When You're Sleeping, page 8
“Yes,” was all Amelia said, sounding as though she were in a dream.
“It would be a nice place to stay in, if we weren't tracking a killer,” Finn said, trying.
“Yeah, it'd be nice,” Amelia replied, as though repeating Finn's words without engaging.
The car wound its way through the Cornish countryside, the road snaking towards Morgan's Bay, a picturesque town that sat nestled along the rugged coastline, currently battered by the elements. Finn drove with a practiced ease, his eyes occasionally darting to Amelia, who sat beside him, her gaze lost in the passing scenery.
The silence in the car was palpable, filled only by the low hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the map in Amelia's hands. Finn had tried to initiate conversation a few times, but Amelia's responses were short, her mind clearly elsewhere.
He glanced at her again, noting the distant look in her eyes. "Everything okay?" he ventured, his voice tinged with concern. "You've been quiet since the train."
Amelia turned her head slightly, her green eyes meeting his. There was a momentary flicker of something – was it sadness? – before she masked it with a halfhearted smile. "I'm fine, Finn. Just thinking about the case."
Finn wasn't convinced. The Amelia he knew was always engaged, always ready with a theory or a quip. This withdrawn version of her was unsettling. "You sure?" he pressed gently. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
She sighed softly, turning her gaze back to the window. "I know, Finn. I appreciate it. It's just..." Her voice trailed off, leaving her thoughts hanging in the air.
Finn waited for her to continue, but when she didn't, he decided not to push. He focused on the road ahead, the quaint cottages and lush greenery of Morgan's Bay coming into view.
As they approached the town center, the quiet of the countryside gave way to the gentle bustle of a small town. People walked along the streets, popping in and out of shops, while cars navigated the narrow roads with courteous patience.
"Can you check your GPS on your phone? I think Williams and Sons is supposed to be on this street," Finn asked, breaking the silence.
Amelia nodded, her fingers tracing the edge of the map. "Yes, it's just off the main street. Hopefully, we can get some answers about this Feldman character and any connection he might have to our victims."
The mention of the case seemed to bring a bit of the familiar spark back into her eyes. Finn was relieved to see it, even if it was fleeting. They had a job to do, and he knew they worked best when they were both fully engaged.
He parked the car in a small lot near the construction company's office, a modest building that stood in contrast to the charming storefronts around it. As they got out of the car, Finn took a moment to look at Amelia.
"Ready for this?" he asked, offering her a reassuring smile.
Amelia nodded, her professional demeanor firmly in place. "Finn, I'm fine. Honestly. It's just this time of year."
She opened the door and stepped out into the rain, closing it behind her. Finn followed suit. The rain was icy cold and immediately made its way down the back of Finn's neck.
"Can we make the next case in the Caribbean?" Finn shouted.
Amelia didn't answer. She dashed through the downpour, Finn following, seeking refuge inside the modest building of Wilson and Sons Construction Company. The rain had come on quickly, a typical Cornish squall that drenched everything in its path.
They shook off the rain as they entered, greeted by the warm interior and the bright smile of the receptionist who sat behind a neatly organized desk. Her demeanor was all cheer and professionalism, a stark contrast to the dreary weather outside.
"Welcome to Williams and Sons," she said. "How can I help you?"
Amelia showed her ID. "I'm Inspector Winters currently with the Home Office."
"We need to speak with Mr. Kilbraid, the owner, if he's available," Finn said, his tone polite yet firm.
The receptionist's smile never faltered as she nodded. "Of course, let me just check if he's in." She rose gracefully and disappeared through a door at the back of the room.
Finn and Amelia exchanged a quick glance, both aware that their arrival might not be as inconspicuous as they'd hoped. In the brief silence of the waiting area, Finn’s ears caught the muffled sound of a low, masculine voice speaking with the receptionist. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone suggested urgency.
"I have a feeling we're about to get the cold shoulder," Finn said.
"I was thinking the same thing," Amelia agreed.
"Oh, look," Finn said, pointing to some magazines. "Dry Wall Monthly. And I thought they wouldn't have anything interesting to read here."
After a moment that stretched a little too long, the receptionist returned, her smile slightly strained. "I'm afraid Mr. Kilbraid must have stepped out on important business. He didn't mention when he would be back. If you leave me your details, I can ask him to phone you tomorrow?"
Finn thought her smile was as real as a leprechaun on a hoverboard
He instinctively raised an eyebrow, his instincts telling him that there was more to the story. "Did he happen to leave any idea of his whereabouts? It's quite important we speak with him."
The receptionist hesitated, her eyes flicking to the door she had just come through. "I'm sorry, he didn’t say. But I can take your contact information and have him call you as soon as he returns?"
Amelia stepped forward, her gaze keen. "We'd appreciate that. It's regarding an ongoing police investigation, so it's quite urgent."
The receptionist nodded, quickly jotting down their details. "I'll make sure he gets the message the moment he's back."
"Okay," Finn said, before making his voice loud enough to be heard through the wall. "We're very busy with this murder investigation, so we might have to send one of our associates later with a warrant. I'm sure your books make for interesting reading."
As he spoke, Finn heard the faint creak of a back door closing somewhere in the building. His senses heightened, he turned towards the sound.
The receptionist looked embarrassed.
"We should go round the back," Amelia said.
"I don't think we'll have to," Finn said, hearing footsteps sloshing through puddles outside.
The front door swung open. A man in a well-tailored suit stepped in, smoothing down his tie. "I'm Mr. Kilbraid," he announced, his voice betraying a hint of unease. He was also out of breath.
The receptionist's face brightened artificially. "Mr. Kilbraid, these officers are from the police. They're investigating a triple murder."
Amelia stepped forward, her tone professional but firm. "Yes, we'd like to ask you a few questions about your employees working at St Martins Castle."
Finn, seizing the opportunity, asked, "Do you usually exit through the back door to come in the front, Mr. Kilbraid?" His question hung in the air like a joke, waiting for a punchline.
Kilbraid’s face flushed with embarrassment. "I... I had to retrieve something from my car."
"It's okay," Finn said smoothly. "We're not here for your financial records, at least not yet. We just need your cooperation."
Kilbraid, now slightly more at ease, nodded. "Of course, I understand. Not that we have anything to hide... What do you need?"
"We need a list of everyone working at the St Martins Castle subsidence site," Amelia said.
Without a word, Kilbraid moved around to the computer at the reception desk and began typing. Moments later, a printer spat out some paper behind them. Kilbraid handed over the printed list.
Finn scanned the names, his eyes pausing when he spotted 'Terrance Feldman.' He showed it to Amelia, who raised an eyebrow in recognition.
"Mr. Kilbraid," Amelia began, her tone even, "are you aware of Terrance Feldman's criminal past?"
Kilbraid’s face fell, and he took a step back, as if the name itself carried a weight. "Terrance Feldman? I... I knew he had a rough past, but I wasn’t aware of any serious criminal history."
"He served five years for attempted murder," Finn added, watching Kilbraid’s reaction closely.
Kilbraid looked genuinely shocked. "I had no idea. I assure you, we run background checks, but sometimes things get missed, especially with older convictions."
Amelia nodded, jotting down notes.
Finn didn't believe it for a moment. They were only interested in cheap labor they could pay under the table without being taxed. But that wasn't Finn's beef, for now. He was only interested in catching the killer, and Terrance Feldman was the only lead they had.
"Do you have an address for Terrance?" Finn asked.
Kilbraid nodded, typed something into the computer and then noted down the address. Handing it over, he said, "I always thought he was a good person."
"They always are until they aren't," Finn said. "We'll be in touch."
Finn turned and looked to the rain outside, still lashing down. He leaned over and grabbed a copy of Drywall Monthly.
"You don't mind if I snag a copy, do you?" he asked.
"No, be my guest," Kilbraid said, clearly wanting the detectives off his premises.
"Thank you," Finn said, opening the door. He then shouted over the rain. "It's a great read... And makes a great umbrella."
Finn put the magazine over his head and stood in the rain. "Amelia?"
Amelia shook her head and stepped out in the rain. They both ran to the car, the sky quickly turning to night. But there would be time before the end of the day for one more journey. A journey to confront Terrance Feldman face to face.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Finn tried his best to make out the darkened land as he drove slowly to avoid ending up in a ditch. The unfocused beam of the car's headlights barely pierced through the curtain of rain that fell from the black sky like cloth. Finn twisted the steering wheel and drove into the caravan site at just below walking pace. The number "30" was visible on the door of a white trailer, not Terrance Feldman's, but close.
"This is cozy," Finn remarked, his tone dry as he peered through the rain to spot caravan number 22. "You know, horror-movie cozy. The type of cozy that makes you throw your popcorn into the air."
Amelia, despite the situation, couldn't suppress a small smile at his comment.
"I used to love going for holidays in caravans," Amelia said. "Sometimes when I was young, it was all we could afford. My Dad used to love playing board games. When we were bored because it was raining, he'd always make it fun with silly voices and even games he made up."
"Do you see your dad much?" Finn asked.
"Look, over there," Amelia said, changing the subject.
Finn stopped the car and killed the headlights.
The caravan was nestled in a far corner of the decrepit site. Its paint peeled and windows were broken, but it still had a certain charm. The rain poured down, drenching everything in sight. Each thick droplet that hit the ground sent ripples across the pebbled path as they sprinted towards the shelter.
"I have a bad feeling about this place," Finn said. "Stay frosty."
"Frosty?" Amelia asked.
"Yeah, you know, alert," Finn said.
"I know what it means," Amelia laughed. "But I just thought it was something soldiers said in the movies."
"Well, you know, I do have those Hollywood good looks," Finn said, opening the door to the rain and stepping out.
"Yeah, like Frankenstein's monster," Amelia said.
"Ouch," Finn replied, leaning back into the car. "Well then, this monster needs back up. Shall we dance?"
Amelia got out, and they walked towards the trailer. With each step they took, the crunch of the gravel echoed like rolling thunder through the gloominess.
Reaching the caravan, they tried their best to stay warm. Despite being able to hear the rain splashing at the windowpane, Finn could see nothing but blackness outside. A chill ran up his spine, feeling as if something was out there, lurking in the shadows and watching them from afar.
Finn rapped on the door of number 22. "Terrance Feldman?" he called out.
The door swung open, and a man with a rugged beard appeared, backlit by the warm light from inside. The scent of something cooking wafted out, momentarily mingling with the icy air of the rainy night. He had an unsettling glare in his eye and a scar that ran down his face like a jagged river. Finn's gut instinct told me something was off, so he quickly readied himself for anything.
"Who wants to know?" the man asked gruffly.
Amelia stepped forward before Finn could answer.
"I'm Amelia Winters, Inspector Winters," she said firmly. "And this is my associate, Finn, a consultant detective with the Home Office."
Finn noticed Terrance's gaze shifting between Amelia and Finn. He was either working out who was the one in charge or which one he would have to barge past to get away.
"We've come here to ask a few questions about your movements last night," Finn asked.
Terrance narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, standing firm like a wall of stone as he leaned against the door frame. "I don't talk to pigs," he said.
Finn turned to Amelia. "Now this guy is talking like he's in a movie."
"If you don't, we can take you in for obstruction," Amelia threatened. "There have been three murders at St Martins Castle and if you want to keep yourself out of suspicion, it would be helpful if you cleared some things up for us."
"We need a word about last night, during the flood," Finn stated, keeping his voice even and focused on the task at hand.
Terrance looked like he was weighing up what to do, and then suddenly his shoulders relaxed and he smiled.
"Sure, come on in," Terrance replied, surprisingly cheerful given the circumstances. Finn and Amelia exchanged glances before stepping into the caravan, dripping rainwater onto the worn linoleum floor. Terrance gestured for them to sit at the tiny table while he returned to his cooking.
"Smells good," Finn commented, trying to keep the conversation light. Terrance grinned, stirring the contents of the pan.
"Thanks. So, what do you need to know? I was here all night," he said casually, flipping a piece of chicken in the pan.
Finn caught Amelia's eye. "By yourself?"
Terrance nodded.
"So there's no one who can verify this?" Finn followed up.
Terrance looked tense for a moment as he stared at the pan. "I've done nothing wrong."
"You have been working at the castle for Wilson and Sons," Finn countered, watching Terrance's face for any signs of panic or guilt. Instead, the construction worker laughed, dismissing the accusation.
"Is that a crime now?" Terrance sniped.
"No," Amelia added. "But you have previous for nearly killing a woman with a knife some years ago. Now three women turn up dead near where you've been working, two of them most likely dying from knife wounds, you understand how that looks?"
"You can't pin that on me. Trust me, I was here," he insisted, but Finn noticed his hand grip the panhandle a little tighter. He then laughed again. "It's not my fault if some random birds bit the dust."
Amelia folded her arms, seemingly unconvinced by Terrance's words.
"Three women have lost their lives, Mr. Feldman. This is no laughing matter," she said sternly. Finn could see her patience wearing thin, an emotion he shared as doubt and suspicion churned in his gut. “And although we don't have all of the forensics back yet, it looks likely to me that they died last night either before or during the flood.”
"Look, I don't know anything about that—" Terrance started, but his voice faltered as Finn sensed a change in the man's demeanor. In a split second, Terrance hurled the pan of hot oil toward Finn, who instinctively ducked, feeling the heat graze his skin.
Terrance pushed past Amelia, knocking her into a kitchen cabinet, banging her head. Terrance then bolted from the trailer into the night.
"Are you okay?" Finn said, moving towards Amelia.
"I'm okay... Get after him!" Amelia shouted, already on her feet and sprinting out the door with Finn close behind. The rain soaked them instantly, but adrenaline kept their focus locked onto Terrance as he darted through the caravan park.
Finn and Amelia charged through the trailer park, each twist and turn leading them closer to their suspect. Finn could feel his heart pounding in his chest with every gust of wind that blew past and icy sheet of rain that soaked him; he knew they couldn't let Terrance escape - he was likely to kill again. As soaked earth flew from beneath their feet and rain ran down their faces, they raced through the trailer park like a labyrinthine maze.
"Split up!" Finn yelled to Amelia, veering off to cut Terrance off from the other side.
"Where are you going!?" Amelia shouted.
But Finn had no time to explain. He could see a way to head Terrance off at the pass. As he closed in on him, Finn's muscles tensed, preparing for the inevitable confrontation. He rushed off to the side and up a small incline, past another trailer and then leaped from above done onto his prey.
Finn lunged at Terrance, tackling him to the wet ground. But Terrance was strong and quick-thinking. He grabbed wet soil from the ground and shoved it into Finn's face.
The wet soil impaired Finn's vision, but he was determined to stay in the fight and, he had no idea if Terrance had a knife on him or not. Despite his blurred vision, Finn managed to dodge Terrance's punches and retaliated with a front kick to the chest, sending him flying backwards into the mud.
Finn scrambled up and approached Terrance with clenched fists. He could feel rage run through his veins as he glared at his suspect with a cold fury. But before he could do anything more, Amelia appeared from nowhere.
"It's okay, Finn. You got him. Calm down."
"Give it up, Terrance!" Finn growled, pinning the struggling man beneath him. Out of breath, Terrance finally stopped fighting, the reality of his situation sinking in.
Amelia stepped forward, handcuffs ready.
"Terrance Feldman, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder," she announced, securing the cuffs around his wrists. As they led him away, Finn couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Despite the weight of his own personal struggles, he'd managed to help capture a dangerous criminal. That was a victory he needed.
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