“If she were moved it’s a much more complex picture,” Grace went on. “There’s a railway nearby, a river, a road, even a footpath leading out of the park. The killer could’ve used any number of means.”

“Very true. What else?”

“Her clothes were . . .” Grace fumbled for words, unsure how to continue. She pictured the girl, her skirts a confused pile of twisted fabric. “She was in a disarray. As if she were a doll in the hands of a child who is too young to dress it properly.”

“Or someone who didn’t know how to handle women’s clothes,” Thornhollow added.

“A man, then?”

“Most definitely. But continue.”

Grace closed her eyes, bringing the picture to full light under the darkness of her lids. “She had no clear marks of violence on her arms or wrists, indicating that she didn’t fight off her attacker. So she knew him well enough to not believe she was in any danger, or in the least, trusted him.

“There were pine needles in her hair, yet her face and hands were quite clean, as were her fingernails. She was hygienic by nature so the needles tell us that she was . . . was on her back for a period of time, most likely in the park as that’s the only place I see pines nearby.”

Grace’s brow furrowed in concentration, her eyes screwing even more tightly closed. “If she was moved, she was not dumped or tossed carelessly aside. She was arranged almost comfortably. Ankles crossed, hands folded across her abdomen. Her eyes were left open. I can almost believe a few people walked past her thinking it was simply a girl relaxing in the grass at the end of the day. All in all, she was very lifelike.”

“Lifelike, indeed. What does this say?”

Grace opened her eyes, unsure past the details she could recite from the picture in her head. “That the killer had remorse? He wishes she weren’t dead?”

“Maybe. But I’m afraid that’s too simple for this scenario. Your earlier comment strikes much closer to the truth.”

“I said she was clean,” Grace said, ticking her fingers with each point. “That she was laid out with her comfort in mind, and that she was dressed awkwardly.”

“‘As if she were a doll’ were your exact words,” Thornhollow repeated, raising his voice to contend with the clatter as they passed over the stone bridge toward home.

“A doll,” Grace echoed, picturing male hands fumbling with the delicate buttons of the girl’s skirt, clumsiness and nerves botching the job. Yet even in his haste he’d covered her. “He’s not familiar with women, but there’s a degree of respect at work. He could’ve tossed her aside, left her naked for everyone to see, but he didn’t.”

“All true,” Thornhollow agreed. “You’ve seen almost everything.”

“With the glaring exception of how she died,” Grace pointed out. “No bruising, no bullet, no blood. She wasn’t strangled, shot, or stabbed.”

“None of those things. Which is what makes this so much more interesting than our last outing.”

“And?” Grace prodded.

“Ether,” the doctor said, his face eerily lit by the gaslights of the asylum as they pulled into the drive. “It has a distinctively sweet smell, and she was rank with it. A strong dose would paralyze her lungs and she would float off to her death, much like a deep sleep during which one simply stops breathing.”

“You make it sound almost desirable.”

“It would be, honestly, in comparison to some. But what’s important here is not how you or I—or even she—wishes to die, but how the killer wanted her to die.”

“Quietly,” Grace said. “No marks. No blood.”

“He can almost pretend she’s alive,” Thornhollow said. “Yet she can’t berate or condescend. She can’t even ignore him.”

“No,” Grace said. “All she can do is lie there.”

“An ideal situation for our man,” Thornhollow said, his hand reaching for the carriage door. He handed her down, and Grace pushed the river rock of her voice back down into her belly, to be shared with no one else.

“One last thought, that I’d have you think on later—as I will. As you said, the girl’s clothes were mussed. If she’s a doll, he hasn’t familiarized himself with feminine wardrobe enough to dress her well. He also missed quite a few buttons, which makes me think he was in a haste and flustered. Yet to kill with ether shows planning at work. He intended to asphyxiate someone—maybe even her specifically—yet once it was carried out, his nerves got the best of him.

“And while the ether would kill our victim quietly, it doesn’t do so quickly. Ether has to be absorbed into the lungs, its effects weakening the body but still allowing for movement until a high dosage has been inhaled to render immobility. The girl was taken by surprise, but her killer would have to hold her quite still for a period of time while she struggled. He’ll be a large man, maybe even remarkably so.”

“I saw no one like that in the crowd,” Grace said. “I’m sorry, Doctor, it won’t be so easy as that.”

They climbed the stone steps together, listening to the crunch of the gravel as the driver took the carriage and horse back to the stables. Thornhollow dropped his hand to the front doors but halted Grace with a look before opening them.

“This was likely a first kill, Grace, and a somewhat botched one at that. Whatever his goal, I don’t think it was achieved tonight. And even if it was, this won’t be the last girl we find stinking of ether.”

“And why is that, Doctor?” Grace asked, giving her voice rein in the safety of the shadows.

“Because a killer who plans this kind of ritual never stops at one.”

TWENTY

“It’s a special day when I get to work on a fine head of hair like yours,” Mrs. Beem said as she dug her fingers into Grace’s scalp, massaging soap through her hair. “This is as nice of a mane as I could find down on the plaza, I tell you.”

“I wouldn’t go on bragging about yours,” Miss Chancey called from another chair, where Nell hung over a large sink, hair dripping. “My Irish lassie is as nice looking as any. I pile these black curls up on her head and she’ll look good as any queen.”

“Oh, aye,” Nell said proudly. “This ’ead o’ ’air is the pride o’ Ireland, and I’ll drape the braid over me tombstone when I go.”

“Now there’s a morbid picture.” Elizabeth tutted as she waited her turn, tugging somewhat nervously on her own hair. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?” she asked for the third time. “String gets nervous around the clippers.”

“That’s only natural, dear,” Mrs. Beem said. “How many times have I done your hair and never once cut String?”

Grace peeked out of one eye while the rinse water rushed over her head to see Elizabeth was only slightly mollified. She was the only one of the three not utterly thrilled when the town hairdressers came up to the asylum for a monthly treat, trimming and styling the female patients’ hair. Grace relaxed under Mrs. Beem’s brush and comb, giving in to the ebb and flow. She closed her eyes and saw the girl from the night before, ankles primly crossed though her mussed skirts indicated some violence had been done.

“Our killer was unsuccessful,” Thornhollow had informed Grace that morning as he joined her on a morning walk around the grounds.

“On the contrary. His victim is dead,” Grace had said, pitching her voice low and keeping her face blank even though they walked alone.

Thornhollow cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is that he was unsuccessful in his attempt to rape her. I visited the coroner this morning to see if anything more could be learned. The ether had mostly evaporated at that point so he disagreed with me on cause of death, but I hold to my conclusion. Ether is highly combustible, very tricky to mix. Only the most skilled surgeons and doctors would have access to the knowledge. Given that there are only twenty or so doctors in the city, it greatly narrows our window of suspicion.” He swiped at a clump of grass with his walking stick.