When You're Safe, page 7
“Is there anyone else who can confirm your whereabouts?” Finn followed up.
“I’m not sure.” Langdon seemed dejected.
“Did you go into a shop in the morning or anything?” his solicitor now asked.
“Wait!” Langdon said, standing up. “Yes, I went and took money out at a cash machine in St. Albans High Street.”
Amelia felt her heart sink. “And what time was that?”
“About seven fifteen, I think,” he replied with enthusiasm.
“Where was Maggie DeGrey killed?” the solicitor asked.
“Not far from DeGrey Castle,” Finn answered, clearly not wanting to divulge exact details.
The solicitor grinned from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat. “And you say the time of death was between six and eight this morning?”
Amelia nodded. “Yes.” She knew full well what that meant.
“Then my client couldn’t possibly have traveled that distance in time,” he said. “You have the wrong man.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Finn spoke. “Sure, if there’s security footage of you at that ATM, Devon, then you couldn’t have been behind the wheel of that car. But given your relationship to both victims and your clear money problems—”
“Money problems?!” the man said sharply, taking offense. The light above flickered again, casting a shadow on his face and making him seem more sinister than before. “I have plenty of cash, pal. I have more money than you’re likely to see in your life.”
“Oh really?” Finn grinned. “Someone with a lot of money doesn’t get involved in an amateur beer brewing operation to make a quick buck. He also doesn’t wear what’s clearly a fake Rolex.” Finn pointed to the shiny gold watch on the man’s wrist.
Devon Langdon reacted sheepishly and covered it up with his sleeve.
“You’ve got money problems, Devon,” Finn said. “And the two people who were trying to take whatever you had left, Quentin and Stewart DeGrey, have most likely been murdered in Quentin’s case, and made a widower in Stewart’s case. You might not have been behind the wheel, but you sure as all hell could have gotten someone else to kill Maggie DeGrey.”
“You have no evidence connecting my client with either of those two deaths,” Weathers said in a cold tone. “Do you?”
Amelia stood up. “We have further inquiries to make. One of our colleagues here at Carnwell Station will be taking over the investigation into the selling of illegal alcohol at the Grim Dog. They will be in shortly to question you.”
Devon Langdon’s confidence had now returned. He sat back in his chair and put his arms behind his head as if relaxing.
“Don’t get too comfortable, buddy,” Finn said to Langdon as Amelia concluded the interview and switched off the tape recorder.
“Or what!” Langdon said, standing up, his fists clenched by his sides.
Now Finn stood up out of his chair, towering over the man. Langdon suddenly looked nervous again.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” Finn said. “And the next time you fall from a height, I won’t be there to catch you.” Finn patted him on the shoulder, just enough to make the man sway a little.
Amelia left the room with Finn closely behind. They walked along the old police station hallway in silence for a moment.
“Go on, say it,” Finn said.
“Say what?” Amelia asked.
“You were right,” Finn said. “I don’t think he’s the killer. But he could have an accomplice.”
“If there even is a killer,” Amelia said, still holding onto a wisp of hope that both DeGrey deaths were unrelated.
Reaching the lobby of the police station, Amelia turned to the on-duty constable, who looked several years beyond retirement age and was sitting at a desk looking bored.
“Thank you for letting us use your interview room,” Amelia said.
“No problem, Inspector,” he replied. “Any luck?”
“Not yet,” she said. “But could you wrap up the interview with Devon Langdon regarding the issues at the Grim Dog/”
“Of course,” he said, standing up. “Oh, me back.”
“Stiff?” Finn asked.
“When you’re sat behind a desk all day and get to my age, you’re thankful you can still stand up,” he said, walking to the back of the room.
“You should try driving my rental,” Finn retorted.
The constable looked puzzled and then nodded, disappearing toward the interview room,
Finn and Amelia walked out into the afternoon sunshine.
Carnwell village looked like a sleepy, idyllic slice of English summer under the blue skies. Amelia thought it pretty, but she always saw herself ending up somewhere a little more rugged. Perhaps a coastal cottage on a Scottish island, surrounded by the raging sea. If she could end her days anywhere, it would be somewhere like that.
“The only line of inquiry left,” Finn said, “is interviewing more of the DeGreys. Maybe we’ll get lucky with something.”
“Maybe,” Amelia answered, distantly, still thinking of the ocean and the sea mist. Her mind then turned back to Langdon. She could feel in her gut that the guy’s alibi was going to check out. He was guilty as sin for other things, no doubt, but murder? Not these; at least, not directly.
She took out her phone to check her messages and was surprised by what she saw.
“What is it?” Finn asked, clearly seeing the look on her face.
“I have four missed calls from Chief Collins,” she said. “I set my phone to silent for the interview.”
“One call is checking in,” Finn said gravely. “Four means something big has happened.”
Amelia nodded and pressed recall on her phone. It only took two rings before Chief Collins answered.
“Where’ve you been?” The chief sounded a little annoyed,
“Sorry, Chief,” Amelia said. “We were interviewing a suspect. But I think it’s a dead end.”
“I’m afraid you’re not done for the day yet, Winters,” Collins said.
“Why? What’s happened?”
“The blood tests have finally come back from the pathologist,” Rob said in a stone-cold voice. “Quentin DeGrey was murdered. We have one, maybe two murders on our hands.”
CHAPTER NINE
The sun was golden in the sky as it pushed on through the evening, and Finn should have been at ease in its glow while on the road.
He was not.
The drive to London’s Wellfield Hospital had been longer than he had wanted, and the rental car had caused more than its fair share of discomfort for him. Now the seat mechanism had jammed, so he was even closer to the dashboard than before, his knees pressed against it.
Then there was the London traffic. After an hour of scenic views, the green landscape had given way to the sprawling network of London’s packed streets. People, cars, bikes, and about everything else Finn thought God had packed into this once clean planet had been crammed into those streets.
Then he lost Winters. Her car turned at an intersection and he got caught at a set of lights.
“Why can’t you just turn at a red light here?!” Finn said with exasperation.
The road rules of Britain bemused him at times.
As he sat there, the car engine chugging, waiting for the light to turn green, Finn wondered what was waiting for them at Wellfield Hospital. In their morgue.
Just as the light pinged green, his phone rang. He glanced at it on his dashboard.
“Dammit,” he grumbled. It was a call he had been dreading all day.
Quickly, he answered it and put it on speaker. A row of cars behind beeped their horns in frustration as he did so.
“All right, all right!” he said loudly as though the drivers in the other cars could hear him. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
“Are you talking to me?” a calm, wise voice said on the speaker.
“Director Seward,” Finn said. “Sorry, I’m driving a French car on British streets.”
“Sounds delightful,” the director said earnestly.
“You’d think,” Finn said. “England is beautiful, but the roads don’t make sense to me, and I’d be better walking than driving this car.”
“How are things otherwise?” Seward asked.
“Fine,” Finn lied, thinking of Demi and also of his upcoming court case. Then there was the current DeGrey fiasco.
“I hear the UK Home Office has asked for your services again?” Seward said, his voice commanding even over the phone’s speaker and thousands of miles away.
There was a moment of silence. “Did my lawyer tell you that?”
“Philip mentioned you getting a call in a coffee shop to join a case this morning. Is that correct?”
Finn sighed. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to explain himself to his boss and mentor at the FBI. He knew there was trouble brewing between them.
“Yeah, that’s right.” There was no point in pretending otherwise. The second the British press found out the two DeGrey deaths were murders, it would be all over the place.
“Finn,” Seward said in a fatherly tone, “you’ve got to stop this. Come home and prepare for your case.”
“Why should I?” Finn replied, aggravated. “The FBI is hanging me out to dry for what happened during the Nancy Milligan hostage situation. I saved that girl’s life.”
“You disobeyed a direct order by going in and not waiting for hostage negotiators,” Director Seward said. “I don’t want to go over this again.”
“And now I’m being held accountable for damage to public property, and my badge as a special agent is in jeopardy? All for doing the right thing? At least here I feel appreciated by my new partners.”
Another silence. “Spending your time moonlighting with the British constabulary is not going down well with my superiors. One false move and you could cause an international incident. I’ve done everything I can for you on my end, Finn. It’s time for you to meet me halfway.”
Finn took a deep breath as he continued through the traffic. “I appreciate that. I appreciate you and everything you’ve done for me. I’m not turning my back on that, but… I… I’ve got to work through all this stuff that’s running through my head, and I’d rather do that here for a few more days than head back to the US and run through questions with my lawyer, when, to be honest, the outcome seems decided already.”
“You can’t know that.” Seward sighed. “Look, take a few more days. But if you don’t come back by the end of the week, there’s going to be no time to prepare.”
“What do you mean?” Finn asked, surprised. “The hearing isn’t for another three weeks.”
“No, Finn. We just got word, it’s been moved to next week.”
A cold dread washed over Finn. He tried to take that in. It felt like a stay of execution had suddenly been canceled. If the case went the wrong way, this time next week, he would no longer be Finn Wright, Special Agent with the FBI. He’d just be plain old Finn Wright, the kid who grew up through poverty, pain, and loss, all to reach some island of accomplishment in life, only for all that to then be taken away. Finn wasn’t sure if he’d be the same person after that.
Cut adrift, he was scared he would sink back into old habits and ways he had long since buried within himself.
“I can’t leave Amelia and Rob here, not until I’ve solved this case,” Finn said. But deep down, he wondered whether it was loyalty to his newfound team or fear of what he would have to face in his professional and personal life that was stopping him from returning home.
“You do what you want, Finn,” Director Seward said. “I’m trying to give you the best chance possible to keep your job. It’s up to you whether you take that chance. I have to attend to something. Be safe. And… good luck, son.”
The call ended. That last word cut Finn like a knife. Director Seward was the closest thing he had to a father figure in his life. The director using that word made Finn feel like even more of a disappointment, like he was turning his back not just on a mentor, but on family.
Up ahead, the traffic calmed for a moment, and Finn tried to think through it all, but his attention was then taken by the sight of Winters’s car heading down a small winding lane. Finn followed as closely as he could until there it was, the old Victorian building of Wellfield Hospital.
It stood there, gray bricks darkened further by over a century of London rain and fumes. Countless windows never blinking, even in the presence of death. A constant staring match that could only ever go one way.
Deep in the basement, the morgue was waiting. Cold metal, sterile surgical knives, and body bags.
Two of which contained answers for Finn and Winters. Two of which contained the remains of the DeGreys.
CHAPTER TEN
Standing in the corridor, looking at the dull metal in front of him, Finn could hardly see his own reflection, and instead could just about make out the blurred outline of Winters next to him.
“After you,” Finn said as the metal elevator doors opened with a dull ping, which in turn was deadened by the dim fluorescent hallway.
“Age before beauty,” Winters replied.
“What age are you?” Finn said, still waiting in the quiet hospital corridor.
“Twenty-nine,” Winters answered.
“Same as me. Which month?” Finn asked. The doors tried to close and Finn stopped them with his arms. They then opened up again, rattling to a stop out of sight. The elevator stayed vacant like an open grave.
“October,” Winters said.
“Ha!” Finn exclaimed. “I was born in November, that makes you one month older!”
“In that case,” Winters said calmly, moving past him, “I guess it’s age and beauty first, then.” She grinned and stepped into the elevator.
Finn followed and the doors closed with a shudder.
Despite the momentarily warm conversation, Finn had been struck by how quiet Winters had been since arriving at Wellfield Hospital.
He pressed the button for the basement, and the elevator stuttered and began to descend into the depths of the old hospital.
“This thing could use some work. I wonder if this elevator goes to hell,” Finn whispered. “It feels like it.”
Winters didn’t reply. She seemed distant again.
Finn tried to lighten the mood. “If we get stuck in here, I have saved up some great stories for just such an occasion. For example, one time on duty, I had to wear a gorilla costume while arresting someone dressed as a giraffe. I bet you a hundred bucks you won’t guess why we were dressed like that.”
Winters didn’t say anything. To Finn, it looked as though she was gazing into the warped blur of the metal doors and losing herself.
“Winters?” Finn said. But she didn’t reply. “Amelia…” Finn touched her gently on the shoulder.
“Oh, sorry,” Winters said, shaking her head. “I was in a wee dwam.”
“Wee dwam?” Finn asked.
“My Aunt Jessie lived in Scotland when I was a girl,” she explained. “I used to stay with her sometimes. It’s an old Scottish way of saying daydream.”
“I’d love to visit Scotland one day,” Finn said.
“Yeah, it was a big part of my childhood,” Winters said as the elevator, with another metallic shudder, ground to a halt.
“I thought you grew up in England,” Finn said, the doors now opening to reveal a quiet, sterile, white and gray corridor that went on for some distance.
“I did,” Winters replied. They stepped out together into the quiet basement area. “But I moved around a lot.”
“That’s why I can’t quite place your accent sometimes,” Finn said. “It’s clearly English, but there’s a little twang to it that’s unusual.”
“I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not,” Winters observed.
Finn took a few steps forward and then noticed that Winters wasn’t following. Instead, she was standing looking past him to the end of the corridor where a large metal door stood. Above it, the word “Morgue” was lit by a wall light.
“Are you coming?” Finn asked.
Winters cleared her throat. Finn noticed that her body language was off. It was a little colder down there than the rest of the hospital, but that didn’t explain the way Winters’s arms were folded across her chest, and how her hands were sitting in what was almost a still self-embrace.
Finn knew that was a clear sign of trying to comfort an anxiety.
“What’s going on, Amelia?” Finn asked in a soft voice.
Winters didn’t take her eyes off of the morgue at the end of the corridor.
“I’m sorry. I thought I could come here and it wouldn’t matter.”
“You’ve been here before?” Finn asked, already knowing the answer.
Winters nodded. “Yes.”
“It wasn’t for work, was it?”
Winters shook her head. “No.” She then looked down at the floor as if trying to compose herself.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Winters shook her head again.
“I can go in by myself…” Finn suggested.
Finally, Winters looked up and then walked up to Finn. She patted him on the arm, gently. “It’s okay, Finn. Just a memory. A bad memory. But I’m okay now.”
She then took the lead and started marching purposefully for the door to the morgue.
Finn watched her steam ahead for a moment and wondered. A memory came to him, a conversation weeks ago during their first case together. Winters had mentioned that she was engaged once but the man died.
Finn now wondered if that was who she was thinking of; had her fiancé once lay on a cold metal slab in that morgue up ahead?
Winters reached the door and Finn quickly caught up. Winters knocked, and the door opened, revealing a man with balding black hair, glasses, and a white lab coat.
“Ah, you must be Inspector Winters and Mr. Wright?” the man said.
“Some do indeed say that I am Mr. Right,” Finn said with a grin, stepping into the morgue, trying to protect himself from the solemn atmosphere as best he could.
_preview.jpg)
