The Silver Coin (The Colby's Coin 2)
“Marks, what the hell is going on here?” Royce repeated.
“Emma Martin is gone.”
“Gone? Are you saying she's run off?”
“I'm saying she's gone. I don't know under what circumstances. She's gone, and her mother is dead. Shot to death in her daughter's room. Sometime last night, it looks like. No one here saw or heard anything. Except, I suspect, the girl. And she's missing.”
Royce tasted bile. “What about the dowager?”
“She wasn't hurt—at least not by the shooter. But the news of Glynnis Martin's death was too much for her. Her Grace died a half hour ago.”
“Dammit,” Royce muttered, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Goddammit.”
Marks scratched his head, studying Royce's reaction. “As you know, Berkshire's not exactly our territory. But when we heard who Emma Martin really was, where you were taking her today—”
“It occurred to you that this murder might be tied to the others you're investigating. The ones involving the London noblemen.”
“Exactly.”
“Except why would the killer shoot Ryder's mistress?” Carson interjected to ask. “That doesn't fit into his pattern. Why kill the woman?”
“Damned if I know.” Marks's answer was candid, his shrug as uncertain as his words. “None of us has any idea what's inciting this lunatic. He's killed four men and kidnapped their wives. Maybe Ryder's next on his list and he came here looking for him. News is all over Town about Chadwick figuring out who the viscount's daughter is. Maybe the killer thought Ryder would come here to claim her, rather than the other way around.”
“You're thinking that when the killer broke in, he went straight to Emma's room to find Ryder. And that Glynnis Martin was there and saw him, so he shot her.” Carson nodded. “Makes sense.”
“It doesn't explain Emma's diseppearance,” Royce pointed out, although he was already forming his own theory—and it bore no similarity to anything Marks was going to come up with.
“She is Ryder's blood relation,” Marks tried. “A mistress isn't bound by blood or marriage. A daughter is. Maybe he grabbed her for ransom.”
“But who'd pay that ransom if Ryder was dead?” Royce countered. “For that matter, who's paying the ransom for the other women who were kidnapped? Their husbands' beneficiaries?”
Marks shrugged again. “I don't know any more than you do, my lord. We haven't seen a single ransom note yet—not in any of the four cases.”
“Four?” The number finally sank in, and Royce's head came up. “Why are you including Hart in your coant? He was killed at Medford Manor, which is in Kent, not London. And his wife wasn't touched.”
“Lord Hart was shot in Kent, but his home's in London,” Marks corrected. “Everything else about the crime fit the pattern exactly. The target was a nobleman; the method, a gunshot to the chest. As for Lady Hart...” A slight hesitation, and Marks exchanged glances with Carson. “This isn't public knowledge yet, Chadwick. We're trying to keep it quiet as long as possible, to avoid mass hysteria. But under the circumstances, you should know. At the same time we got word about what happened here, we got word that Harfs widow disappeared from her London Town house last night. Both crimes happened sometime between eleven p.m . and dawn.”
Royce sucked in his breath. “The kidnapper got past Harfs guards?”
“Yes. Just as he did here. Just as he always does. If s like he's a mind-reader or a genius of some kind. He times it perfectly, so he gets by the guards and goes unseen by the staff.”
A genius of some kind. Gets by the guards. Goes unseen by the staff. The same method—a gunshot to the chest.
Realization exploded inside Royce's skull.
Of course. It all tied together. It didn't explain the kidnappings, but it sure as hell explained the murders, and the precision with which all the crimes were committed.
He'd assumed Marks and Carson were exploring the wrong path. They weren't. What they were doing was exploring only one of the right paths.
He knew the omen
Royce's brain began pounding with details, one after the other, as pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The murders—whin they'd begun ltappening, the deliberation with which they were committed—it all fit All but the missing women. That motive was yet to be revealed. But the rest?
The rest spoke volumes.
All the killings, with the exeeption of Glynnis Martin, were target pract
ice for the killer.