When You're Sleeping, page 12
"Freeze!" Finn shouted, readying himself for a confrontation. Instead of complying, the outline of the shooter got to his feet, darting deeper into the woods before Finn could grab him.
"Damn it!" Finn cursed under his breath, sprinting after the fleeing figure. He couldn't let them escape, not when they were so close to being caught.
As he chased the shooter, Finn's thoughts turned to Amelia, hoping she was safe. Despite their brief time together, he found himself drawn to her — her fiery spirit and quick wit had made an indelible impression on him.
"Focus, Finn," he muttered to himself, pushing aside thoughts of Amelia as he pursued the shooter.
The chase led Finn through a dense thicket, where he stumbled upon a discarded gun lying among the brambles. Was this the weapon used to fire at them? He took out some blue forensics glove and picked it up carefully, examining it for any clues that might help him identify the shooter.
"Gotcha now," he whispered, clutching the gun tightly as he continued his pursuit. But even with this newfound evidence, Finn knew he couldn't let his guard down. The shooter was still out there, and he would do everything in his power to bring them to justice.
"Amelia," he thought, worrying that the killer might have doubled back to get to her and the prisoner.
Bagging the discarded gun, Finn scanned the surroundings, his eyes narrowing, looking for any sign of an entrance to what looked like a hidden tunnel.
He walked around in the darkness for some time, trying desperately to pick up any sign of the shooter's trail. But there was nothing. It seemed the shooter had given him the slip once again, and Finn was certain he had disappeared underground.
"He knows the lay of the land here," Finn muttered, frustration gnawing at him. He knew he couldn't risk venturing into the woods further alone, not without backup. With a sigh, he turned back towards where he'd left Amelia, hoping she and Charles were still safe.
As he emerged from the woodland, he saw Amelia waiting by the car, her phone pressed to her ear. Her gaze met his, relief flashing in her eyes as she quickly ended the call.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice tense with concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine. But our shooter's long gone," Finn replied, holding up the bagged gun as evidence. "I found this. They must've escaped through another tunnel somewhere. We'll need to get some local constables down here, start a search party. Though I suspect they won't find him."
"Damn it," Amelia cursed, running a hand through her red hair. "I called for an armed rapid response unit. They're on their way, but they won't be here for an hour."
"That's not very rapid, is it?" Finn said, catching his breath.
"No," Amelia said. "But we're in a rural area and police just don't have the need or permission to carry guns out here."
"Good thinking, anyway. But the shooter will be miles away by then," Finn said, his mind working overtime as he tried to piece together the puzzle before them. "We need to figure out who's behind this and why they're targeting us."
"Agreed. There must be something we're getting close to, something they don't want us to discover," Amelia mused, determination shining in her eyes.
Finn couldn't help but admire her resilience, even in the face of danger. "Yeah, well, whatever it is, they've made it personal now."
"Let's just hope we can get one step ahead before they try again," Amelia said, her voice somber
"Absolutely," Finn agreed, his resolve steeling as he stared at the frightened face of Charles Keatings in the back seat of the car. "And my money is they think Charles might reveal who they are."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Finn's eyes focused on the young man sitting across the table, his hands cuffed in front of him. Charles Keatings, a scion of wealth and privilege, looked more like a frightened child than a potential murderer. Amelia stood next to Finn, her penetrating gaze unwavering as they began the interrogation.
"Charles, we need you to tell us exactly what happened the night the three women were murdered," Finn said calmly, leaning forward slightly. His tone was gentle yet firm, attempting to put Charles at ease while still pressing for answers.
"I already told you, I didn't do it!" Charles stammered, his voice cracking under the pressure. "I wasn't even there!"
"Where were you then?" Amelia asked, her voice cool and collected.
"I told you before and the booking sergeant at the desk."
"Then tell us again, "Amelia said.
Finn knew the trick. Getting a suspect to repeat their story several times was a good way to catch any inconsistencies
"I was playing poker with friends," Charles said sounding defeated.
Finn studied Charles' face, searching for any hint of dishonesty. He knew that the boy came from a family with connections and power, which could easily be used to cover up any misdeeds. Yet there was something about Charles' demeanor that made Finn believe he might be telling the truth.
"Can anyone confirm your alibi?" Finn asked, his voice softening slightly.
"Y-yes, I already told the sergeant at the desk! My uncle can," Charles replied, some confidence returning to his voice. "My friends, and the housekeeper too."
"Charles, we want to help you," Amelia said gently, placing her hand on his shoulder. "But we need to know everything. If there's anything you're not telling us, now is the time."
"Look, I swear, I don't know anything about it!" Charles insisted, frustration creeping into his voice. "All I know is that someone killed those women and dumped them on our estate, but it wasn't me!"
"Who was the shooter?" Finn asked.
"I don't know," Charles answered. "A madman, I can tell you that much!"
"Why would he be shooting at us?" Amelia prodded.
"You're the detectives! Figure it out yourselves," Charles said, his breath rapid. "They were obviously not a fan of the police. They were probably a poacher and decided to take a shot at you."
"Oh, really?" Finn said. "Fantastic theory. But I prefer the one where they were trying to kill you to stop you from saying something."
Charles went sheet white.
Just as Finn was about to ask another question, the door to the interrogation room burst open, revealing a group of impeccably dressed lawyers. The man at the forefront, tall and silver-haired, fixed Finn and Amelia with a steely glare.
"Mr. Keatings," he said in an authoritative tone, "we've been retained by your uncle, Mr. Drake Keatings. We're here to put an end to this farce. We have good reason to believe that the arresting officers were trespassing at the time on the Keatings estate. You have no material evidence to connect Mr Keatings to the murders. Of course, you can try to charge him for defending himself against trespassers in his own home, or we can call this thing a bust and we walk out of here. Now."
Finn felt his jaw tighten as the lawyers swarmed around Charles like a pack of wolves closing in on their prey. He knew that, with their involvement, the chances of getting any useful information from Charles had just evaporated. He looked at Amelia, and she shook her head in exasperation.
"Alright, that's enough," Finn said firmly, pushing back his chair and standing up. "We were just wrapping up anyway."
Finn exchanged a frustrated glance with Amelia. They both knew that they had reached another dead end. But Finn couldn't shake the feeling that something Charles had said would lead them down another dangerous rabbit hole.
He just needed to find it before it slipped through his fingers.
Constable Mulberry entered the room, fresh-faced and eager. He approached Finn and Amelia, his expression serious. "I've checked Charles' alibi, and it seems to hold up. He was at a party three miles away from the castle the night of the murder, playing poker."
"Damn," Finn muttered under his breath. He had been hoping for a break in the case, but it seemed they were back at square one.
"Thanks for checking, Mulberry," Amelia said, her voice tight with disappointment.
"Of course. Let me know if there's anything else I can do." Mulberry nodded and left them in the interview room.
Amelia turned to Charles and his solicitors. "Well, looks like your alibi checked out. You can go, Mr Keatings."
"But don't go too far," Finn said with a stare.
"I hope you're not trying to intimidate our client," one of the solicitors said.
"No, just stating facts."
"Come on," Amelia said, leaving the room with Finn.
Finn clenched his fists, feeling frustration building within him. He needed a fresh perspective, so he decided to head back to the makeshift investigation room they'd been using. The room was small and windowless, with peeling paint and a single flickering light bulb dangling from the ceiling. It wasn't much, but it was all they had.
"Amelia, let's go over the evidence again. Maybe we missed something," Finn suggested, trying to keep a positive tone.
"Alright," she agreed, following him into the room. "But we should try and get some rest soon. It's the middle of the night."
As they settled in, Finn pulled out the gun in the evidence bag that the shooter had used at the castle. He carefully checked the serial number etched on the side and typed it into the laptop's database. His heart sank as he read the result: the gun wasn't legally registered.
"Amelia, this gun isn't registered. How hard is it to get a weapon like this in the UK?" he asked, holding up the firearm for her to see.
"Very," she replied, her brow furrowing. "It's not impossible, but it's difficult. You'd need connections, or a lot of money."
Finn sighed, rubbing his eyes. It felt like they were chasing shadows, unable to pin down the elusive killer. But he couldn't give up – not when lives were at stake.
"Whoever did this knows what they're doing," Finn murmured, mostly to himself. "The way they were moving through the treeline, they were experienced."
"Let's go over the list of suspects again," Amelia suggested, her determination reignited. "There has to be something we missed."
As they delved back into the case, Finn couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. They might be facing an uphill battle, but with Amelia by his side, he knew they had a chance of solving the mystery and bringing the killer to justice.
Finn paced the cramped, dimly lit room they were using for their investigation, his mind racing. He abruptly stopped and turned to Amelia, a sudden realization dawning on him. "You know what? The killer has to have intimate knowledge of the tunnels beneath the castle. That's how they vanished without a trace."
"Interesting thought," Amelia mused, leaning back in her chair. "But how can we find out who might have that kind of knowledge?"
"Let's look into anyone who's done construction or restoration work at the castle in the past couple of decades," Finn suggested. "They'd be familiar with the layout and could've discovered hidden passageways. They might even have made them."
Amelia nodded in agreement. "I'll start searching through the archives. You never know what we might dig up."
As Finn watched her expertly navigate the local records database on the laptop, he couldn't help but admire her dedication to the case. She was tireless in her pursuit, just like him. That was a partner he could rely on.
"Got something!" Amelia exclaimed after several minutes of intense searching. "According to works lodged with the local authority, a company called Antiquity Rising carried out restoration work fifteen years ago. They had the entire castle emptied for the duration of the project."
"Interesting," Finn murmured, sitting down beside her to see for himself. "Let's find out more about this Antiquity Rising."
"Already on it," Amelia replied, switching over to the Companies House database. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she searched for information on the company's owner.
"Here we go," she said triumphantly. "The owner of Antiquity Rising is a man named Horace Velace. And get this – he had charges dropped against him three years ago when a woman claimed he assaulted her."
"Assault?" Finn frowned, a chill running down his spine. "That might not necessarily connect him to our case, but it's worth looking into. He could have escalated from physical abuse to murder. We need to find out more about this guy."
"Agreed," Amelia replied, her eyes alight with determination. "We might be onto something here, Finn. Let's keep digging."
Finn felt relief that there was another thread to pull at. But tiredness was now making itself known.
Amelia finally pushed back from the makeshift desk in the rundown room. Finn stretched his arms above his head, feeling the ache in his muscles from the day's events.
"Ugh, I need a break," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Me too," Amelia agreed, stifling a yawn. "We should try and rest."
As if aware, Constable Mulberry appeared in the doorway, concern etched on his face. "You both look exhausted. Why don't you get some rest? There's no hotel nearby, but we have empty cells you can sleep in for the night."
"Cells?" Finn raised an eyebrow, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I always knew I'd end up in one someday."
"If the Keatings have anything to do with it, we'll all end up in one," Amelia said. "And for more than a night."
Amelia turned to Mulberry.
"Thanks, Constable Mulberry," she said, gathering her belongings. "We'll take you up on that offer."
"Better than sleeping in this old chair," Finn added, giving the rickety wooden seat a light kick.
"Follow me," Mulberry said.
As they trudged down the hall toward the cells, Finn's mind raced with thoughts about Horace Velace and his potential connection to the murders. The exhaustion was creeping up on him, making it difficult to focus. He had to keep reminding himself that they were inching closer to solving the case.
"Get some sleep, Winters," Finn told her softly as they reached the cell doors. "Please don't disturb my beauty sleep."
"You do need it," Amelia said. "Good night, Finn. Tomorrow, we'll track down Horace Velace and find out if he's our guy."
Finn nodded, his heart pounding with anticipation as he stepped into the dimly lit cell. He knew that tomorrow held the key to cracking the case wide open. As he lay down on the hard cot, the weight of the day finally caught up with him.
"Good night, Cornwall," he whispered, his eyes closing as sleep claimed him. But the rest would be in short supply.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Finn's eyes fluttered open, the grittiness of sleep still clinging to his vision. The cold metal of the cell bench pressed against his back, and he sat up stiffly. A faint scream pierced the air, echoing through the narrow hallways of the police station. He blinked, trying to clear his head.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice barely a whisper. Another scream, this one louder, snapped him into full wakefulness. He sprung to his feet, heart pounding in his chest as he gripped the handle of the cell door. It was locked.
"Hey! Let me out of here!" he shouted, rattling the door.
The screams continued, chilling Finn to the core. Panic and confusion washed over him – why was he locked in this cell? He fumbled for his cell phone, desperate to call for help. But as his fingers swiped across the screen, all that greeted him was a 'no reception' message.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, frustration boiling within him. His thoughts raced, trying to piece together how he had ended up in this situation. The memories would not come. He felt like the victim of a terrible amnesia.
"Is anyone out there?" he bellowed, his desperation growing with each unanswered plea. The chilling screams persisted, adding fuel to the fire of panic that consumed him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was happening just beyond his reach. The screams wouldn't stop.
As he stood there, adrenaline coursing through his veins, Finn couldn't help but think about everything that had led him to this moment – his suspension from the FBI, Demi leaving him, the cases he'd solved with Amelia, and the undeniable attraction between them. He felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, and he didn't know which way to fall.
All he knew was that his decisions had led him to imprisonment of some kind.
It's all my fault, he thought.
"Please, let me out!" he cried again, the screams still echoing through the station. But there was no response, and Finn's fear continued to grow, his heart pounding in his chest like a caged animal desperate for freedom.
"Mulberry!" Finn shouted, catching sight of Constable Mulberry through the glass viewing window of the cell door. The constable was dressed in his full police uniform, his posture stiff and authoritative.
"Open this damn door!" Finn demanded, his voice strained with urgency. But Mulberry seemed not to hear him – or didn't care – as he continued down the corridor, his polished boots echoing on the polished floor.
The screaming continued, and now Finn's tired mind knew who was in pain.
"Amelia," Finn whispered, realization dawning on him. The screams were coming from her, and it filled him with a sense of dread that gripped his chest like a vice. He banged on the door harder, desperation clawing at his throat. "Mulberry, come back! Let me out!"
Finn's mind raced, trying to piece together why he was locked up and Amelia was in danger. Was this punishment for stepping outside his jurisdiction? Was there a conspiracy against them? Had someone discovered their connection? Whatever the reason, he couldn't stand idly by while she was in peril.
"Damn you, Mulberry!" he yelled, slamming his fist against the door one more time. To his surprise, the door suddenly swung open, the lock disengaging without warning.
Not wasting a second, Finn stepped into the corridor, his ears straining to pinpoint the source of Amelia's cries amid the eerie atmosphere that had fallen over the station. The only thing driving him forward was the sound of her pain, each scream slicing through him like a blade.
"Where are you, Amelia?" he muttered under his breath, taking slow, measured steps down the hallway, his eyes scanning every inch for any sign of her. In his head, he tried to quell the rising panic, forcing himself to think logically about where she could be. His heart might have been racing, but his mind needed to stay sharp.
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