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"Let's revisit the evidence," Amelia proposed, "see if there are any traces, anything overlooked that might connect back to this hypothetical tourist."
"Let's do it," Finn agreed, a sense of unity between them as palpable as the tension in the air. Together, they'd peel back the layers of deceit, inching ever closer to the truth lurking beneath.
In the suffused glow of the hotel room's bedside lamp, Amelia's eyes were a sharp contrast to the softness around them. Finn caught a glint of something indefinable within their depths as she leaned forward, her fingers swiping deftly across her phone screen.
"Let's take another look at those emails the estate agent showed us," Amelia suggested, her voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioning unit. "There might be something we missed. We ended up being so caught up with the Tanner list of activists and Frank Butter, that there could be something in the threatening emails sent to the real estate agent."
"Good idea," Finn replied, his mind snapping back into focus. “Gregory Harding was convinced that we'd find something there.”
He shifted on the bed, their knees brushing accidentally under the weight of shared purpose. The proximity was a jolt to his senses, but he masked it with a nod towards Amelia's phone.
They settled into an unspoken rhythm, scrolling through the barrage of digital vitriol that had bombarded the real estate agent's inbox. Each message seemed more volatile than the last, rife with animosity towards the planned renovations of Richmond Castle.
"Most of these are just empty threats, keyboard warriors who wouldn't dare say any of this in person," Finn mused aloud, though his analytical gaze never left the screen.
"True, but amongst the chaff, there could be the seed of genuine intent," Amelia countered, her brows knitting together in concentration. “We should take them all seriously. I just hope one of them stands out as more concrete.”
“Oh, and I meant to ask,” Amelia said. “Can I borrow your phone charger later, I think mine went with everything at my flat.”
Finn was hit by an unexpected and disarming urge to bridge the distance between them, to comfort her in some small way. His thoughts danced dangerously close to action; the warmth emanating from Amelia's skin was tantalizing, palpable even in the coolness of the room.
"Look at this," Amelia interrupted his internal tug-of-war, tapping at an email chain. The sender's name was Arron Reinhardt
"Arron Reinhardt.." Finn repeated, rolling the name around his tongue like a new taste, unfamiliar yet intriguing.
"His tone starts off almost...respectful," Amelia observed, scrolling through the initial pleasantries. "But then, here—" She stopped at a particular message, and Finn leaned closer to read over her shoulder.
"‘I will be visiting your lovely town soon,'" Finn read aloud. "‘And I truly hope to convince the Richmonds to reconsider their plans for the castle. I can be persuasive.’" He raised an eyebrow, looking to Amelia for her take.
"It's subtle, isn't it?" Amelia said, her voice laced with a newfound edge of excitement. "Not overtly threatening, but there's a clear implication there. He wanted to change their minds."
"Sounds like he had a vested interest in keeping the castle untouched," Finn added, running a hand through his hair. His thoughts churned with possibilities, assembling and reassembling scenarios like puzzle pieces.
"An interest strong enough to kill for?" Amelia pondered out loud, her detective's mind piecing together the potential implications. Finn watched her, admiring the relentless drive behind her questions.
"Maybe," he conceded, feeling the weight of the word hang between them. "We need to find out more about this Arron Reinhardt"
"Definitely," Amelia agreed, her thumb hovering over the screen as if hesitant to delve deeper into Reinhardt's words. Finn knew they were both aware that pulling on this thread could unravel something far larger than they anticipated.
"Could he be our tourist killer?" Finn wondered, not just to Amelia but also voicing the question silently to himself. As they sat there, side by side on the precipice of discovery, the unsaid truth lingered – they were no longer merely chasing a shadow; they were stepping into the lair of a potentially deadly adversary.
“Here's what I have on him,” Amelia said, speaking and reading ahead at the same time. “Looks like he's a millionaire, an antiques dealer... But while I don't have a list of charges, it seems he's been investigated once before by the FBI for potentially selling stolen artifacts. Looks like the charges didn't stick.”
“Okay,” Finn mused out loud. “Let's say Arron Reinhardt has made his fortune from selling off antiques to the highest bidder. Doubling as some sort of activist wanting to 'preserve' history, he could get access to places and relics, steal them, then sell them on the black market. Let's say he normally scouts out a place, which would make him the photographer who was spotted days before the murders. Then, he breaks in and things go wrong. The murder weapon could even have been what he came for.”
“So, no Vilne, and no pre-meditated murders?” Amelia asked.
“I know Vilne's got a connection to this case,” Finn said, his voice filled with frustration. “But he could simply have pulled the strings. He has previous for manipulation, psychological extortion. He could have set the thing up somehow.”
“Finn...” Amelia said with sympathy in her voice.
“I know, I know, it's far-fetched,” he said, frustrated. Let's keep looking into Arron Reinhardt. It might be worth doing a social media search to see if we can find out more.”
“Way ahead of you,” Amelia said. She looked at her phone intently. Finn couldn't help but look her almost as intently. What were these feelings? It would have been so much simpler for him if he didn't have them. If he could have simply reconciled with Demi and got back to his old life. But the pull inside of him was not to something that already failed in the past, but instead to something positive in the future.
"Look at this," Amelia's finger tapped the screen sharply as she traced a hyperlink to its destination.
Finn leaned over, his eyes narrowing as they focused on the social media profile that materialized. "Arron Reinhardt's profile," he murmured.
