“Actually… You never really told me how you found the remains.” Elliot lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Were you digging a grave?”
Knight cleared his throat. The truth was that the grave would have never been discovered if it weren’t for Laurent’s knowledge of its existence. Knight simply pushed to have the bodies handed over to the authorities for the sake of historical truth. “I was burying a cat.”
“You had a cat?”
This lie would be developing, wouldn’t it? “No. My ex-girlfriend’s sister had one, and I offered to dispose of the body after it was hit by a car.”
They approached the cloakroom and started removing their outer clothes. Elliot stayed in the turtleneck that hid the evidence of Knight’s passionate nips and kisses. Elliot never complained about them, and even casually showed them off at the clubhouse, so Knight saw no reason to leave Elliot’s neck alone. Especially that he made such cute whiny sounds when bitten there.
“Ugh. That’s a bit gruesome. Then again, they clearly knew the right guy to handle the problem.” Elliot wiggled his eyebrows and picked up his coffee from the counter once he left all his outerwear.
“I am a born problem solver. That’s why Beast made me his VP,” Knight said as he handed his coat to the lady at the cloakroom. He was exaggerating a bit, but Elliot didn’t need to know that.
Elliot grabbed his hand and pulled Knight along the corridor to the exhibition space. “Really? What about Raphael Mercier?” Elliot teased, and he’d struck a sour note, because in his search for his family’s past, Knight hadn’t been able to find much information prior to the early eighteenth century. It was as if Raphael had emerged out of nothingness to marry Knight’s many-times-great grandmother in 1714, but what and who came before him—Knight had no idea. It didn’t help that Knight’s distant cousins in France weren’t particularly keen on studying old records and driving around old churches to look into the ancient files.
“Still nothing,” Knight said, frowning, “How about you come up with something, smartass?”
Elliot chuckled and pulled him through the door. “Come on. I want to see the exhibition.”
The museum was very much local and not too large, but the curator had unearthed many items that must have been hidden somewhere in the archives, because despite his extensive knowledge of the subject, Knight was seeing many of them for the first time. On display were some of William Fane’s clothes, most notably the very suit he died in, still stained a reddish brown at the front. Seeing it made Knight shiver, as he immediately thought back to Laurent’s ordeal and the ghost wearing that exact same outfit.
Other exhibits weren’t as traumatizing but equally interesting. Family and friends must have burnt most of Fane’s correspondence, as well as his diaries—if he’d written any—but the museum staff unearthed short pieces of his writing that came from local shops and a lawyer’s office. There were porcelain figurines, cutlery, and even a gold pocket watch that William Fane reportedly received from his father, but the most baffling item was in the last room, which was entirely dedicated to Fane’s murderous pursuits.
A human-sized steel collar, to which Elliot drifted so quickly he forgot that he left his cup on a windowsill. “Wow… Knight, do you see this?” Elliot put his palms against the glass like a kid in a candy store. “I’ve only read about it. That it was being held somewhere in the archives.” He backed away and took a photo, which would undoubtedly soon end up on The Count’s blog. “Look at that thick chain on it. Oooh! Gives me the shivers.”
The collar looked brand-new, and strangely enough the chain attached to it was orange with rust. It made Knight wonder if it wasn’t some kind of replica, but the notes on the glass claimed it was the real thing. He read the description, and its author theorized that Fane likely used it to cuff his victims to the wall. He sneered with displeasure.
“Well, I bet he would have put that on you.”
Knight didn’t know what popped into Elliot’s head, but he didn’t like the way Elliot bit his lip and his cheeks got darker with excitement.
“He wouldn’t need to.”
Knight rolled his eyes. “People like him don’t do those things because they have to. They hurt others because they like it,” he said as they walked along the glass cases, which showcased Fane’s keepsakes. Like most serial killers he kept items that would remind him of his victims, and the ones on show ranged from locks of hair wrapped in coarse fabric to a tooth.
“Yes, but he wasn’t going around killing people at random. He was known as a good employer, actually. There are records from Laurent’s trial of the footman claiming William Fane always had a kind word for him, and that he’d give all the staff gifts on important holidays. Some murderers have partners they love, so I don’t see why William would be any different.”