Ben scrubbed at his face and sucked in a deep breath. Fighting his anger, he joined Jacques. His friend was right. His father had been injured multiple times. Whoever attacked him intended to kill.
“Your father is as big as you,” Jacques said quietly. “He would have put up a fight.”
Ben turned to his father’s hands, lifting one from the table to inspect it. The knuckles weren’t bruised, and his nail beds were clean. His father might have been as tall as him, but he was no fighter. He may have struggled, perhaps, but his attacker must have caught him off guard.
“Do you think the stitches were to save him?” Jacques asked.
With a breath, Ben covered his father with the sheet again and backed away. The collar of his shirt was high enough to cover the marks on his neck, no doubt chosen to ensure no one would see the damage. “No, not to save him,” Ben said. “To hide their handiwork.”
“Where did they find his body?” Jacques asked.
“Remi said that they discovered him in the study.” Ben flexed his fingers.
“Wouldn’t there have been blood?”
Ben felt cold all over again. Not once during his time in the study did he see anything hinting at a struggle.
“Someone was clearly very thorough,” Ben said.
Quiet settled over them, leaving only the sound of their breathing to occupy the space. Ben wanted to cry, to fill the hurt in his chest with something tangible and raw. He scraped his knuckles against his legs, digging into the fabric of his trousers until the pain filtered through his mind. He couldn’t believe what he’d seen, that his father had been handled with such carelessness.
“You mentioned the doctor at the docks. Do you think he’s involved?” Jacques asked.
“It’s likely that he is.” Ben could still smell the stale alcohol on the doctor’s breath. “But he was a lousy drunk. Anything he has to say isn’t worth listening to.”
“It’s important we keep this quiet.”
“For now,” Ben agreed. “Until I’ve ruled out Lamotte, Marchand, and Remi’s uncle.”
“Maybe they knew the sale was falsified. That would be reason enough.”
“It would be.”
“But we need proof?”
Ben nodded. “We need the papers that Lamotte has in his desk.”
“What are you thinking?” Jacques asked.
“Leith...he was strangled,” Ben said, gauging Jacques’s reaction.
He only frowned.
“They’ll turn him to ash before I can prove he was murdered, too.”
“Then I’ll bring his body here.” Another body would spell certain disaster if they were caught, but they’d already exhumed one for the sake of exposing a crime. If it meant justice for both by the end, then it made the most sense to bring Leith’s body.
“Then do it.” Ben gestured towards the stairs. He needed to rest for a few hours and clean his hands.
“I’ll leave this evening,” Jacques said as they parted ways.
Ben retreated to his room and filled the washbowl. He splashed his face and scrubbed his hands twice, yet he could not erase the feeling of his father’s skin. His father’s bruised flesh flashed in and out of his mind, the image searing itself into the back of his eyelids.
He’d never forget it.
“Ben!” someone shouted.
Angry footsteps pounded up the stairs.
“Ben!” It was Remi’s voice that drifted down the hall. “Ben! Where are you?”
“Here,” he called back.
Whatever exhaustion was left behind in his tired bones left him the second he felt the intensity of her anger. She flew through the door, the brass handle slamming into the wall, as she forced her way into the room. Shocked, he held up his hands to stop her from falling over as she narrowly avoided tripping over her hem.
“You knew,” she hissed, her face reddening as she went on. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me!”
Ben spoke softly. “What do you mean?”
Panic seeped its way into his veins, pumping a fresh dose of fear into his beating heart. Did she know about the body in the cellar? Had she overheard him and Jacques somehow? He waited anxiously for her to catch her breath.
“Leith! They say he was murdered.” She shook with anger, her eyes watering with fresh tears. “Lamotte says you inspected his body, and you didn’t tell me.”
“I did see his body, you’re right.” Ben weighed his words carefully. “But how did you know that? Where did you go?”
She whirled on him. “I went to visit Leith’s mother! I needed to after this morning. I just couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him again…not like that.”
She must have meant her dream. Nightmares were something he could sympathize with, given Soleil’s penchant for haunting his dreams. It seemed her trip around the Isle became an altogether different excursion, not that he could blame her. She’d gone out seeking closure and instead found herself with new information. Information he should have shared with her the minute he learned the truth.
