CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Finn leaned back in his chair, the dim light from the desk lamp casting long shadows across his face. The room felt oppressively silent, save for the soft ticking of an old clock perched on a shelf—its rhythmic beat a mocking reminder of their race against time.

"Remind me again why we do this?" Amelia asked, her voice a quiet undercurrent in the stillness of the office.

"Because you can't bear to be without my sparkling wit," Finn replied, his gaze meeting hers. "Because if not us, then who?"

"Sometimes it feels like we"re grinding ourselves down," she confessed, touching the plaster on her nose, her eyes reflecting a weariness that mirrored his own. "I dream about Victorian London now, Finn. Gas lamps and cobblestones. People in masks. I don't know if I see London the same way anymore."

"Haunting but meaningful," he said softly. "You know, I"ve always wanted to make a difference, Amelia. To leave something behind that"s bigger than myself." He paused, contemplating the confession. "But I do sometimes think, will there be much left of me by the end?"

"Is that your fear then? That the cost might be too high?" She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the desk.

"Amelia, I—" Finn started, but the piercing ring of his mobile phone cut him off mid-sentence.

He cursed under his breath as he grabbed the device, seeing Rob"s name flashing on the screen. "Wright," he answered tersely, all traces of the quiet moment vanishing.

"Another murder," Rob"s voice came through, grim and urgent. "Near Lornpike train station. Young bloke named Rajiv Choudhary. App developer with a bright future ahead of him. He was found propped up… but we think he was murdered elsewhere."

"Details," Finn demanded, his heart sinking.

"Found dead in one of the carriages. Bullet wound, chest. Antique pistol lying next to him. This one"s got your Victorian signature all over it. And Finn..." Rob hesitated.

"What is it?"

"Rajiv was an IT expert and was working on something big, he"d worked with the government before. Higher-ups are very worried. You and Winters need to get down here."

"Understood." Finn hung up, the gravity of the situation settling over him like a shroud.

"Another one?" Amelia"s voice was tight with concern.

***

The night embraced them with a biting chill as Finn and Amelia arrived at the Victorian train station, its dilapidated framework casting a macabre silhouette against the moonlit sky. They moved swiftly, their breaths visible in the air, their steps echoing on the gravel as they approached the scene.

"Another Victorian location," Amelia murmured, her eyes scanning the Gothic spires of the station"s roof.

"Give me modernity," Finn replied, his voice low as they ducked under the fluttering police tape and stepped into the abandoned carriage.

Inside, the scene was grotesque yet meticulously arranged. Rajiv Choudhary lay sprawled across the ornate carpet, the fabric pattern clashing with the modern cut of his clothing. An antique pistol rested by his side, as if discarded after performing its final, fatal act.

"Like Henshaw," Amelia noted, though her tone carried no surprise—just a weary resignation that they"d seen this grim performance before. "He's been posed."

"Victorian theme, again," Finn said, squatting beside the victim. "And like Lucas and Emily, he was involved in tech."

"I wonder if he had any interest in Ezra Bellamy?" Amelia queried.

"Let"s see what our "ghost of progress" left us this time." Finn"s hand hovered above a corner of parchment pinned beneath the dead man"s palm—a deliberate placement. He donned a pair of gloves before carefully extracting the note.

"Numbers, symbols... a cipher?" Amelia leaned over his shoulder, studying the cryptic scrawl.

"Could be. And look here," he pointed to a line scribbled at the bottom. ""Midnight approaches, darkness encroaches." It"s a threat, Amelia."

"He's building to something," she repeated thoughtfully. "This killer has a message, a manifesto even. But it"s buried in riddles and old-world nostalgia."

"Which means we"re not just hunting a murderer," Finn concluded, standing up and locking eyes with her, "we"re up against an ideology. A dark reflection of the world Bellamy wanted. I wonder if we're dealing with a cult."

Finn"s eyes were still locked on the evidence bag, cradling the note when a gentle tug on his sleeve jolted him back to the present. An elderly, weather-beaten face peered up at him, framed by a tangle of unkempt gray hair.

"Excuse me, sirs, ma"ams," the man"s voice was hoarse, like gravel tumbling in a hollow drum. "I seen somethin" strange tonight."

"Who are you?" Finn asked, his tone softening as he noted the man"s threadbare coat and the life-worn hands clutching a battered hat.

"Name's Thomas," he replied, shifting from foot to foot. "I stay "round these parts. The old carriages make for good shelter, see?"

Amelia stepped forward, her voice carrying the same calm authority she exercised at crime scenes. "What did you see, Thomas?"

"Was a tall fella," Thomas began, his gaze distant as if replaying the vision. "All clothed in black, he was, with a long coat that swept the ground. And a white mask. Terrifying." He paused, swallowing hard. "Had this book with him, too. Big, it was, with fancy writing on it. Looked bloody important."

"Could you see his face?" Finn prodded gently, noting the details mentally.

"Dark as it was, no sir. But he carried himself all... high and mighty. Like he owned the place."

"Did he do anything unusual?" Amelia added, her notepad ready.

"Just stood there, lookin" at the trains. Then walked off toward the station, quiet as a cat on the prowl."

"Thank you, Thomas," Finn said. "You look cold, can we get you a tea or something?"

"That would be nice," he replied.

Finn nodded to a younger constable who was standing nearby. She quickly disappeared and then, a few minutes later, arrived with a hot tea for Thomas.

He sipped it slowly. "Ah hits the spot."

"Thomas," Finn started. "You mentioned seeing this figure more than once?"

"Right as rain, Detective. Always by the old spots, like the derelict theater off Milton Street. I reckon he fancies them places, or somethin" in "em."

"Always with the book?" Amelia asked, her pen poised over her notebook.

"Every time. Clutched to his chest, like a miser with his last coin."

"Could you describe the book?" Finn leaned in, his mind piecing together fragments of information.

"Old-looking, like something out of Dickens," Thomas recalled, eyes narrowing in concentration. "Leather cover, I think. Thick as a brick and just as heavy, I"d wager."

"Anything else about him that stood out?" Finn asked.

"His walk," Thomas said after a moment"s reflection. "Steady, like with purpose. Like he"d walk through walls to get things done."

"Thank you, Thomas. This is very helpful," Amelia assured him, closing her notepad. "You"ve done a good service today."

"Hope it does some good," Thomas muttered, staring down into his tea.

"Thomas, the constable here can take you to a shelter, if that would be convenient?" Finn said, his heart going out to the man.

"Thank you, my friend," the man smiled. "Yer a good one."

As the homeless man was escorted to where he could rest out of the elements for the night, Finn turned to Amelia, a furrow etching deep into his brow.

"Let"s review the footage around those buildings Thomas mentioned," Amelia suggested, flipping through her notes. "Maybe our shadow has been caught on camera."

"Good idea," Finn agreed, standing up. "We"re onto something, Amelia. I can feel it. I think he moves around here."

A forensics team member approached Finn and Amelia, a sense of urgency in their demeanor.

"Inspector," the woman began, holding up a clear evidence bag containing a small card with a fingerprint. "We got a match on the print found on the antique gun."

Finn"s gaze sharpened. "Whose print is it?"

The forensics member hesitated for a moment before replying, "A woman named Maggie Beckett. The database info should be with you now."

Amelia"s fingers flew over her phone screen as she swiftly accessed information. Her brow furrowed in concentration before she spoke up. "I have the address. Maggie Beckett lives above her antiques store on Elmwood Street."

"I want the security footage from any local cameras," Finn said, turning to the forensics expert. "Send it to us when you have it. I want to see if our killer has been using these train lines to get about."

"Will do."

"As for us," Amelia said, turning to Finn. "We are about to go to another antiques store, aren't we?"

"I promise I won't let that distract me this time," Finn grinned.