* * *
Once inside the manor, Samuel stopped abruptly, stiffening. Khlid assumed the sight of the brutalized girl had gotten to him. If that was the case, she could hardly fault him. Even the most experienced inspectors struggled with harm to kids. But Samuel was not looking at the girl splayed across the floor—he was staring at Inspector Chapman.
Chapman was tall, dark, and what any woman would consider handsome. He pulled off the bald look extremely well, and the uniform seemed to carry extra authority on his shoulders. Unlike most members of the force, he also bore many tattoos. Intricate designs littered his arms and hands, blending into his dark skin. With his coat off and sleeves rolled, the ink was an immediate draw for her eye. Khlid found herself wondering if the ink went past his forearms.
Samuel and Chapman had the same kind of rivalry schoolboys did. It had started all the way back in basic training. It had even come to blows. Twice.
“Does he really get under your skin that easily?”
“Why is he even here?”
“You’re lucky it’s just him.” More annoyance slipped into Khlid’s voice than she intended. “As soon as they heard a royal family was murdered, half the inspectors on the force tried to glom on to this case. They wouldn't stop badgering me until the captain actually ordered them to stop.”
“So why did he get through?”
“You know why.”
Samuel only grunted in response and walked over to Chapman.
Chapman glanced up from the body of the girl briefly to say, “I’m busy, Sam.”
Khlid could hear the displeasure in Samuel’s voice as he said, “Have you found anything?”
“Busy.”
“Chapman.”
Chapman sighed and stood up. He removed his leather gloves, walked over to a nearby table, and dropped them there. He pulled a roll of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and took a long drag before turning back to Samuel. “Yes.”
Samuel let out an exasperated sigh, looked back to Khlid leaning on the doorway, and pleaded for help with his eyes.
She smirked and said, “Oh, you cracked this egg; you deal with it.”
Chapman tossed her a grin. Khlid did not mind Chapman half as much as her husband seemed to.
Samuel struggled with the fact that while Chapman was arrogant, younger, and clearly sloppier at the job as a whole, he was undeniably a better inspector. Chapman had the highest rate of solved cases in the history of policing. Not just the highest in her precinct, either—the highest on the entire continent.
Samuel squared his shoulders. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“If we must!” Taking in the room, Chapman made a sweeping gesture with one arm that nearly smacked the cigarette out of Samuel’s hand. As he did, Khlid noticed a slight tear by Chapman’s right jacket pocket. “Where to begin?”
He made a show of looking at the corpse of the girl, to the bannister above, and back to the girl’s feet. Chapman then squatted low and stared intently at some blood smears before stepping over the body and walking into a small study.
Khlid followed him in first. Grunting in displeasure as his wife reached Chapman’s side, Samuel hastened after them.
By the time Samuel entered the study, Chapman was already sitting in an armchair, posing with a book he’d plucked off the nearby shelf. He sat there pretending to read for several seconds.
Samuel let out a cough.
Chapman looked up from his book feigning surprise. “Yes?”
“You were going to elaborate?” Samuel said. “Or am I meant to infer your thought process from the obnoxious show you just put on?”
An air of competition filled the room. Chapman made a pistol with his fingers and shot an imaginary bullet at Samuel. “Spot on.”
Samuel narrowed his eyes. “Well, I saw the girl’s neck bent pretty severely.”
“Correct,” Chapman responded. “But not just her neck.”
“You gestured up to the bannister,” Khlid cut in. “You think she was thrown off?”
Chapman exhaled, letting the book drop to the floor. “No.”
Both Samuel and Khlid paused.
Khlid spoke first. “Chapman, you think this girl jumped on her own?”
Chapman met her eyes for the first time. “I know she did.”
“How?” The light of intrigue replaced the competitive edge in Samuel’s eyes. He took a chair across from Chapman. “How do you know the girl jumped?” He emphasized the word “know” heavily.
To his credit, Chapman seemed to forgo the stage-play for the time being. He replied simply, “Blood smears. The girl dragged herself several paces from where she landed. Why not walk? Her legs were broken. If you’re thrown from a bannister, it's extremely unlikely you’ll land cleanly enough to break both your legs. Much more likely if you jump.” Chapman emphasized the word “both” in an imitation of Samuel, who either let it go or was too deep in thought to notice.
“So someone chases her upstairs. In a desperate attempt to get away, she flings herself from the bannister. Lands on her feet, but wrong…”
“She never had a chance to land right.” Chapman was leaning back in his chair with fingers steepled. Khlid could tell he was comparing Samuel’s mental conclusions to his own.
That was the damned irony: when these two worked together, the results were amazing.
“Ah, yes,” Samuel replied. “Ladies’ shoes hardly make for secure footing.” Samuel leaned back in his own chair as he put together the rest of the scene. “She lands from the fall and snaps one or both of her legs. Unable to get up, she desperately tries to drag herself to the door. Whoever is chasing her catches up, breaks her neck, and begins the mutilation.”
Chapman furrowed his brow. “What makes you think the neck was first?”
Samuel leaned forward. The fact he had caught something Chapman missed brought the light of competition back into his eye. “One: it fits a pattern. The two guests, the men found in bed together, were killed quickly. The little boy outside killed with rapid stabs to the back. That alone would lead me to believe the girl was as well, but on top of that, point two: the blood on her is wrong.”
Khlid kicked in, “The gore is all localized, Chapman. She wasn’t fighting when they tore her apart. The blood smears lead up to a relatively clean site. How did you miss that?”
Chapman let out a grunt and said, “I was just getting there when the smell of your husband interrupted my cogitations. Overwhelming everyone with your cologne is not a substitute for bathing, did you know that, Samuel?”
Samuel gritted his teeth. “I've been on the road.”
“Oh, you’ve been gone?” Chapman stood. “Well, we have a manor to investigate. How about you two take the upstairs and I’ll take the cellar. Meet in the middle, about, I don’t know…” He rolled back his sleeve, consulting a non-existent watch. “Lunchtime?”
As Chapman had risen, his coat opened just enough for Khlid to notice the holster at his hip, empty. Samuel rolled his eyes and began to walk from the room. Khlid grabbed him by the shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Samuel looked at her, confused, but Khlid’s eyes were fastened to Chapman. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew she was about to catch him in a lie.