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"I have a feeling we're about to get the cold shoulder," Finn said.
"I was thinking the same thing," Amelia agreed.
"Oh, look," Finn said, pointing to some magazines. "Dry Wall Monthly. And I thought they wouldn't have anything interesting to read here."
After a moment that stretched a little too long, the receptionist returned, her smile slightly strained. "I'm afraid Mr. Kilbraid must have stepped out on important business. He didn't mention when he would be back. If you leave me your details, I can ask him to phone you tomorrow?"
Finn thought her smile was as real as a leprechaun on a hoverboard
He instinctively raised an eyebrow, his instincts telling him that there was more to the story. "Did he happen to leave any idea of his whereabouts? It's quite important we speak with him."
The receptionist hesitated, her eyes flicking to the door she had just come through. "I'm sorry, he didn’t say. But I can take your contact information and have him call you as soon as he returns?"
Amelia stepped forward, her gaze keen. "We'd appreciate that. It's regarding an ongoing police investigation, so it's quite urgent."
The receptionist nodded, quickly jotting down their details. "I'll make sure he gets the message the moment he's back."
"Okay," Finn said, before making his voice loud enough to be heard through the wall. "We're very busy with this murder investigation, so we might have to send one of our associates later with a warrant. I'm sure your books make for interesting reading."
As he spoke, Finn heard the faint creak of a back door closing somewhere in the building. His senses heightened, he turned towards the sound.
The receptionist looked embarrassed.
"We should go round the back," Amelia said.
"I don't think we'll have to," Finn said, hearing footsteps sloshing through puddles outside.
The front door swung open. A man in a well-tailored suit stepped in, smoothing down his tie. "I'm Mr. Kilbraid," he announced, his voice betraying a hint of unease. He was also out of breath.
The receptionist's face brightened artificially. "Mr. Kilbraid, these officers are from the police. They're investigating a triple murder."
Amelia stepped forward, her tone professional but firm. "Yes, we'd like to ask you a few questions about your employees working at St Martins Castle."
Finn, seizing the opportunity, asked, "Do you usually exit through the back door to come in the front, Mr. Kilbraid?" His question hung in the air like a joke, waiting for a punchline.
Kilbraid’s face flushed with embarrassment. "I... I had to retrieve something from my car."
"It's okay," Finn said smoothly. "We're not here for your financial records, at least not yet. We just need your cooperation."
Kilbraid, now slightly more at ease, nodded. "Of course, I understand. Not that we have anything to hide... What do you need?"
"We need a list of everyone working at the St Martins Castle subsidence site," Amelia said.
Without a word, Kilbraid moved around to the computer at the reception desk and began typing. Moments later, a printer spat out some paper behind them. Kilbraid handed over the printed list.
Finn scanned the names, his eyes pausing when he spotted 'Terrance Feldman.' He showed it to Amelia, who raised an eyebrow in recognition.
"Mr. Kilbraid," Amelia began, her tone even, "are you aware of Terrance Feldman's criminal past?"
Kilbraid’s face fell, and he took a step back, as if the name itself carried a weight. "Terrance Feldman? I... I knew he had a rough past, but I wasn’t aware of any serious criminal history."
"He served five years for attempted murder," Finn added, watching Kilbraid’s reaction closely.
Kilbraid looked genuinely shocked. "I had no idea. I assure you, we run background checks, but sometimes things get missed, especially with older convictions."
Amelia nodded, jotting down notes.
Finn didn't believe it for a moment. They were only interested in cheap labor they could pay under the table without being taxed. But that wasn't Finn's beef, for now. He was only interested in catching the killer, and Terrance Feldman was the only lead they had.
