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"Where are you holed up?" Demi's inquiry came quick, tinged with an edge that suggested a thousand unspoken accusations.
"Greenbridge," he replied, breaking from his thoughts, watching as the receptionist shuffled papers, oblivious to the gravity of their conversation. "The hotel has a cozy foyer, not unlike—"
"Isn't that where Amelia's flat burned down?" Demi interrupted, the question sharp, pointed.
The same town, yes." His response was curt, eyes tracing the intricate pattern of the carpet as if it held answers.
"Amelia..." She drew out the name, letting it hang between them like a specter. "You're close to her."
"Amelia is a colleague and a friend," he asserted, feeling the need to reinforce boundaries that had become blurred by circumstance. "My room is my own."
"Of course," she said, but the skepticism in her tone was palpable, like the hum of electricity before a storm.
"Nothing's changed, Demi." Finn straightened, the receiver cool and impersonal against his warming skin. "Not in that regard. I still don't know where we stand, if we stand at all."
"Right," she sighed, and he could picture her running a hand through her hair, a gesture of frustration he knew all too well. There was a vulnerability in Demi's voice that struck a chord in him, one that resonated with memories of what they once shared.
There was a silence between them, and Finn was struggling to know what to say.
"So... Greenbridge?" Demi's voice filtered through the phone, tinged with curiosity. "What's it like there?"
Finn glanced out of the large window in his room, taking in the quiet hum of the small town at night. "It's quaint," he replied, watching an elderly couple amble past a row of shops. "Small, not that different from a hundred others."
"Doesn't sound like there's much to see," came her almost indifferent observation.
His gaze shifted to the castle in the distance, a silhouette against the dusking sky. "No, not much for sightseeing." Lightning struck through his mind. The words tugged at the hem of his thoughts, unraveling a theory as swift and as sure as any storm.The man with the camera at Richmond Castle– could he have been from out of town?His mind began to thrum with the implications.
"Are you still there, Finn?"
"Sorry," he said, "just thinking about the case." He could almost feel the neural pathways firing, connecting dots that had previously seemed disparate.
"Anything I should know about?" There was a note of concern in her voice now.
"Maybe," he murmured, and as he did, the image of the photographer crystallized into something ominous. Finn's pulse quickened—not from fear but from the prospect of a breakthrough. Not locals, but a tourist?
"Listen, Demi, I've got to run," he cut in, already turning towards the staircase.
“I understand,” she said, sounding as though she didn't quite accept his need to leave the conversation. “Please look after yourself.”Thatshe did clearly mean.
"Always do," he replied, though the promise tasted like ash in his mouth. "I've got to go, Demi. We'll talk later. But call if you need anything."
"Okay... Bye, Finn."
"Goodbye, Demi."
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, feeling its weight like a stone. But something had clicked in his mind, and he had to tell Amelia about it right away.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Finn approached the nondescript hotel door, its peeling paint a silent witness to countless transient lives that passed through. He rapped his knuckles against the wood, a staccato beat that cut through the hush of the corridor. A voice from within, muffled by the barrier, called out with an edge of caution.
"Who is it?"
"Amelia, it's Finn," he replied, leaning slightly closer to the door as if proximity would offer more reassurance than his words.
The sound of locks disengaging preceded the door swinging open. Amelia stood in the threshold, swathed in an over sized white bathroom robe that enveloped her frame, her damp hair framing her face like tendrils of nightshade. The plush fabric swallowed her whole, and for a moment, Finn’s grim thoughts were punctured by the absurdity of the image before him.
"Blimey, you look like a displaced polar bear," he quipped, a lopsided grin momentarily easing the lines of concern etched into his face.
