Page 9 of Dead Beside the Thames
“Given Sedbury’s physique,” Barnaby said, “that’s a clue to his murderer in and of itself.”
Stokes nodded. “Findlay thought so, too, and I have to admit that, now I’ve laid eyes on Sedbury, I comprehend the situation rather better. More, there were indications that Sedbury had put up a significant fight. Findlay is of the opinion that Sedbury would have marked his killer—a scratch, a bruise, something like that. On face or hands or both.”
Penelope looked at Charlie. “So definitely not Charlie.”
Stokes smiled faintly. “Definitely not Hastings, but it’ll take more than that to exonerate him in the eyes of the ton.”
Penelope heaved a sigh. “Sadly, that’s all too true. So what else did you learn?”
“The next point of note was that Sedbury went into the river from the north bank, and the experts—meaning the rivermen—say he went in somewhere between the Tower and the Duke Stairs.”
Penelope’s eyes flew wide. “Really? That’s a rather rough area.”
Barnaby frowned. “That’s not the sort of place a gentleman would choose for a meeting.”
“No, indeed.” Stokes set down his cutlery. “And even more unfortunately, that location throws our list of suspects wide open. In that area, there’s always willing hands to do a gentleman’s dirty work for the right price.”
Penelope huffed in disgust, but then canted her head. “Regardless, one has to wonder why Sedbury would go there.” She widened her eyes at Stokes. “Perhaps he was killed somewhere else and brought to the river?”
Stokes pulled a face. “Until we learn where he went and why, we won’t be able to formulate any reasonable list of suspects. As things stand, we don’t even know what sort of man we might be after.”
“Well,” Charlie said, “other than that the murderer has to be someone who could take down a man like Sedbury.”
Stokes nodded. “Sedbury was the very definition of a big, heavy bruiser.”
“Mean with it, too,” Charlie added.
“Findlay was very clear that we’re looking for a man at least as large and at least as strong,” Stokes stated.
“Sometimes,” Barnaby said, “surprise might overcome a physical disadvantage, but I have to admit that seems unlikely with Sedbury. He always seemed highly alert and aware of his surroundings.”
Charlie concurred. “Not the sort you expect to easily sneak up on.”
“However,” Barnaby went on, “if there was more than one attacker, even three, that might have tipped the scales.”
“True.” Stokes pushed away his empty plate and dabbed his lips with his napkin. “Regardless, the most notable insightFindlay shared was that he believes Sedbury was strangled with a whip. With the thong, not even the handle.”
Barnaby and Penelope stared at Stokes in open surprise.
“Was he, indeed?” Charlie exclaimed, then added, “I wonder if it was his whip. How ironic if that were true.”
Faintly puzzled, Stokes looked at Charlie. “I know you said that he carried his whip like other gentlemen carry swordsticks, but surely, he wouldn’t have had it with him then? Not after visiting White’s?”
To Stokes’s surprise, Charlie nodded emphatically. “I told you—it was his favorite whip, and he carried it damned near everywhere he went.”
Stokes looked incredulous. “Even inside White’s?”
“No, not inside,” Charlie admitted, “but only because the committee wouldn’t allow it. Too outré for them. They made him leave it at the door with the porter, so the porter on duty that evening should be able to confirm if Sedbury had the whip when he left.”
“If Sedbury headed for the docks that night, after he left White’s, then I can’t believe he wouldn’t have taken his whip with him.” Barnaby tipped his head toward Charlie. “As Charlie said, it was Sedbury’s favorite accoutrement, and he carried it whenever he could.”
“Wait!” Penelope held up a hand. “We’ve been assuming Sedbury was killed that night, sometime after he left White’s.” Lowering her hand, she looked at Stokes. “Do we have any grounds for thinking that?”
“We do,” Stokes said. “Findlay placed the time of death—or at least, the time Sedbury’s dead body was put into the water—as between midnight and three o’clock on Sunday morning.”
Barnaby nodded. “So he was killed sometime in the window between him leaving White’s and three o’clock in the morning.”
“Exactly,” Stokes said. “Returning to the whip—now the likely murder weapon—I’ll get the word out to see if we can find it. It might be lying on the bottom of the Thames or…”
