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Finn folded the file and laid it deliberately on the table, its contents a silent testament to the man across from them. Boris Tanner's eyes darted between Finn and Amelia, the air bristling with unspoken tension.
"Mr. Tanner," Finn began, his voice steady as if anchoring himself in the room's growing unease, "you're currently our prime suspect in the murders of Lily and Thomas Richmond."
Boris recoiled as if physically struck, his chair scraping against the pristine floor of the police station. "I didn't do it!" he blurted, his voice a mix of fear and defiance. "There's no evidence."
Amelia leaned forward, her gaze unwavering. "You have a motive, Boris. The sale of that castle... it's a symbol to you, isn't it?"
"Symbols don't kill people," Boris spat out.
"Maybe not," Finn interjected smoothly, thinking back to what the caretaker of Richmond castle had told him. "But someone was seen photographing the estate before the murders—trespassing. Oddly enough, that person matches your description."
Finn was bending the truth.
"That's rubbish," Boris protested, but there was a tremor in his voice, a crack in his facade.
"Is it?" Finn's question hung in the room like smoke. He could sense Boris's resolve beginning to fracture; the man's certainty had given way to doubt, and in that doubt, Finn saw his opportunity.
“I... I have an alibi,” Boris said. “My ex-wife can vouch that I stayed with her the last few days and never left her house once.”
Finn grinned. “Nice to see you reconciling with your ex, but I'm not sure how believable the word of your ex-wife will be in the face of any evidence we find.” Finn thought for a moment. If the alibiwasreal, then perhaps Boris wasn't the murderer, but could lead them to him. They'd need to send someone from Wellhaven to interview the ex.
“You won't see any CCTV of me making my way to the castle or anything,” Boris said, a little more confidently this time.
“Let's say I believe you,” Finn said, leaning back in his chair. “You are heavily connected to the activist movement in the area, aren't you?”
“So?”
“If you're not guilty,” Amelia interjected, “then it stands to reason you might know who is. You know, covering up a murder is almost as bad as committing one.”
Boris went red in the face. “I haven't covered up for anyone!”
"Give us your phone, Boris," Finn coaxed, a hint of reassurance lacing his tone. "Let us see who else shares your passion for these causes."
"Like hell I will," Boris growled, yet his hands betrayed him, moving hesitantly toward his pocket.
"Think about it," Finn pressed, his own hand open, inviting trust where there was none. "If you're innocent, what harm is there? If you're not, we'll take it as evidence anyway and get a court order to search its contents. Is protecting someone else who might be a murderer worth going down for it?"
The silence stretched, filled only by the distant hum of the station around them. Finally, Boris's phone landed with a soft thud in Finn's waiting palm. His fingers danced over the screen, forwarding the list of contacts to his email—a digital breadcrumb trail leading to unknown places.
“I don't know who the killer is,” he said. “And I don't feel bad for the Richmonds after what they did. But I won't go down for something I had nothing to do with.”
"Thank you, Boris. That will be all for now," Finn said, handing back the empty shell of the phone.
As they stepped outside, Finn caught Amelia's eye. "Can we book him for assault," he said quietly. "Hold him for twenty-four hours? Just until we eliminate him as a suspect."
"We can, but there are limits," Amelia replied. “At least now we have two important things to search, Hardings' emails, and Tanner's phone messages. Maybe they'll line up and we'll find the same person in both.”
They moved through the station with purpose, a shared determination fueling their steps.
Each name on Boris's contact list was a thread in a larger tapestry—one that, when unraveled, might reveal the truth behind the castle walls. For now, though, those threads lay dormant in his inbox, waiting to be pulled.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Finn sat frustratingly before an aging desktop, its fan emitting a persistent hum as he sifted through digital records. He still couldn't shake the weakness he felt inside of himself from his encounter with Vilne. The drug and his relentless pursuit of Vilne had both left him on the point of exhaustion.
But he had to keep going.
Across from him, Amelia leaned over her own workstation, her fingers a blur across the keyboard. The computer room at Wellhaven Police Station was a stark box of fluorescents and filing cabinets, the air tinged with the scent of overheated electronics and stale coffee.
