“What fools we have been,” Brisbane muttered.
I stared at the bruises, my mind working furiously. “Lucy could not have done that.”
Brisbane rose, stroking his jaw. It was darkly shadowed, as if he had shaved quickly and without particular care that morning. It was oddly attractive.
“No, she could not. And those bruises would not have shown half so violently if he had been strangled after death.” Brisbane took his good right hand and fitted it to the bruises, his own handspan matching the marks nearly perfectly. I could almost see the crime in my mind’s eye, the murderer, facing Lucian Snow, bearing down upon him, crushing the life out of him as they stared into each other’s eyes.
Abruptly, Brisbane moved to Lucian’s head. Before I could look away, he had turned the head and was probing the wound gently. I swallowed hard, refusing the heaving insistence of my stomach. After a moment, Brisbane drew back his hand and shook his head.
“There is a bit of a depression here where the bone was broken, and a fair amount of blood matted in his hair.”
“He was struck down before he was strangled?” I asked.
Brisbane nodded. “A fair hypothesis, I think. Had he been struck after death, there would have been very little blood.”
“To what purpose?” I asked.
“To incapacitate him,” he replied. “A blow there would have rendered Snow unconscious, an easy victim for his killer. And that would explain why there is only one handprint,” Brisbane added. “The murderer did not require both hands to subdue him.”
I looked at Brisbane’s left arm, firmly strapped to his chest and blinked. He marked the glance.
“Yes, my lady, I am the obvious suspect,” he said, a trifle acidly. “Is my word good enough, or would you care for an alibi? I seem to remember I was withyouwhen Snow was murdered.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I ducked my head to hide my blushes.
“The question is, if the girl could not have killed him by strangulation, and the blow struck with the candelabrum was landedbeforehe died, what did she see?”
I began to pace the room, putting a little distance between myself and the gruesome relic on the table.
“Either Lucy was an accomplice, perhaps striking the blow with the candelabrum herself, remaining behind when her partner fled…” I began.
That mesmerizing pair of eyes fixed on me intently. “Or she did not touch him, but is taking the blame upon herself for another’s crime,” I finished.
I could not imagine Lucy creeping up on a man and striking him viciously with a candelabrum. Of course, until the previous night, I would have thought her incapable of any violence at all. I was rapidly revising my opinion of her. My first investigation had taught me the unlikeliest of suspects may be the most culpable.
“It may have all happened quite quickly,” Brisbane said. “The murderer strikes Lucian Snow with the candelabrum, then finishes him off with a carefully placed hand to the throat. He is free to leave, perhaps without a spot of blood upon him. He might have slipped past Lucy in the darkness, or if he heard her coming, he had only to duck into one of the empty rooms along the nave and wait until the hue and cry was raised when the body was discovered. In the meantime, Lucy could have entered the chapel, found the body and, with a striking lack of good sense, picked up the candelabrum and implicated herself in a murder.”
“Or,” I said slowly, “Lucy might have been there all along. She may have seen the strangler at work, and stayed behind to make certain the deed was finished with a savage blow of the candelabrum once the murderer departed.”
I looked up to find Brisbane regarding me with a curious mixture of distaste and admiration.
“That is the most gruesome notion yet. And it took a woman to think of it. No, it will not signify. I still maintain the blow with the candelabrum was struck before he died. The coroner may have a different opinion on the matter, but I am convinced.”
The rest of the examination was swiftly carried out. I obeyed Brisbane’s instructions dispassionately, as though I was comfortable handling lifeless things. To my everlasting relief, Brisbane at least observed the propriety of not having me strip the body completely. He asked me only to remove Snow’s shirt. I busied myself tidying Snow’s things while Brisbane examined the torso beneath the flannel undergarment. It was over more quickly than I had expected, and the conclusions were inescapable: Lucian Snow had been, to all appearances, a healthy man, killed in his prime by strangulation.
Brisbane’s eyes were alight with an enthusiasm I knew well. Rather than a straightforward murder, this crime was something more puzzling. There was a challenge here, and Brisbane loved nothing more than a knotty problem to untangle.
“I suppose the first order of business is to speak with Lucy and Emma,” I said at length.
“Indeed,” Brisbane said, “although I suspect they will not have much to contribute. Still, there may be something useful there. I will take the footman.”
“You mean you do not object to my questioning Lucy and Emma?” I asked, astonished.
He gave me the slow, lazy stare one might give to a backward child. “I cannot. They are unmarried ladies confined to their bedchamber.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that my undressing a dead man could hardly be considered proper, but I did not. It was enough that he had acknowledged the necessity of my role in the investigation. In truth, I felt a little deflated. He had capitulated so easily. I had girded myself for a fight.
I looked at Brisbane. He was gazing down at the body of Lucian Snow rather thoughtfully. Then he reached out and twitched the sheet over the still, white face.