. She’d been dragged around in the water a lot. Could have been her clothes got caught up in something, pulled tight and caused it. When was she found?”
“About half past three.”
“And when was the last time she was seen alive?”
“Half past nine.”
“There you are then. You can work out for yourself almost as much as I can tell you. You’ve got a very dangerous man to look for, and good luck to you. You’ll need it. Lovely woman. It’s too bad.” And without waiting for anything further he turned back to the body he was presently examining.
“Can you tell how long she was in the water?” Pitt asked.
“Not any closer than you can work out for yourself. I should say more than thirty minutes, less than three hours. Sorry.”
“Was she killed manually?”
“What? Oh yes. He killed her with his bare hands, no ligature, just fingers around the throat. As I already said, a very powerful man, or one driven by a passion the like of which I hope never to see. I don’t envy you your job, Pitt.”
“Nor I yours,” Pitt said sincerely.
The medical examiner laughed with a short barklike sound. “It’s all over when I get them, no more pain, no more violence or hatred left, just peace and a long silence. The rest is up to God … if He cares.”
“I care,” Pitt said between his teeth. “And God has got to be better than I am.”
The medical examiner laughed again, and this time there was a softer tone to it. But he said nothing.
It was a surprisingly long time from half past nine in the evening until about midnight. Not many people could account for their whereabouts for those two and a half hours, beyond possible dispute. Pitt took two men from other cases, leaving Tellman on the matter of the Colonial Office, and also diverted his own time to questioning and checking, but he found no evidence that was conclusive of anything.
Linus Chancellor said that he had gone out, driving his own carriage owing to the accident to his coachman. He had gone to deliver a package of crucial importance to Garston Aylmer, who had apparently been out when he got there. He was most annoyed about it, but had left it with Aylmer’s footman, who upon being asked, confirmed that Chancellor had indeed called at a little before eleven o’clock.
Chancellor’s own servants had not heard him come in, but they had been instructed not to wait up for him.
Susannah’s maid had sat up for her mistress, naturally, as was her duty, so that she might assist her to undress when she returned, and hang up her clothes. She had fallen asleep in her chair about half past three, and only realized Susannah’s failure to return in the morning. She refused to say anything about it, or to explain why she had not raised any alarm earlier.
It was apparent to Pitt that she had assumed