“She was still dressed in costume,” I said. “She comes backstage after it’s over. There’s a ton of flowers in here, but she runs outside with the ones from Peter in her arms.”
“Someone handed them directly to her,” Cole said. “We’ll run down the delivery service along with the flower shop. Obviously Peter is someone important to her. Important enough that when he says he’s waiting for her in the alley she stops everything she’s doing and goes to him. Our killer is waiting for her right outside the door, and she doesn’t get far before he delivers the killing blow. At that point the killer is covered in blood and then pulls her body behind the dumpsters.”
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Wanted to hide her long enough so she wasn’t found right away.”
“Let’s go meet Lord Buckley,” Cole said. “Maybe he’s sober enough to fill in some of the blanks.”
We walked back out into the alley and Plank and Chen were standing in front of the dumpsters holding a couple of evidence bags and staring at the officers who had drawn the dumpster short straw.
“Any luck?” Cole asked.
Chen held up a bag with a wicked-looking knife inside. “Dumpster kept it from getting wet. Maybe you’ll be able to grab some prints from it along with a blood match to the victim.”
“Nice find,” Jack said, approvingly.
“That’s not all,” Plank said, holding up another bag. “Got a bloody scarf and coat.”
“We’ll take it with us once you’re through,” Jack said. “Did you get any statements?”
“From everyone but Lord Buckley,” Chen said, rolling her eyes. “He kept insisting we call him that. But none of the others saw anything other than Buckley running out of the alley screaming his head off. But we got all their statements and sent them home. Buckley is still in the back of the ambulance waiting for you.”
“Thanks,” Cole said. “Hopefully he has more to say than gagging sounds now. I’m a sympathetic puker.”
“I remember,” Jack said, grimacing.
“What bothers you about the murder weapon and clothes?” I asked once we were out of the alley. “I thought you’d be happier about finding that much evidence this soon.”
“It worries me that we found that much evidence this soon and that close to the body,” Jack said. “Which leads me to believe that we’ll find only what the killer wants us to find. I don’t like it when killers try to play with us.”
The EMTs were huddled together a few feet from Thomas Chapman. The oxygen had been removed and he had a warming blanket around his shoulders. I hadn’t met him yet, but he was one of those people I disliked on sight.
“You’ve kept me waiting far too long,” Chapman said in a British accent. “I’ve been through enough tonight and I need to go home and rest. I’m going to be filing a complaint first thing.”
“Make sure you address it to Sheriff Lawson,” Jack said.
“It looks like the EMTs have been taking good care of you,” Cole said reasonably. “When I first introduced myself you weren’t in any shape to answer questions. You’re looking a lot better now.”
Thomas Chapman was somewhere in his late twenties. He was tall and thin, his face angular and his cheekbones high and reminiscent of some long-ago aristocracy. His hair was dark and slightly wavy and his mustache was neatly trimmed.
He wore formal black beneath the warming blanket and a slightly crushed top hat sat beside him on the back of the ambulance.
“I want to go home,” Chapman said again. “I have early engagements and need my rest.”
“Mr. Chapman,” Cole said. “The sooner you answer our questions the sooner you can go home. A woman is dead. Maybe you can refocus on her instead of yourself.”
He paled at the mention of the woman and licked his lips. “I…I don’t wish to talk about her. It was a terrible misunderstanding. There’s nothing I can tell you. And I prefer you call me Lord Buckley.”
“Mr. Chapman,” Cole said, ignoring the request. “What time did you and your friends come downtown tonight?”
At first I thought he might not answer. I wasn’t sure what Chapman was playing at, insisting that we call him Lord Buckley. He could be crazy or delusional. Or he might be one of those nerds who was seriously into role-play.
Chapman blew out a breath and I winced at the smell, and fought the urge to take a step back. He reeked of alcohol and other things.
“We all met up for dinner around seven,” he said. “My friends and I, we go big for the Victorian festival every year. We totally immerse ourselves in the week. My great-great-grandfather was Lord Buckley, so I use his name.” He shrugged, looking less haughty and more pathetic.
“Where’d you eat dinner?” Cole asked impatiently. “Walk us through your night up until you found our victim.”
“We ate the four-course dinner at the Ivy,” he said, losing the British accent. “We made reservations months ago. Then we caught the nine o’clock showing of Lady Windemere’s Fan at the Curtain Call, but we left at intermission because it was a snooze fest. We headed over to the Knight’s Tale after that for drinks.”
“You told one of the other officers you were drinking at the Rose and Arms,” Cole said.
“Yeah, but that was later,” Chapman said. “We were at the Knight’s Tale until midnight when the fireworks started. Then we headed over to the park with everyone else. When the fireworks were done we ended up at the Rose and Arms. I don’t remember a whole lot after that. We drank a lot.”
“Do you remember going into the alley?” Cole asked.
Chapman was looking a little green around the gills again and the three of us instinctively took a small step back just in case.
He nodded and let the blanket fall from around his shoulders to his waist. “We were just being stupid. You know how it is. We were all drunk and everything was funny. I was planning to go back to Jenny’s place with her and hook up for the night. We do that from time to time. When we left the Rose and Arms we just kind of walked around singing and stuff, but everything had shut down and the rain was getting worse.
“I had to take a leak so I ran into the alley,” he said. “My friend Brent took a leak in the street, but I wasn’t that brave so I headed into the alley.” His voice got very quiet. “I should’ve just stayed in the street. I didn’t see her at first. I was just minding my business and peeing against the wall, but I saw the blood. It was everywhere, and then I followed the trail. That’s when I saw her.”
He closed his eyes, and I knew he was reliving it in his head. Things like that weren’t easy to erase from memory.
“I don’t really remember a lot after that,” he said. “I might have yelled. I…I tripped over her. The ground was slippery with her blood. And then I fell down and I got sick.” He held up his hands and I could see where they were scraped raw from the fall.
“Did you know her?” Cole asked.
“I recognized her,” Chapman said. “She was the woman from the play. But I don’t know her. Her throat.” He swallowed several times trying to get his composure. “It was gaping wide open. There was nothing there.”