"Please, let me find her in time," he prayed silently, steeling himself for what might lie ahead as he continued his search, the echoes of Amelia's screams urging him on.

  "Amelia!" Finn's voice was raw as he called out to her, his boots echoing on the cold tile floor of the corridor. The screams grew louder and more desperate with each step he took, cutting through him like icy shards.

  As he neared the end cell, he slowed his pace, gripping the wall for support. Fear threatened to overcome him, but he couldn't afford to lose control now. Amelia needed him.

  Through the small glass window of the cell door, Finn caught sight of a man in a black balaclava, the chilling image from the woods flashing in his mind. His heart sank as he saw Amelia, tears streaming down her face, held at gunpoint by the masked figure.

  "Please," Finn choked out, his voice strained and desperate. "Don't do this."

  The shooter's grip on the weapon tightened, his stance unwavering. Amelia's eyes met Finn's for a split second, a silent plea for help.

  "Listen to me," Finn continued, his voice growing louder with every word. "Killing her won't get you what you want. There's another way."

  For a brief moment, Finn thought the shooter might waver. But then a deafening shot rang out, and Finn instinctively shut his eyes, unable to bear witness to the horror unfolding before him.

  The sound of the gunshot echoed through the corridor, followed by a terrible silence that swallowed up Amelia's screams. Finn's breath came in ragged gasps as he forced himself to look back through the glass.

  "Please, no..." he whispered, his voice barely audible. The sight that met him was devastating: Amelia's lifeless body crumpled on the floor, a pool of blood spreading around her.

  "God damn you," Finn cried, his hands shaking as he fumbled for his phone. It still said no reception.

  Finn's heart shattered as he stared at Amelia's lifeless body, the air thick with grief and disbelief. He clenched his fists and released a guttural scream, tears streaming down his face. Suddenly, the shooter reached up and removed the balaclava, revealing a familiar face that sent shock waves through Finn's already broken heart.

  "D... Demi?" Finn stuttered, his voice cracking. His former fiancee grinned wickedly at him, her once loving eyes now cold and filled with malice. The sight of her standing there, alive and armed, was more than Finn could bear. The grin on her face was almost too wide to be considered human.

  "Surprised, Finn?" Demi taunted, her voice dripping with disdain. "Did you really think I'd let you get away so easily?"

  Finn's mind raced, trying to make sense of this nightmare. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded, unable to hide the raw pain in his voice.

  "Isn't it obvious?" Demi sneered, stepping closer to the cell door. "You ruined my life, Finn. Now it's time for me to ruin yours."

  He braced himself for the impact, his mind desperately pleading for this all to end.

  "Goodbye, Finn," Demi spat, and pulled the trigger.

  Finn jolted awake, gasping for air. Sweat drenched his clothes, and his heart pounded in his chest. He blinked, struggling to adjust to his surroundings. It took him a moment to realize that he was still in the police station cell, and Amelia was standing over him, her green eyes filled with concern.

  "Hey, hey, it's okay," Amelia reassured him gently. "It was just a bad dream."

  "Thank God," Finn breathed, his head collapsing into his hands. The relief was immense, but the lingering images from his nightmare still haunted him.

  "Are you okay?" Amelia asked softly, her voice soothing in the dimly lit cell.

  "Y-yeah," Finn stammered, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "Just a really vivid nightmare."

  "Listen, it's 6:30 AM," Amelia informed him, her tone shifting to one of urgency. "We don't have much time."

  "Time for what?" Finn asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

  "There's been another murder," Amelia replied gravely, her words cutting through the air like a knife.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Finn stood at the entrance to St Martins Castle, the ancient red stones cold and damp beneath his fingertips as he put his hand to them. The morning fog clung to the ground, shrouding the scene in an eerie silence. Amelia stood beside him, her red hair escaping from her ponytail and framing her face. She glanced around, alert and focused. Constable Mulberry approached them, his dark eyes flicking between the two of them, a mix of concern and curiosity.

  "Morning, Inspector, Finn," he said, offering a nod. "Glad you could make it."

  "Wouldn't miss it for the world," Finn replied with a tight smile. His mind raced with thoughts of the previous night's events, wondering if the man who had shot at him was behind another death.

  As if on cue, Inspector Ulman emerged from the fog, impeccably dressed as always. His mustache twitched with disapproval as he walked towards them, his gaze stern.

  "Agent Wright, Inspector Winters," he said curtly. "I heard about your little escapade last night. Sneaking around the castle, arresting Charles Keatings without sufficient evidence." He shook his head. "Quite reckless, don't you think?"

  "Reckless, maybe," Finn retorted, feeling defensive. "But we had reason to believe he might be involved."

  "Reasons that seem rather flimsy now, don't they?" Ulman raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by their detective work.

  "As flimsy as your mustache," Finn said.

  Ulman stared in disbelief. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

  "No, really," Finn said. "It's a magnificent mustache. Do you put something in it to make it so straight?"

  "Ignore Finn," Amelia said.

  "How rude," Finn answered in a feigned British accent.

  Ulman cleared his throat. "We can only hope that this arrest and your cowboy attitude doesn't jeopardize our investigation further."

  "Listen, Inspector," Amelia interjected, her voice steady and strong. "We're here to solve this case, just like you. Finn is the best there is. We'll follow any lead he or I find if it means finding the truth and stopping further deaths."

  Ulman stared at them for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Very well," he conceded. "But let's try to maintain some semblance of professionalism from now on, shall we?"

  "Agreed," Finn said, forcing a smile. He couldn't help but wonder if they had made a mistake in arresting Charles Keatings and poking the hornets nest a little too early. Had their presence accelerated the killer's plans?

  But there was no time to dwell on it now – they had a new crime scene to investigate and another victim to identify. And as he looked around at the fog-shrouded castle grounds, he knew that the place held more death in its embrace.

  "If you feel this is too much, I could perhaps..." Ulman's offer was cut short.

  "Inspector Ulman," Amelia said, her voice steady and authoritative, "it's important to remember that Finn and I are leading this investigation. We will take your opinions into consideration, but ultimately, we make the decisions."

  Ulman's face reddened, and he clenched his jaw before nodding tersely. "As you wish," he said through gritted teeth, and with a curt nod, he turned on his heel and left the scene.

  "Constable Mulberry," Finn called out, eager to move forward. "Could you show us where the body is?"

  "Of course, Agent Wright," Mulberry replied, motioning for Finn and Amelia to follow him.

  As they ventured off the path, Finn took in the damp, earthy smell of the woods surrounding them. The trees loomed overhead, their branches creating a canopy that blocked out much of the natural light. They trudged through the waterlogged fields, the ground squelching beneath their feet as they made their way to the small hillside.

  Halfway up the incline, Finn could see the forensics team hunched over the prone figure of a young woman. Her body lay twisted and broken amongst the fallen leaves, an eerie stillness surrounding her as the investigators photographed the scene.

  "Who is she?" Amelia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "We don't know yet," Mulberry replied. "We just got here ourselves."

  Finn frowned, his instincts already kicking in. Another victim, he thought, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. He glanced over at Amelia, who seemed lost in thought as she stared down at the lifeless form.

  "Let's find out what happened to her," Finn said quietly, determination fueling his every step as they approached the body. Finn was desperate for answers, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were only scratching the surface of something much darker.

  Finn and Amelia climbed up the hillside, their boots slipping on the damp leaves and mud. As they reached the forensic team, one of the investigators looked up and nodded.

  "Detective Wright, Inspector Winters," he greeted. "I'm Doctor Cartwright. We've not long arrived ourselves."

  "Any ID on the victim?" Finn asked, his eyes scanning the broken form before him.

  "Nothing yet," Mulberry replied.

  Amelia gasped as she drew closer, recognition dawning in her eyes. "I think this is one of the girls from Charles Keatings' room last night. One of the two..."

  "Prostitutes," Finn finished for her, his gaze narrowing. "Doctor, any idea about time of death?"

  “Did Charles come back to finish his dirty work?” Amelia pondered out loud.

  “Any idea of time of death, Doctor?” Finn asked.

  “I'll know better when we perform an autopsy, but I would say that the woman was killed about ten hours ago,” he said. “No sign of stabbing like the other victims so far.”

  Finn sighed. “That rules out Charles Keatings then. He was still being interviewed at the station."

  "Then who could have done this?" Amelia wondered aloud, concern etched in her expression.

  "Good question," Finn mused, studying the body more closely. He noticed something unusual: a tattoo that resembled a coat of arms on the dead woman's leg. Finn felt guilt that they had taken Charles away from the women and then the worst had happened. "What do you make of this?" he asked, pointing to the inked design.

  "Interesting," Amelia murmured. "A crest of some sort?"

  "Seems like it." Finn turned to the forensic team, curiosity piqued. "Have any of you found evidence of a hole nearby? Maybe where she fell from?"

  The investigators exchanged puzzled glances, clearly not expecting the question. "No, nothing like that," one of them said.

  "Keep an eye out for it, would you?" Finn requested, his mind already racing with possibilities. "A hole, a tunnel, anything that might connect this to the previous cases." The thought consumed him, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness as he surveyed the scene.

  "Let's keep looking," Amelia suggested, her voice determined but tinged with sadness. "If there's a connection, we'll find it."

  "Agreed," Finn replied, forcing himself to stay focused and present.

  But as he continued to examine the body, the tattoo lingered in his thoughts like a puzzle piece that refused to fit. It felt significant, somehow - a vital clue hidden in plain sight. Finn took out his phone and took several photographs of the tattoo.

  Amelia squinted her eyes as she scanned the steep hillside above them. "Look at those marks," she said, pointing to a series of indentations in the dirt and foliage. "I think she fell from up there."

  The forensics team looked up, following Amelia's gaze. One investigator nodded in agreement. "It would explain the broken neck and the position of the body."

  "Great catch, Winters. Come on, let's check it out," Finn said, determination etched on his face. He and Amelia began climbing the slope, carefully navigating the slippery terrain.

  As they reached the top of the hill, Finn spotted something that made him stop in his tracks. "Amelia, over here," he called out, his voice tense with anticipation.

  Amelia joined Finn, and they both stared at the entrance of a small tunnel, partially obscured by earth and foliage. "This must be what she fell from," Amelia whispered, her eyes widening with realization.

  "Bet it links to the other tunnels under the castle and at the riverbank," Finn added, pulling out a torch and shining its light inside the dark passage.

  "Be careful, Finn," Amelia warned as they peered into the tunnel. The beam of light revealed a cave-in, piles of rock and debris blocking the way forward. "It doesn't look safe."

  "Take a look at this," Finn said, pointing at some black marks on the exposed rock. "These scorch marks... I reckon someone destroyed the tunnel on purpose, so we can't trace where it leads."

  "Whoever did this knew we were getting close," Amelia mused, concern furrowing her brow.

  Finn sighed, frustration simmering beneath the surface. We're running out of time, he thought, feeling the weight of responsibility growing heavy on his shoulders. We're playing catch-up with a killer who's always one step ahead.

  "Let's head back down and regroup," Amelia suggested, her voice steady despite the mounting pressure. "We'll figure this out, Finn."

  Nodding in agreement, Finn took one last look at the destroyed tunnel before they began their descent.

  With each step closer to the crime scene, Finn's resolve strengthened. This was no time for doubts or hesitation - it was time for action. But he was unsure of what action to take.

  "Alright," Finn said, clapping his hands together as they reached the bottom of the hill. "What's our next move?"

  Amelia paused for a moment, seemingly considering their options.

  "Let's head back to the station and look into that tattoo," she suggested, her voice resolute. She took one last look at the crime scene, her gaze lingering on the woman's lifeless body, and then turned away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  The dim lighting in Helford Police Station's cramped evidence room cast elongated shadows across the peeling walls, giving an eerie feeling to the space. Finn Wright stood near the evidence board, scanning the photos and notes that covered it like a patchwork quilt of death. Amelia Winters carefully pinned up the photograph of their latest victim, a young woman with lifeless eyes staring into the void.

  "Another victim gone," Finn mused, his voice heavy with sorrow. "We know she was a prostitute, right? That means maybe our Jane Doe from the riverbank yesterday was in the same line of work." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to find connections in the chaos.

  Amelia bit her lip, hesitating before speaking. "That might have been what she was, Finn. But the tattoo on this new victim is different. It doesn't seem like something a typical prostitute would have. It looks like high quality work, and something with a historical background. It doesn't sit right with me."

  Finn looked closer at the photo, noticing the intricate design inked onto the victim's thigh. "You're right; it's unusual. But we can't rule out any possibilities yet."

  "Of course not," Amelia agreed, her green eyes focused intently on the evidence board. "But it's worth considering that this might not be as straightforward as it seems."

  As Finn contemplated Amelia's words, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. His thoughts raced, bouncing between potential leads and dead ends. The pressure to solve these cases weighed heavily on him, especially given his current situation—suspended by the FBI and left by his fiancee, Demi. Helford had been an escape, but now he found himself entangled in a web of murder and deceit alongside Amelia.

  "Let's see if we can find out more about this tattoo," Finn suggested, pulling out his phone and accessing the photo he had taken of the victim's leg. Amelia leaned over his shoulder as Finn uploaded the image onto their computer and initiated a reverse image search. They both stared at the screen as the results started to populate.

  "Look, it's a coat of arms," Amelia pointed out as a matching image appeared on the screen. "It belongs to the Brentford family."

  Finn clicked on the link, and they were directed to a page detailing the history and influence of the Brentfords in Cornwall. Their wealth and power were evident, with numerous articles and images showcasing their lush estates and business ventures.

  "Interesting," Amelia mused, her brow furrowing in thought. "Why would a woman from such a rich family end up in this line of work?"

  "Money doesn't solve everything," Finn replied, his voice tinged with a hint of cynicism. He knew all too well that wealth could not shield one from personal turmoil or emotional pain. For some, perhaps, the darkness that eventually consumed them was even more profound.

  "True," Amelia conceded. "So let's say our victim started with a rich background and then somehow fell into prostitution."

  "It's a start," Finn nodded, his mind working overtime as he tried to piece together the seemingly disparate elements of the case. How did these victims, some of whom came from elite backgrounds, end up connected to a series of brutal murders? What was the common thread tying them together?

  "Let's start by finding out everything we can about the Brentford family," Amelia proposed, taking charge. "We'll look into their connections, their businesses, anything that might help us understand why one of their own would end up like this."

  "Sounds like a plan," Finn agreed, grateful for Amelia’s determination and focus.

  Finn stared at the computer screen, the information on the Brentfords swimming before his eyes. Suddenly, a thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. He sprang from his chair and dashed over to the evidence board.

  "Amelia, look!" he exclaimed, pointing at the photos of the four victims. "Dolores Mayweather was a distant relative to the Prime Minister, remember? And Helen Baxter was related to the Keatings who own St Martins Castle."

  Amelia's eyes widened as she absorbed the information. "You're right," she murmured, her gaze moving back and forth between the photographs. "But that could simply be because the victims were in the vicinity of the castle and came across the killer's territory."

 

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