A Dreadful Murder Read Online Free Page A

the victim back to her own house.
    Taylor, now a Scotland Yard Superintendent, had been a fresh-faced constable in 1888 when Jack the Ripper had prowled the streets of Whitechapel. And if that monster had taught the police anything, it was to be careful with the evidence. How much easier his job would be now, he thought, if Warde had had the sense to summon him before the body had been removed.
    Instead, he had to rely on the other man’s memory, and try to picture the scene for himself. ‘How was she lying?’
    ‘On her front. Her head was where the bloodstains are.’
    ‘And which way was she facing?’
    ‘Feet towards the gate . . . head towards the summer house door.’
    Taylor mounted the steps and examined the stains on the wooden floor. ‘There’s not much blood. She must have died from the first shot. I wonder why the killer gambled on a second one.’
    ‘How was it a gamble?’
    ‘Noise,’ said Taylor, glancing across the glade towards Frankfield House. ‘He should have been afraid of being heard.’ He stepped around the bloodstains to peer through one of the windows into the summer house. ‘When do you think the rings were taken from Mrs Luard’s fingers?’
    ‘After she was dead?’
    Taylor tested the door to see if it was locked. ‘We’re talking about a killer who’d just unleashed a couple of loud gunshots . . . had no idea if anyone had heard them . . . and chose to squat calmly in his victim’s blood to wrestle a glove off her hand. Does that seem likely to you?’
    ‘Not when you put it like that.’
    ‘I’m guessing he ran like the devil in case his escape route was cut off.’ Taylor took a last look at where Caroline had fallen. ‘I think the doctor’s right. She was knocked unconscious and the rings were taken before she was shot.’
    Warde began to look more cheerful. ‘If theft was the motive, we can rule out Charles.’
    Taylor gave a regretful shake of his head. ‘Not if it was part of his murder plan.’ He stepped off the veranda. ‘But why make her death so noisy? She was at her killer’s mercy. He could have strangled her or beaten her to death.’
    * * *
    As Henry Warde drove towards Ightham, Taylor found himself more and more persuaded by Dr Mansfield’s version of events. If the aim had been to murder the woman, why not grab her from behind and run a knife across her throat? As long as she died quietly, her killer had all the time in the world to take whatever he wanted.
    And why two shots? Taylor thought of how bodies twitched and moved after they were dead, and wondered if panic had played a part. He could easily imagine the sudden flap of a hand spooking an already frightened man into shooting again. If so, the murder was the work of a novice rather than a hired killer or a retired soldier.
    He spoke his next thoughts aloud. ‘Whoever did it wasn’t at work yesterday . . . unless the killer is one of the gardeners in Frankfield Park.’
    ‘They operate in pairs and they’ve all been vouched for.’ Warde shook his head. ‘A jobless vagrant
has
to be the most likely suspect. Nothing else makes sense.’
    Taylor watched through the windscreen of the car as some houses came into view. ‘What sort of crimes do you have in Kent?’ he asked.
    ‘Pickpocketing . . . house burglary . . . minor thefts from shops . . . poaching. Nothing like Caroline’s murder.’
    ‘And you always know where to look for your thieves?’
    Warde gave a grunt of amusement. ‘We have our share of ne’er-do-wells if that’s what you mean.’
    Taylor gazed out of the window as the Daimler cruised down Ightham High Street. Medieval half-timbered houses lined the road and they looked as expensive as anything he’d seen in Sevenoaks. ‘How many of your ne’er-do-wells live here?’ he asked.
    Warde’s amusement grew. ‘This isn’t a London slum, Superintendent. It’s one of the oldest and most desirable villages in Kent.’
    Taylor smiled. ‘On the surface,’ he agreed,