Newbury & Hobbes 04 - The Executioner's Heart Read Free Page B

stocky figure, suggesting she was well accustomed to fine dining. It was clear from the property that the woman’s family had once been well-to-do: The lavish interior décor, the ancient portraiture, the well-appointed library were all indicators that the family had once rubbed shoulders with the upper classes. There were signs, however, that the woman had recently fallen on harder times. There were no servants, for a start, and anything more than a cursory glance at the furnishings betrayed the fact that they were mostly nothing but threadbare relics of a more affluent time.
    Leaning heavily on his cane, Bainbridge dropped to his haunches to examine the body more closely. He could sense Foulkes standing over his shoulder, and for the first time since entering the room he registered the fact there were two uniformed men standing in the corner, trying their best not to look at the corpse. He supposed he could understand that—they were young and this was probably one of the worst things they had ever had the misfortune to see. But they had a job to do, and they needed to get used to it. It wouldn’t be the last violent death they’d encounter during the course of their careers, and Bainbridge would be doing them no favour by going easy on them now. They would stay with the body until it was safely removed to the morgue.
    “She must have put up quite a fight,” he said a moment later, taking the woman’s right hand and turning it over to expose her wrist. There were multiple gashes crisscrossing the soft flesh on the underside of her forearm, where she’d clearly raised it to protect her face. “The killer must have come at her with a long-bladed knife. I’d wager he didn’t expect her to defend herself so vehemently.”
    “Not that it did her much good in the long run,” replied Foulkes, levelly.
    Bainbridge twisted around and glowered at the inspector. “Show a little respect, man.”
    Foulkes looked momentarily taken aback. Then he nodded, his expression suddenly serious. “I mean to say that the killer was obviously relentless, despite the fact that the woman put up a tremendous struggle.”
    Bainbridge sighed. He was taking out his frustration on the other man, and Foulkes didn’t deserve that. Three unsolved deaths in as many days, however, were starting to take their toll on Bainbridge. Three apparently linked deaths, at that, suggesting there were probably more to come. They’d all been virtually the same: Each of the victims had been found in their own homes, their chests cracked open and their hearts removed. The organs themselves were nowhere to be seen, spirited away from the scenes, Bainbridge assumed, by the killer himself. The only differences this time were the fact that the victim was a woman, and that she’d clearly tried to defend herself against her assailant. But once again, there was no obvious motive, no clear links between the victims, and thus—much to Bainbridge’s chagrin—no leads.
    “Was she married?” he asked, spotting the gold band on the woman’s ring finger and frowning. Nothing he’d seen since entering the house suggested a man might have shared her home.
    “No. She was a widow. She lived alone. Had done so for the last fifteen years.”
    Bainbridge nodded. That made sense. She still wore the ring for sentimental reasons. “A housekeeper?” He glanced up at Foulkes, who shook his head dolefully.
    “Just a maid who came in once a day to see to the washing and cleaning. Either she was fiercely independent, or she’d run into financial difficulties.”
    Well, at least that fit with what Bainbridge had already surmised, although he cursed himself for not even considering that the dead woman might simply have been deeply private and independent. It wasn’t impossible, especially in this age. After all, Bainbridge had spent a great deal of time in the company of Miss Veronica Hobbes, who, to his mind, was the epitome of a modern, independent woman. He should have at