CHAPTER THREE

Finn killed the engine, and the old police car's rattle gave way to a silence that seemed to seep from the skeletal remains of the textile mill. He eyed the behemoth structure; it was a carcass of bricks and broken windows. The place had a weight to it, the weight of discarded history. A relic that time forgot, but crime did not.

Amelia"s phone pinged. "No dice on the phone number," she said. "Looks like the number has been spoofed somehow."

"Looks like we got here first. Why do our cases always take us to the worst places?" Finn remarked dryly, stepping out into the crisp air. His breath formed clouds as he spoke. "The killer is a terrible tour guide, if that's his intention."

"England isn't all murder and detective stories," Amelia added, shutting her door with a thud that echoed off the desolate walls around them. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, as if the chill in the air was something foul that could be kept at bay.

"Should we wait for the forensics team and backup?" Finn asked.

"No," said Winters. "For all we know there's a victim in there that needs our help."

They approached the looming doorway, their steps careful on the gravel, each crunch beneath their feet punctuating the stillness. As they drew closer, Finn"s eyes caught the dark outline of something unnatural on the door—a symbol that didn"t belong.

"Midnight," Amelia murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she traced the outline of the Victorian-style clock face spray-painted across the rusted metal door. The hands were stark, pointing straight up as though accusing the night sky. "The witching hour."

"Midnight is often used to represent the end times. Could be religious?" Finn questioned, raising an eyebrow as he studied the symbol.

"Common motif," she replied, her gaze not leaving the symbol. "It signifies a time when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest. When spirits are supposed to have more power."

"Let"s hope we're dealing with just a flesh-and-blood killer," Finn said, reaching out to the door. "I had enough of ghosts on Huldra Island."

"Don't remind me," Amelia said.

Finn shook the thought. Several cases prior, he and Amelia had been caught in the mother of all storms on a remote Scottish island. He still wasn't sure if something he had seen that night was otherworldly or not, but the old abandoned mill in front of him now gave him a similar feeling of uncertainty.

Regardless, it was time to put on a brave face as always. "Shall we go to the dance?" Finn grinned.

"Lead the way, Detective Wright," Amelia answered, playing along with the pretense

Finn pushed against the door with the heel of his palm, feeling the resistance of time-worn hinges before it swung open with a groan. They stepped over the threshold together, their senses immediately assaulted by the mustiness of decay and the scent of secrets long buried under dust and neglect.

"Time to see what our host has prepared for us," Finn muttered, his hand instinctively resting where his weapon should have been. But this was the UK, and neither he nor Amelia were allowed to carry firearms.

The darkness inside seemed to swallow the light from outside, inviting them further into its depths.

"If we"re lucky, this will just be a wild goose chase," Amelia said, her flashlight piercing the shadows as they moved forward, the beam bouncing off ancient machinery and piles of debris.

"Hopefully," Finn concluded, but his mind was already sifting through the possible outcomes of this macabre invitation.

Their footfalls echoed in the cavernous space, a rhythm set to the tempo of suspense. The beam of Finn"s flashlight danced across the walls, revealing the skeletal remains of a once-thriving office. Desks stood like tombstones in the gloom, surfaces shrouded in dust as if preserving the last moments of activity before the mill"s heart had stopped beating.

"Check this out," Amelia called from the far end of the room, her voice low and steady.

Finn navigated through the maze of furniture, his eyes adjusting to the dimness that clung to every corner. The cluttered desk in front of Amelia was a patchwork of yellowed paper and faded ink. He leaned in closer, squinting at the article clippings that lay scattered like pieces of a jigsaw begging to be solved. They varied in their origins. Books, newspapers, magazines; they all were discussing one subject matter—advances in technology over the last forty years.

"Did the killer leave these here or did someone else?" he murmured, thumbing through the articles, each one a litany of questions with no answers.

"Look at this." Amelia pointed to a scrap of paper half-buried beneath the clippings. Scrawled handwriting beckoned them with a riddle that sent a shiver down Finn"s spine: "Time fades like a sun of old, and the killing stroke is fierce and bold."

"Why do we always get the literary ones?" Finn said, the note"s implications twisting in his mind. "That's two poetic samples dealing with the passage of time."

"I doubt the killer sent us here for an English literature lesson," Amelia replied, her brow furrowed in thought. "Come on."

They continued deeper into the mill, the oppressive atmosphere gripping their nerves, tightly. The heavy air seemed to grow colder as they reached the machine room, where the mechanical and rusted remnants of industry still lingered.

But something was out of place.

There, in the center of the room, sat an old spinning jenny, its spindles reaching out like the limbs of a metal arachnid. However, it was not the rusted contraption that stole Finn"s breath—it was the figure seated at it.

"Jesus," Finn exhaled, taking in the sight of a man in his thirties. Bound to the machine, lifeless eyes staring into nothingness, he made a grotesque monument to the decay all around. His body still looked fresh to Finn"s eyes. "I wonder if the killer came here straight from the bathhouse or vice versa. By the look of the body, the two victims died within a few hours of each other."

"Poor guy… This is sick," Amelia said. "Watch your back. It feels like we're not alone."

A Victorian pocket watch protruded obscenely from his mouth, its golden surface smeared with dark stains.

"I knew it!" Finn said, pointing at the watch. "Now, do you doubt me? Another watch!"

"The watch in the tree looked like it might have been there for a while," Amelia said. "It could be a coincidence."

"Look at what it's set to," Finn said, gravely.

"Midnight..." Amelia whispered, the connection dawning on her. "Just like the image on the door of the mill. The witching hour."

"The killer has a message," Finn observed, staring at the morbidly pale face of the dead man before him.

"But what is it?" she agreed, circling the body with professional detachment, though her hand trembled ever so slightly. "He seems preoccupied with time."

Something moved in an unseen, shadowy corner. Finn spun around and caught the tale of a rat in his flashlight beam, scuttling away, deeper into the old mill.

"Let"s get forensics in here," Finn said, the tension tight around his neck.

"If there"s anything to find," Amelia explained. "The secret room at the bathhouse was wiped with bleach. I doubt the killer has left anything here to be found. He"s careful."

Amelia moved the beam of her torch around the room and took a few steps away from the body. Suddenly, she stopped.

"What's this?"

Finn stepped forward, put on some forensic gloves and then crouched by a leather-bound book on the floor, its cover worn and edges softened by time. He flipped it open with a careful finger, dust motes swirling in the sparse light filtering through the mill"s broken windows. Amelia leaned over his shoulder, her flashlight beam cutting a swath across the yellowed pages.

"Looks just like the one from the bathhouse," Amelia murmured, taking the book in hand from Finn and scanning the neat script that filled the pages.

"Any more secret rooms?" Finn asked.

"No. But we have a name for our victim," Amelia said, showing a page.

Finn peered at it in the dim light. "His name is Lucas Henshaw," the text read. "And he died like the others will die. The madness will end. The stroke of midnight is coming."

"There are some sketches of cogs or gears here," Amelia said. "They look like the pieces of a large machine. I've never seen anything like it."

"I wonder what it does," Finn said, tracing the lines of text that spoke of a man caught between two eras. "These gears look almost like a clock."

The cautious march of footsteps sounded, echoing throughout the rusted building. Finn looked at Amelia nervously and picked up a piece of metal from the ground. He instinctively stood in front of Amelia.

Soon, the ghostly white figures of the forensics team appeared. "You got here first," one of the men said, as if disappointed. "Is that for us?" He pointed to the piece of metal in Finn's hands.

"No, of course not," Finn answered, trying to avoid the embarrassment.

"We found a body," Amelia said, pointing to the corpse attached to the old spinning wheel.

The forensic team buzzed around them, their white suits ghostly figures against the backdrop of rusting iron and wood. One of the techs called them over, gesturing towards Henshaw"s body. Finn and Amelia stood and watched, breathing in the musty air of the mill. Soon, the forensics team had finished their preliminary work.

"Blunt force trauma to the head," the one of them reported, pointing to the wound hidden beneath the man"s dark hair. "Killer used something heavy with an indentation in it. Something from here, maybe."

Finn looked around, studying the environment. The place was littered with the rusted remains of a once vibrant mill.

Amelia picked her way through the debris on the floor, examining each piece of metal and wood as if it could whisper

its secrets. She paused by a hefty gear, its teeth jagged and menacing. "This," she said, not touching it but hovering her hand above its surface.

"Let"s get it bagged and tagged," Finn instructed, knowing that every moment they spent theorizing was another moment the killer was out there, planning the next move. "That gear looks similar to the sketches in the journal. It looks old, like it's discolored with copper oxidization"

"I think I see some bone fragments on it," Amelia pondered aloud, stepping back as the forensic team moved in.

"Seems so," Finn agreed, his eyes scanning the mill once more. "Well, we have two leads now. Our victim here, Luc Henshaw, and I think it might be worth going over more details with Emily Stanton's boyfriend."

"I agree," Emily said.

"Which trail of breadcrumbs do we follow first?" Finn asked in expectation.

There was some movement among the forensics team as one of them walked slowly over to Finn and Amelia.

"What is it?" Amelia asked.

"We found this in the victim's inside pocket," the man said, holding up a bloodied piece of paper in his blue-gloved hand.

Finn shone his flashlight on it. "Pendegrast"s Curiosities. It"s a handwritten receipt for something, but the blood has obscured most of the writing."

Amelia took out her phone and gazed at it while prodding in some information. "It's a shop in Torley Town. It's not far." Amelia grinned.

"Well," Finn said. "Make that three trails of breadcrumbs then."

Amelia looked at her watch. "If we're fast, we might catch them before closing."

"I'm game if you are," Finn offered.

Amelia turned towards the exit. "Let's find out what Luc Henshaw was buying before he died."