Page 14 of When 're Silent

Amidst the sea of documents andphotographs that lay scattered across the desk like leaves in autumn, his eyeswere drawn to a faded playbill, corners worn and ink smudged by time. The boldtype announced a school production of “Mary Stuart” with a flourish that beliedthe tragedy it foretold.

"Amelia, look at this,"Finn said, voice low but urgent, pointing to a newspaper article under themess. The air in the cramped office felt heavier as Amelia leaned over, herpresence a calming force in the maelstrom of their investigation. It was aschool theater program of some sort that brought in professionals to help trainthe students in case they later wanted to apply for a career in the dramaticarts. Looks like it was taken very seriously by all involved. A bit of PR forthe school and the area."

“Rebecca Hanover... she directed aplay,” she observed, pointing to the fine print where Rebecca’s name was listedas the director. “Mary Stuart is about Mary, Queen of Scots, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” he replied. “AndDominique played in Richard III just before her death. Historical figures, bothdethroned, both betrayed.” Finn’s mind raced, drawing lines between points ofdata that seemed disparate but now shimmered with potential relevance. Thiscouldn’t be coincidence. It was too specific, too strange. The thematic echoreverberated through the musty air of the office, mingling with the scent ofold paper and the faint hint of stale coffee.

“Two women linked by more than justtheir untimely deaths,” Amelia added, her tone suggesting she, too, could sensethe undercurrents pulling them towards something deeper.

“Roles that speak of powerstruggles, of being cast down...” Finn murmured, half to himself. His mind wasa whirlpool, thoughts and theories swirling with dizzying speed. The pieces ofthe puzzle were aligning in his head, forming a picture that was stillincomplete, but every bit as unsettling as he feared.

“Is it the plays, the roles, or thehistory they represent?” Amelia pondered aloud, tapping a pen against the edgeof the desk. Her analytical gaze met Finn’s, a silent exchange of ideas andquestions passing between them.

“Or all of it?” Finn suggested. “Amurderer with a penchant for drama—or history. Or both.” He couldn’t shake thefeeling that they were on the cusp of a breakthrough, that the shadows wereparting ever so slightly to reveal the outline of their quarry.

“Let’s see what else we can find,”Amelia said, determination lining her features as she turned back to the files.

Finn nodded, his focus narrowing ashe sifted through the avalanche of information. Each document, each statementwas another step down a path that seemed to spiral into darkness. He knew thedanger of tunnel vision, the risk of seeing patterns where none existed. Buthis gut—a visceral, almost primal instinct honed by years on thefield—whispered that they were on to something.

His hands paused on an interviewtranscript, words leaping out at him: “According to cast members, Rebecca wasobsessed with getting the history right, insisted on authenticity.” It was asmall detail, innocuous to an untrained eye, but to Finn, it was a beacon.Authenticity—the thread that wove through both cases, binding them togetherwith a sinew of purpose.

“History might not repeat itself,but it certainly rhymes,” Finn muttered, feeling the chill of revelation crawlup his spine. They were delving into a narrative penned by a killer, one whodrew from the past to script the present, and it was up to them to write thefinal act, hopefully not with a fountain pen dipped in blood.

Finn’s mind returned to the note assomething else jumped out at him.

“Amelia,” he called softly. “Ithink the killer left those fragments deliberately, like a grim calling card.He wants us to know that he is a stickler for detail and authenticity.”

Amelia nodded.

“And look what I found,” Finngrinned.

She was at his side in an instant,her curiosity piqued by the tone of his voice—a timbre reserved for momentswhen a piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

“The note and the fragments,” hesaid, “Wouldn’t a historian have access to that sort of thing? I mean oldmaterials.”

“It’s possible,” Amelia ventured,brows knitting together as she leaned in closer. “Certainly someone withinterest in that area would be more likely to have access to ancient parchmentand ink.”

“Yeah,” Finn confirmed, his mindalready racing ahead. “So look at this...”

Finn held up a piece of paper withknown associates of Rebecca Hanover. This man here, he seems like someone witha penchant for antiquities, particularly those with a literary slant."

“Professor Harold Hemingway,”Amelia replied, looking at the paper. “This report says that in the daysleading up to Rebecca Hanover’s death, she consulted with him for researchabout a play.”

“An expert on Tudor manuscripts,Old English, and antiques,” Finn added, the edges of the scene before himsharpening with acute clarity. Hemingway’s connection to royal emblems andancient notes was more than just academic—it was personal, intimate. “Giventhat he works near here, it’s more than possible that Dominique Plantagenetcould have also consulted him while preparing for a role. She could have askedhim details about how people lived in antiquity to make her performance moreauthentic.”

“If so, it could be a coincidence,”Amelia countered, though her voice carried a note of skepticism. She wasplaying devil’s advocate, as was her wont, challenging Finn to cement histheory with hard facts. “I mean, an actress and a director probably moved insimilar circles when they lived out here on the coast.”

“Coincidences are the alibis of theunimaginative,” Finn quipped, echoing a sentiment he’d read somewhere long ago.But he knew better than to rely solely on gut feelings and conjecture.

“You really, really want to soundlike a Victorian detective, don’t you?” Amelia smiled.

“Maybe I’ve been reading too muchSherlock Holmes,” he said. “Though I think I’d look good with a pipe, don’tyou?”

Amelia seemed to ignore the joke."We should speak with this professor and find out if he has a connectionto both victims. It's the only thread we have between the cases, other thanboth working in theater and the staging of the bodies."

“Then, let’s get to it,” he saidbefore feigning an English accent and holding an imaginary pipe to his mouth.“The game is on!”

“With care,” Amelia warned, herhand brushing against his for a moment—a fleeting touch that grounded him.“He’s well-respected by the looks of this, connected no doubt considering hisplace of work. Accusations could backfire on us if we’re not certain.”

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