Page 17 of Death at Fournier Downs
“What a relief,” Fournier replied dryly.
“Her witness testimony worries me. It could appear to the wrong party that she knows more than she does.”
The duke remained stone-faced, but Hugh suspected Wilkes was saying something Fournier had already considered. Besides the killer himself, Audrey likely knew more than anyone. She’d also found something at the quarry. What had it shown her?
“I would like to request the use of your icehouse to store the deceased for the time being,” Wilkes added. “Your estate’s proximity to Low Heath would be more convenient for the proceedings.”
Hugh also assumed the coroner did not want to relinquish the countess into the hands of a possible suspect.
“Very well,” Fournier replied. He gave a sad glance toward the body. It was a sorry thought indeed, storing the remains of an acquaintance.
Wilkes nodded, the bob of his head solemn and respectful. Fournier cut Hugh a cool glance, then left the storeroom.
Wilkes visibly relaxed even further now that all the titled men were gone. It was only the two of them; two blue collar working men who dealt with death and justice on a regular basis. Wilkes crossed his arms and arched a brow.
Hugh gestured toward the sheeted body with his hat. “You know she was pushed.”
“I do not believe she was alone at the quarry when she fell.”
Hugh grinned. Wilkes knew what he was about, he’d give him that much. “You’re joining Lord Webber for his interview with Bainbury. I wanted to interview the earl myself. Perhaps we could confer after the fact and see if there are any discrepancies.”
Wilkes wagged a finger. “You have a horse in this race, Marsden. Lady Prescott is paying you to declare this death anything but suicide, isn’t that correct?”
“She is paying me to deliver the truth surrounding her daughter’s death. I’ve promised nothing more than that.”
The coroner seemed to accept his reply, but he still peered at Hugh with a calculating gaze. “You arrested Fournier in the spring for murder, and from what I have heard, helped secure his exoneration as well. Rumor has it you and the duchess herself hunted down the true killer.”
Hugh wondered what other rumors the coroner had heard, but he appreciated the succinct phrasing.
“Her Grace has a keen mind,” Hugh allowed.
“I hear she was shot.”
Hugh grimaced. “She could have been a bit more careful.”
Where the devil had Wilkes heard that? He supposed, as it had happened in the light of day at the wharf, onlookers must have started passing around the story.
The coroner stood straighter and lowered his arms to his side. “I don’t want her involved in this investigation.”
Good luck with that,Hugh wanted to say. Instead, he simply replied, “She isn’t. She is merely a witness.”
Wilkes’s facial expressions were aggravatingly serene; Hugh couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Most people did not have that mastery, and as a Bow Street officer dealing with liars on a regular basis, Hugh was thankful for it.
“I’ve taken lodgings here for the time being,” Wilkes said. “I am sure we will meet to discuss our findings?”
Hugh nodded, grateful. The man wanted answers just as much as he did.
He left the storeroom, a knot of tension in his shoulders. No sooner had he started toward the front of the tavern with a vision of a tankard of ale to wet his parched throat, a knobby-boned runt leaped into the hall, nearly tripping him.
“Christ, Sir, what were you doing? Hiding in the woodwork?”
The boy grinned, pleased with his ability to startle. “Got this for ya.” He handed over a small square of paper, folded in half but not sealed. Hugh plucked it from Sir’s fingers—which were cleaner than usual, he noticed. He must have submitted to Basil’s entreaties and bathed.
Hugh opened the paper and read two words:Your room.
A swell of agitation and something entirely dangerous flooded his stomach and chest. Hugh crumpled the note in his fist and met Sir’s circumspect gaze.
“Whistle twice if there is trouble headed toward my room.”
