Fallen (Seven Deadly Sins #2)(36)
Author: Erin McCarthy

A file folder was open next to the computer, and it was impossible not to see the copy of the sketch sitting on top. It was a woman in profile, sitting on the edge of a bed. She thought it was Anne Donovan, but it was hard to tell from the side. But it was signed in the corner JT. Sara stood there staring at the sketch, telling herself not to do it, but she couldn’t stop herself. Sliding the first copy over, she revealed a second one behind it. This was Anne on her stomach on the bed, nude, head lying on her arms, looking more sleepy than sexual. Like she’d woken to discover her lover had been sketching her for quite some time.

It was an intimate image, and Sara felt a profound sense of sadness for Anne, for the life she had led, and the brutal, untimely end to her existence.

But at the same time, going on pure instinct, Sara felt as though the man who had drawn that picture had respected the woman before him. There was a tenderness to what he had captured. The artist didn’t seem interested in her nudity for titillation, but as a display of her total beauty, her curves and soft feminine form.

There were three more sketches in the pile. The first showed Anne at her dressing table fussing with a pot of powder. Another was of Anne smiling, an intense devotion to the artist on her face, revealing, in Sara’s opinion, that she had loved John Thiroux. Or at least desired him, admired him, been grateful to him. There was intensity in her eyes, not disgust or boredom or tolerance. The third sketch was one of her neck, curls tumbling over her shoulders, the graceful lines of her muscles and bones delineated. A pearl necklace was resting above her décolleté, and her fingers played with the beads. Her face wasn’t visible, but she had slender fingers and neatly manicured nails.

The final two sketches had Sara pulling back in shock. “Jesus.” Both were copies like the others, the first a rendering of the crime scene. It was appalling, brutal. Sara’s stomach roiled at the image of a woman, on her back in bed, her face and upper body mutilated, the bedsheets darkened to depict pools of blood, the stain descending to the floor and collecting in a puddle. It was only a pencil sketch, with lines blurring and details of the wounds hard to decipher, yet it conjured up memories of her mother’s death, of the crime scene photos they had briefly showed in court, and the utter violation of what had been done to her.

The final sketch was a close-up of Anne’s arm, graceful and delicate in the moonlight, her fingers dangling over the side of the bed. It was a Xerox copy, but there were dark streaks across the paper, slashing through Anne’s wrist, and smattering across the right-hand side of the sketch. When Sara saw the faint outline of a fingerprint, she realized that the dark spots made from the copier were originally blood, Anne’s blood, and that whoever had picked up the drawing before the blood had dried had embedded a fingerprint in it.

John Thiroux maybe. One of the police. Or another, unknown killer. That fingerprint belonged to someone who had been there, seen the body soon after Anne’s death. Sara dropped it back onto the desk, tossing the sketch on top of the other one of the crime scene, not really wanting to see either anymore. Though the second she dropped them, she found herself picking them both right back up. Whether she wanted to or not, she had to search for answers. She had to know who had killed Anne Donovan.

And who had killed Anne’s daughter.

And Sara’s mother and grandmother.

From the Court Records of

the Willful Murder Trial of Anne Donovan,

State of Louisiana vs. Jonathon Thiroux

Statement of one Marguerite Charles,

January 7, 1850

PROSECUTOR: Before me, James R. Jackson, prosecutor for the Parish of Orleans, sits Marguerite Charles, who is acquainted with the defendant, Jonathon Thiroux, and has been duly sworn and charged to answer all the questions the court presents before her in this case. Mrs. Charles, how long have you known the defendant?

CHARLES: For one year.

PROSECUTOR: In what capacity did your relationship originate?

CHARLES: We met at a ball through mutual friends. I believe it was at the Huntsworths’ house, but I cannot remember for certain. Anyway, in the course of polite conversation, it was made known to me that Mr. Thiroux is an artist. I expressed interest in his art, and we fostered a social relationship.

PROSECUTOR: Did you see one another outside of large social gatherings?

CHARLES: Yes. I began to model for Mr. Thiroux for his sketches. He sketches in pencil, then paints in oils.

PROSECUTOR: Were you alone with him during these artistic sessions? Where did they occur?

CHARLES: Yes, we were alone. They were in his studio on Royal Street, where he currently resides.

PROSECUTOR: Did you pose in costumes, or gowns?

CHARLES: Sometimes in costumes or gowns. Other times they were natural poses.

PROSECUTOR: On those “other times,” are you implying, forgive me if I am making an incorrect assumption, but are you saying that by natural poses you mean you disrobed during these drawing sessions?

CHARLES: Yes. John did at least three nudes of me. He was interested in capturing the physical form of a more voluptuous woman and I was flattered to do so.

PROSECUTOR: Indeed. Why did you stop posing in this illustrious manner for Mr. Thiroux?

CHARLES: Because during our final session, which was last June, he threatened me with a knife when I complained that I was stiff and required a break.

PROSECUTOR: Threatened you with a knife? Where did he get this knife from? Tell us exactly what happened during this shocking encounter.

CHARLES: I was sitting on the divan, not reclining, but sitting upright, front facing, legs crossed, palms pressed on the sofa.

PROSECUTOR: What were you wearing?

CHARLES: Nothing. And my shoulders were sore from the extensive session and I asked permission to take a turn about the room. But John said no without even looking at me. He was completely absorbed in his sketch. However, I was truly uncomfortable and feeling a jabbing headache beginning behind my eyes, so I requested for the second time some relief, explaining my discomfort. Before I was even aware what he was about, he was in front of me, a knife in his hand, which he waved wildly in my face. I don’t know where he got the knife from as I never saw him draw it. But he told me to shut up, to sit still, or he would stick me.

PROSECUTOR: Were those his exact words? “Sit still or I’ll stick you”?

CHARLES: Yes.

PROSECUTOR: Had Mr. Thiroux been drinking?

CHARLES: Yes. I saw him drink two full glasses of absinthe in the hour preceding the incident.

PROSECUTOR: No further questions. Thank you, Mrs. Charles.

CONGRESSMAN’S WIFE POSED NUDE FOR POTENTIAL MURDERER!