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"Good," Finn replied, the corners of his mouth curling into a half-smile at her evident satisfaction. He shifted gears, the engine growling in response as they navigated another sharp bend. "We'll comb through them once we're back."
"Could be the break we need," Amelia said, locking her phone and placing it in her lap. Her eyes, now free from their digital burden, met Finn's for a fleeting moment before he returned his focus to the road.
"Before that," Finn said, his mind churning through the possibilities, "we should talk to the bloke who took a swing at our dear broker outside the morgue. If he's willing to get physical in broad daylight, there's no telling what else he's capable of."
"People are willing to be violent for the strangest of things," Amelia murmured, contemplation clear in her tone. "Sometimes I wonder if we're any different."
"We are," Finn nodded. "Rage can make a person cross lines they never thought they'd dare to, but we would never intentionally hurt someone that didn't have it coming. And if this guy is connected to Vilne..."
"Then we might be looking at more than just a passionate outburst," Amelia finished the thought, her analytical mind already piecing together the implications.
"Right." Finn glanced at her. Their eyes met and they smiled. It was like electricity. But it was as if Amelia felt it, too. She moved her glance to the window to her side.
Finn's grip on the steering wheel tightened, the leather creaking under his fingers. The silence returned, unfilled by words, stretching out like the winding country roads before them. He swallowed the discomfort, restless energy buzzing beneath his skin, a relentless current urging him toward action.
"I wonder if this thing works," he muttered, more to himself than to Amelia, and reached for the radio. With a click, the car filled with the soft hum of classical music, notes from a piano concerto unfolding in delicate waves.
The vehicle surged forward as Finn pressed harder on the accelerator, the engine growling in harmony with the tense forces inside of him.
"Speeding won't solve the case, Wright," Amelia said, though her tone lacked any real admonishment. “It won't solve... Anything.”
Finn knew what she was talking about. The connection between them is as deep as any valley.
"Maybe not," he admitted, "but it'll get us out of here faster." His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, half-expecting to catch sight of trouble tailing them, but the road behind remained empty—a stretch of tarmac bordered by hedgerows and the occasional flash of a field mouse darting for cover.
As they neared the local police station, the last vestiges of twilight clung to the horizon, painting it with hues of fiery orange and dusky pink, though night was overhead already. The day was slipping away, but Finn felt the thrum of anticipation coursing through him. Tonight, they would edge closer to the truth, no matter how perilous the path.
CHAPTER TWELVE
As Finn strode alongside Inspector Amelia through the immaculate corridors of Wellhaven Police Station, he couldn't help but feel the sterility of the place prickle at his senses. The walls gleamed with a clinical whiteness that was almost blinding, and the air carried a faint scent of antiseptic. "This place feels more like a hospital than a police station," he remarked, his voice echoing slightly off the polished floor.
"Was just the same when I started out here," Amelia responded, her heels clicking in rhythm with Finn's footsteps. "The Chief Inspector wouldn't have it any other way. A speck of dust would probably send him into a fit."
"I like a good bit of mess," Finn mused, though his thoughts were elsewhere.
“You're all mess, Finn,” Amelia said.
“I don't know how to take that,” Finn laughed, feigning offense.
“I mean it in the best possible way.”
They approached an interview room where Inspector Wilson stood guard, his posture rigid, eyes sharp as flint and his mustache as gray as they night. "Amelia, Finn," he greeted them, nodding curtly. "I hope you don't mind, I was finishing for the night but found out you had a suspect. He's inside," he added, thumbing towards the closed door.
“Always welcome, Inspector,” Finn offered.
“I hear you arrested him outside the morgue?” Wilson asked. “Nothing like the prey coming to you.”
"Wilson," Amelia acknowledged with a soft but professional smile. "What do we know about our friend in there?"
"Name's Boris Tanner," Wilson said, handing over a file. Its cover was marked with red flags, indicating a record that was anything but pristine. "His sheet's as dirty as your lot keep this place clean," Finn quipped, leafing through the pages, noting the recurring offenses scrawled across the records.
"Professional protester, or so it seems," Amelia observed, scanning the file over Finn's shoulder. "Trespassing, obstruction, public nuisance..."
"Seems he doesn't take kindly to people buying up historical sites," Finn added, his mind already piecing together a profile. "Especially not Richmond Castle."
"Indeed," Wilson confirmed. "And his antics got physical outside the hospital morgue with the Richmond's real estate broker. Not the smartest move."
"Or perhaps the most telling," Finn suggested, his gaze never leaving the file.
