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"Unlikely," Amelia interjected, leaning closer to the images. Her voice carried an analytical edge. "These are upward thrusts with considerable force. It suggests someone short, perhaps even diminutive in stature." She glanced at Finn, her eyes reflecting the sterile light fixtures above.
"Exactly my thought," the coroner agreed, tapping the photograph. "I would say it's possible the killer is a woman."
Finn let out a sigh. If that were the case, then it wouldn't have been Vilne. Max Vilne stood even taller than Finn. But then, he wouldn't put it past him to fake the trajectory.
"Let's consider the weapon," Amelia proposed, turning back to the coroner. "We're dealing with something medieval, a dirk. It's not your everyday choice for murder."
"Could it have been taken from the castle?" Finn asked, his brow furrowing as he considered the implications.
"Stolen, you mean?" The coroner shook his head. "We've checked the inventory. Nothing seems amiss, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of a private collection."
"Replicas are common enough," Finn muttered, pacing slowly.
"True," Amelia conceded. "But to choose such a distinctive weapon—it's theatrical, almost like the killer wanted it to be found, to send a message."
"Or to mislead us," Finn suggested, his mind crafting and discarding theories with each step. "The question is, to what end?" His gaze returned to the photographs, his mind constructing the profile of their suspect. Short, precise, and with a penchant for the dramatic—a killer cloaked in the shadows of the past.
Finn's fingers traced the edge of the stainless steel autopsy table, his eyes narrowing in thought. A chill from the morgue's climate-controlled air brushed against his skin, but it was the chill of realization that held him still.
"Amelia," Finn started, his voice carrying a new weight. "The locals have been quite vocal about their discontent with the castle renovations. Lily and Thomas were transforming something ancient into something modern. It's possible that our killer is making a statement with this—this medieval dirk."
“Isn't it a listed building?” Dr. Henley inquired.
“Listed?” Finn asked.
“Yes,” Amelia said. “Many buildings are listed, which means it's illegal to alter them because they are historical artifacts in of themselves. But I remember reading about the works a few weeks ago and one of the reasons people were so angry, was because they were given permission to do the alterations, mainly because of some legal loophole.”
“I still think the fact that an old blade was used...” Finn trailed off.
"Symbolism?" Amelia leaned back against the cold wall, her arms folded as she considered the angle. "Murder as a form of protest?"
"Exactly," Finn affirmed, stepping closer to the photographs pinned on the board. The sharp lines of the victims' wounds stood out grimly. "It's as if they wanted to use the past itself as a weapon against progress."
"An act of defiance." Amelia's gaze followed Finn's. "But it's one thing to disagree with change, another to kill for it."
"Desperate people do desperate things," Finn said, his thoughts racing. He could almost see the shadowy figure moving through the castle, the glint of the blade a silent echo of the past.
"Then we're looking for someone who not only resents the castle's new life but understands its history well enough to turn it lethal." Amelia's words were clipped, tinged with a mix of intrigue and apprehension.
"Someone steeped in the traditions... Someone local..." Finn replied, the pieces clicking together in his mind like the tumblers of a lock. "And we need to find them before..."
Before either could delve further into theories, a sudden clamor erupted from beyond the morgue's heavy door, slicing through the quiet like the dirk itself.
"What on earth—" Amelia began, her detective instincts kicking in as the commotion grew louder.
"Let's find out," Finn said, already moving towards the source of the disturbance. Together, they pushed through the door, leaving the chill of the morgue behind, before heading along a short corridor at the front of the diminutive hospital and then stepping into uncertainty and the chaos that awaited them outside.
“Why do I get the feeling that...”
Finn's sentence was cut abruptly short by the sound of raised voices and a commotion outside.
“Help!” a voice shouted.
Both Finn and Amelia snapped to attention, their training kicking in. Without a word, they moved in tandem towards the door—the urgency of the situation propelling them forward.
"Stay behind me," Finn murmured, reaching instinctively for the sidearm he no longer carried.
"You stay behind me," Amelia retorted.
