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"Let's just say you're a person of interest." Finn's words were cold, precise.
“It might be true,” Amelia added. “That you didn't take anything from Richmond Castle, but we believe you scouted the place out with the intention to steal something valuable. Then, something went wrong, you were rumbled by the Richmonds, and you resorted to murder.”
“I didn't do it,” the man replied, firmly.
“If we are to believe you,” Finn offered, “Then, you might have something of interest to us that could help show your innocence. We believe your phone might hold some valuable information. Someone took photos of Richmond Castle before the murders, and I wonder if they can be found on your phone."
"I want my lawyer," Arron demanded, his hands forming into fists that betrayed his attempt at remaining calm.
"Of course, you’re entitled to one," Amelia replied smoothly, though her hand hovered near the recorder, ready to halt its operation at a moment's notice.
"Your phone, Mr. Reinhardt," Finn reiterated, extending his hand across the table with an unspoken ultimatum.
"No," Arron snapped, pulling back. "You have no right—"
"Actually, we do," Finn cut in, his tone brokering no argument. "We can take it as evidence and get a court order to unlock it. Or you could make this easier on yourself. Either way, we're getting your phone. If you help, it could look good for you, they might go a little easier on you for the smuggling, if you help us catch a murderer."
The silence stretched taut between them, a high wire upon which Arron's fate teetered precariously.
"Fine," he spat out finally, his fingers trembling as he retrieved the sleek device from his jacket pocket. "The code is 3529."
"Thank you," Finn said, pocketing the phone as if it were an ordinary exchange. "We'll be sure everything is done by the book."
With a nod to Amelia, Finn stood up, his movements deliberate, the latent power of his former Special Agent training evident in every step. Together, they exited the room, leaving Arron alone with the echo of the door closing behind them—a sound that, to Arron Reinhardt, must have seemed very much like the sealing of a tomb.
Outside the sterile walls of the interview room, the precinct was a hive of activity, uniformed officers and detectives scurrying to their duties with the urgency of a clock's second hand. Finn and Amelia found refuge in a narrow corridor lined with bulletin boards plastered with case notes and faded photographs of people whose fates were frozen in time.
"Reinhardt's sweating," Finn began, his voice low as he scanned the corridor for eavesdroppers. "And it's not because of the room's temperature."
Amelia leaned against the cool concrete wall, arms folded. "Agreed. He's too polished to let nerves show without good reason." She tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. "The cargo hold photo hit a nerve. If we match any of those antiques to Richmond Castle..."
"Then he's our man," Finn concluded, tapping his fingers against his thigh in thought. "Reinhardt knew about the renovations, had access, motive, and now means."
"Means?" Amelia prompted, her brow raised in question.
"An antique dirk." Finn's gaze met hers, steady and certain. "A weapon fit for a crime of passion—or profit."
"Assuming it was among the smuggled goods." She unfolded her arms, reaching into her pocket for her phone to check the latest updates from forensics. "We were told nothing was missing from the castle, but it's such a large place. Parker, the caretaker, might just not have noticed yet."
"Right on." Finn sighed, scratching the stubble along his jaw. The weight of past cases seemed to press upon his shoulders, his mind relentlessly sifting through details, searching for connections. “Or the Richmond's had it hidden for their own reasons.”
“I wonder if the Richmonds themselves were involved in smuggling,” Amelia said. “Just a thought, considering Thomas Richmond's cargo business.”
"I don't know about that. I'll admit, I thought Max Vilne was behind this for that reason, that he could have been smuggled into the UK using Thomas Richmond's business practices. His signature is all over the chaos," Finn confessed, reluctant yet honest. "But nothing links him directly to the Richmonds' deaths."
"Perhaps Reinhardt's our missing link to Vilne," Amelia suggested, though her tone held more hope than conviction.
"Maybe." Finn wasn't ready to discard any thread that might unravel the truth. “We should look through the phone for any clues. But... Could you give me a moment? I have something on my mind and I need to make a call."
"Demi?" Amelia guessed, her sharp intuition cutting straight to the matter.
"Yeah," he said, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. Demi's shadow loomed large in his life, a constant reminder of vulnerabilities he could ill afford. “Just for a moment. I felt I was a bit sharp with her earlier. If you don't mind, then I'll look at this phone.”
"Okay," she said. "But remember, people besides Demi are counting on us. The Richmond's family for one."
Finn nodded, the air of the station suddenly stifling as he pushed through the double doors and out into the brisk evening. The sky above Garden City was streaked with clouds and stars, an oil painting punctuated by the silhouettes of buildings. He dialed Demi's number, each ring gnawing at his resolve until her voice came through, laced with that familiar tension.
"Hey, it's me," Finn said, his words steady despite the turmoil beneath. "Just checking in. Are you safe?"
