CHAPTER FOUR

Finn tapped the steering wheel rhythmically as they pulled up outside a cluttered antique shop, its windows filled with an assortment of bric-a-brac from another era. The sign above the door read "Pendergast"s Curiosities," letters curling with faux nostalgia.

"Lucas Henshaw"s last known purchase was from here," Amelia said, unfolding a piece of paper with the list of artifacts. "If only these objects could talk..."

"Winters, if you start telling me you're having conversations with objects," Finn replied, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the street before getting out of the car, "I may have to call the men in white coats."

"If I get committed before you, then it must be the end times," Amelia replied.

Stopping outside of the shop, Finn peered in through the window. He could see various pieces of antiques staring back at him like an old Jules Verne story. Antiques, old places, and history had always fascinated him since he was a kid. It was part of what thrilled him about the cases in the UK. There was always ancient history nearby, adding something different to the mix.

"This place looks great!" he said excitedly.

Amelia touched his arm. "Murder investigation first, wasting money later."

Finn nodded. "But I am definitely coming back here."

"I don't doubt it."

The bell above the antique shop door jingled discordantly as they entered. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and metal polish. A man in his late sixties, wearing a waistcoat that had seen better days, peered at them through round spectacles perched precariously on his nose. His eyes held a flicker of recognition.

"Arthur Pendergast?" Finn asked.

"Indeed," the old man answered, his voice carrying the gravel of years passed. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Detective Wright, and this is Inspector Winters with the Home Office," Finn introduced, flashing his new consulting detective badge.

"Oh my," the man said, seeming somewhat flustered. "How can I help you? I… I assure you I do not deal in stolen goods."

"I"m sure you don"t," Amelia said. "But we were hoping you could tell us about this receipt." Amelia held up the receipt, which was now housed in a clear piece of plastic.

"Is that blood?" Pendergast said with a gasp.

"I'm afraid so," answered Finn.

Amelia handed the receipt to the man. "Do you remember any of this? It was found on the body of a man we believe to be Lucas Henshaw,"

"Oh no! That"s just terrible!" Pendergast said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I knew Mr Henshaw somewhat. He bought a few things from me over the years. I"m so sad to hear this. How did it happen?"

"What can you tell us about him?" Amelia asked, moving straight into her questions.

"He was a businessman, but that's about as much as I know. He was always quite pleasant to deal with," Pendergast mused, leaning back against a counter laden with pocket watches and compasses. "He had quite the eye for the eclectic, if I remember rightly. Interested in Victorian and pre-Victorian pieces."

Amelia stepped forward, her presence commanding yet respectful. "Mr. Pendergast, what did he buy from you the last time he was here?"

"Ah, yes, the difference engine," Pendergast said, his eyes alight with scholarly enthusiasm. "A remarkable piece, one of Babbage"s finest concepts. It"s a shame it was never fully realized in his time."

"Charles Babbage? Wasn't he the inventor of the modern computer?" Finn pressed, his mind connecting potential dots behind a steady gaze.

"Yes," Pendergast answered. "He built several prototypes for mechanical computers during the 1800s. But most were never completed. I was lucky to have a segment of one such prototype called a difference engine."

"What is a difference engine?" Finn asked.

"Like you said," Pendergast explained. "It"s a rudimentary mechanical computer used for mathematical calculations. Fascinating to think about."

"And Lucas Henshaw bought that?" Amelia asked.

"Quite. He fancied himself a bit of a historian. Said something about the parallels between the technological revolutions of then and now. He was quite a rich man, very successful in the business world. But history seemed to be his passion. " Pendergast's hands danced with a collector"s passion. "The past informing the future and all that."

"Did he mention anything specific? Any project or reason he needed a difference engine?" Amelia"s question hung in the dusty air like motes caught in a shaft of sunlight.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. He seemed quite energized about how he had discovered something about older technology. That he was onto something big, something that would change the way we view history," Pendergast recounted, a distant look crossing his craggy face. "He believed some ideas were too ahead of their time—waiting for the right moment, the right mind to resurrect them."

"Or the right maniac," Finn muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Pendergast looked puzzled, the spectacles slipping further down his nose.

"Nothing, Mr. Pendergast," Finn said briskly. "What did you make of his ideas?"

"He didn't elaborate," Pendergast answered. "But if I had a penny for every person I've met who thinks that today's ills can be cured by forgotten technologies, I'd be a rich man. It never leads anywhere. Some people can't face up to the reality that there is no major cure hidden in the shadows for what ails us as human beings."

"Wait," Amelia interjected, her keen eyes catching a detail. She took out her phone and showed some photographs. "These notes were in a journal we found near Mr. Henshaw's body. Do they look like anything you'd know?"

"I'm no engineer," Pendergast chuckled, unaware of the gravity his words carried. "But that looks like some modification of an old counting machine. Possibly one of Babbage's own."

"Is there anything else you can tell us about Mr Henshaw?" Finn asked. "Where he was going, who he was dealing with?"

"I'm afraid not," Pendergast said with sadness. "But if Lucas Henshaw had a piece of a difference machine, you might want to see if anyone else has been collecting the pieces."

Finn nodded.

"One more thing," Amelia said. She showed another picture on her phone, this time of the pocket watch that was found in Lucas Henshaw's mouth. "Does this watch look familiar?"

"No," Mr. Pendergast said. "But I can date it for you. That looks to be from around the 1840s, given the style."

"The same period when Charles Babbage was making his prototype computers…" Amelia mused out loud.

"Yes," Pendergast said.

"And what about this?" Finn asked, pulling up a photo of the watch they found in the tree back at the cottage.

"Hmm," Pendergast said. "A little more difficult. I"d need to get my hands on it. The style could be Victorian, but there are some hints there that it"s anachronistic, made much later but aping the Victorian style."

"But still the Victorian connection," Finn said, turning to Amelia. "I"m telling you, this is Vilne."

"Maybe," she answered. "But we"ve thought that before in other cases and it"s turned out to be barely connected to him. I just want us to gather more evidence."

"Sometimes you have to go with your gut," Finn answered.

The door behind Finn and Amelia opened with a ring of the bell. A stout woman stepped in, smiling with rosy cheeks and then perusing the shop.

"If you don't mind," Pendergast said. "I think that's all I can say now. I have customers to tend to."

"Thank you, Mr. Pendergast. You"ve been most helpful," Finn said, nodding slightly.

"Anytime, Detective. Inspector. Do stop by if you wish to discuss Babbage further—or perhaps peruse our collection of horological wonders," Pendergast offered with a genial smile as they left.

Finn nodded with a grin. "This place is great."

"You don't have to ask him twice to come back," Amelia said. "Thank you again, Mr. Pendergast."

The phone in Finn"s pocket buzzed insistently as they stepped out of Pendergast's dusty shop, the musty smell of old books and brass still clinging to them. He glanced at the screen, an anonymous number flashing up with a message that sent a chill down his spine.

"Amelia, it's another message. Look at it," Finn said, holding out the device for her to see. The text on the screen was a quote, antiquated in its language yet chillingly apt: "As cogs and gears do turn, the world prepares to burn."

"Another damned riddle," Amelia muttered, her face stoic with deep thoughts, clearly sifting through the implications.

Finn looked around.

"What is it?" Amelia asked.

"I get the feeling we're being watched," Finn answered. "The timing… We just came out of the place where Henshaw bought pieces of a difference machine, built with cogs and gears. Then, we get this. It's no coincidence."

"He could be anywhere," Amelia said. "Don't make it obvious you're looking. It's better if he thinks we're blind to it. Come on. Let"s get back to the station."

***

Back at Hertfordshire Constabulary, Finn and Amelia sat in the dimly lit room, surrounded by stacks of case files and evidence bags. The air was heavy with the weight of unsolved mysteries and lingering danger. Finn"s gaze was fixed on a series of photographs spread out before him, each one a piece of the puzzle they were trying to solve.

One image showed Lucas Henshaw"s journal with intricate diagrams scrawled across its pages, hinting at a mind consumed by forgotten technologies. Another displayed the antique pocket watch found in Henshaw"s mouth, its hands frozen in time. Finn"s brow furrowed as he traced the connections between these relics of the past and the present-day murders.

Finn turned to another computer screen. On it was the moment of Emily Stanton"s death, caught on camera for all the world to see. Alongside it was a text display of her viewers discussing the video in the chat window.

Finn and Amelia had both watched the video back now, over and over. Sadly, only the killer"s mask could be seen for a brief second. It looked like a grotesque pale face caught in a frightening pose. But there was no way to identify the killer.

Amelia, on her part, sifted through notes detailing Pendergast"s recollections of Henshaw and his acquisitions from the antiques dealer. She studied the receipt stained with blood, a grim reminder of lives intertwined by threads of history and technology.

Silence enveloped them as they absorbed the details before them, each lost in their own thoughts yet connected by an unspoken understanding. The flickering overhead light cast shadows that danced across their faces, mirroring the dance of shadows lurking in the depths of this intricate case.

Amelia"s phone rang and she quickly picked up. "Winters... Yes... Okay, anything else? Thank you, Kelly. That"s a big help." Amelia hung the phone up.

"What is it?" Finn asked.

"Preliminary tests show that both Emily and Lucas were murdered within 1 to 2 hours of each other."

Finn nodded.

"The killer must have prepared both kills well in advance to pull that off, rushing between scenes," Amelia said.

"I can"t shake the feeling that there"s a link between Lucas Henshaw and Emily Stanton," Finn mused, his eyes scanning the evidence before him. "Henshaw delved into archaic technology, seeking hidden truths in old machines, while Emily was all about modern tech, streaming her life for the world to see."

Amelia looked up from the notes she was reviewing, intrigued by Finn"s train of thought. "You think their paths crossed somehow? That maybe Henshaw"s pursuit of forgotten technologies led him to something that put him in the killer"s sights?"

Finn nodded slowly, the pieces starting to align in his mind. "It"s possible. Both of them were diving deep into realms where technology meets history. Henshaw with his antique devices and Emily with her online presence. Maybe there"s a connection we"re missing, something that ties them together beyond mere coincidence."

As they pondered this new angle, the weight of their investigation seemed to grow heavier, the shadows in the room deepening as if concealing secrets waiting to be uncovered. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking time as they delved deeper into the intertwined fates of Lucas Henshaw and Emily Stanton.

Amelia neatly stacked the notes she had been organizing, her fingers tracing over the details of their latest findings. As she closed the last folder, a sigh escaped her lips, mingling with the heavy air of the room that Finn felt was palpable.

Finn stretched in his chair, his muscles protesting from hours spent hunched over evidence. With an unexpected creak, the chair tipped backward, sending Finn sprawling to the floor with a thud. Startled, Amelia rushed to his side, extending a hand to help him up.

"Finn, are you alright?" concern laced her voice as she steadied him.

Finn grinned sheepishly as he got back on his feet, wanting to pass it off as deliberate. In a spontaneous move, he wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned in for a kiss. A blush crept up Amelia"s cheeks as she gently pushed him back.

"Finn," she chided softly, "we can"t... not here."

His smile remained warm as he nodded understandingly. "Of course, Amelia. I am, as always, a consummate professional."

Amelia took a moment to compose herself before suggesting their next course of action. "Before we call it a day, let"s go speak with Emily Stanton"s boyfriend. He might have more insights that could shed light on this tangled web we"re unraveling."

Finn"s gaze held hers for a lingering moment before he nodded in agreement. The unspoken understanding between them resonated in that shared look, a bond forged through countless cases and whispered confidences.

With resolve in their hearts and determination etched into their expressions, Finn and Amelia set off once more into the labyrinthine world of shadows and secrets that awaited them beyond the dimly lit room.