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"I hope it went well," Finn offered.
"War never goes well," Ulman said. "But they have my respect." Ulman cleared his throat, adjusting his stance. "Very well. I suppose it can't be helped," he conceded, though the reluctance in his voice was evident. "I'll brief you on the situation, then."
Finn exchanged a quick glance with Amelia, a silent acknowledgment of the delicate balance they would need to maintain with Ulman. They followed him off of the path outside the castle, each step squelching on the soaked ground.
As they walked, Finn couldn't help but admire the castle's exterior again—its grandeur and history palpable in every ornate detail. He was intrigued by the place and a little disappointed that they were not heading inside.
Finn broke the silence. "Inspector Ulman, could we see the victims? It might give us a clearer picture of what we're dealing with."
Ulman hesitated for a moment, then nodded stiffly. "Of course, that is where I'm leading you, but we'll need to go by boat. The flood has made direct access impossible, and both bodies are still in situ by the river. Our forensics team didn't arrive until recently."
They followed Ulman out of the castle and down to the riverbank, where a police boat bobbed gently in the water. The river, swollen from the recent flood, flowed with a quiet intensity. Finn, Amelia, and Ulman clambered aboard, and the boat lurched forward as they began their journey along the waterway.
As the boat cut through the river, Finn took in the sight of St Martin Castle from this new vantage point. Its red sandstone walls towered over the water, casting a formidable reflection. The serenity of the river belied the riverbanks that were filled with debris.
They rounded a bend, and the boat slowed as they approached an embankment behind the castle. The scene was grimly illuminated by the flashing lights of officers looking around the scene with headlamps beneath the gray skies. Two bodies lay on the ground, surrounded by forensics experts meticulously documenting the scene.
"Watch your step," Ulman said as he brought the boat onto the riverbank. They all disembarked.
Finn felt the wet of the ground running into his shoes. He grimaced. "I'm going to bill Rob for these shoes."
"Are you leaking?" Amelia asked,
Finn tried to ignore the comment. He could now see the bodies more closely. One was a young woman dressed in expensive clothes, the other an older woman dressed in jeans and a white top.
Ulman pointed to one of the bodies, a young woman lying motionless on the grassy bank. "We've already identified her. Her name is Dolores Mayfield."
Amelia leaned towards Finn, her voice a hushed whisper. "Mayfield... same as the Prime Minister."
Finn's nodded. Political implications could turn an already difficult investigation into a quagmire of red tape and heightened scrutiny. They would have to tread carefully in more ways than one.
Finn stepped closer on the bank, allowing them a clearer view of the scene. Dolores Mayfield's body lay in a peaceful repose, belying the violence that must have befallen her. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with the dark, wet ground, a silent testimony to the tragedy that had occurred.
"Any footprints?" Finn asked one of the forensics team.
"No," one of them replied. "The officers on the scene originally thought they had been placed here because of a trail leading from the bodies. But we've ascertained the marks were made by debris that washed up and then back into the river."
"Oh, sorry," Mulberry said. "I didn't mean to mislead you."
"Don't worry, Mulberry," Finn said. "It's an active case, these things happen all of the time."
Mulberry nodded and blushed slightly.
Finn observed the meticulous work of the forensics team, each member absorbed in their task, collecting evidence that might shed light on the events that led to this young woman's demise. He could see the tell-tale markers of a thorough investigation—flagged items, carefully positioned cameras, and officers in discussion.
Amelia's gaze was fixed on the body of Dolores Mayfield, her face etched with a mix of professional focus and a touch of sadness. Finn knew that look well, Amelia always connected with the victims. She hadn't been jaded so much as to ignore their humanity. Sometimes, he wanted to put his arm around her and tell her everything would be okay, but he knew she didn't need it. In some ways, she was stronger than he was, especially considering how much tragedy she had seen with the death of her fiance a year or two before.
Finn continued to observe the scene, looking for anything that stood out.
"Winters," he said. "Look at these puncture wounds on the side of each body."
Amelia crouched beside the body of Dolores Mayfield, her keen eyes tracing the details that others might overlook. To Finn, the puncture wounds on the victim's side were too precise, too deliberate to be dismissed as accidental.
“These puncture marks,” Amelia said, pointing them out, “they're right where the liver is. For both victims to have that, it's too much of a coincidence. I'd say it's murder.”
Ulman, standing nearby with his arms crossed, looked skeptical. “It could just be a tragic accident. They might have been impaled on debris during the flood. Trees, rocks, anything could cause such wounds in these conditions. We won't know for sure until there's been an autopsy.”
Finn joined Amelia, examining the wound with a critical eye. “I have to disagree, Inspector,” he said thoughtfully. “These strikes, they're too clean, too targeted. If someone were impaled on debris, the wounds would be more ragged, less precise. A cut like this, directly to the liver, would induce shock almost immediately, followed by rapid blood loss and death.”
