Page 33 of When 're Silent

“Let’s do a quick survey beforefinding where this Margaret Thompson lives,” Finn suggested.

It wasn’t long before he foundsomething. As went to leave Jillian Bruce’s bedroom, and the haunting remnantsof Jillian’s life behind, Finn’s eyes fell upon a small newspaper clippingtucked away in a scrap book—a protest at one of her concerts. And there, inblack and white, was the name again: Margaret Thompson, her dissent loudlyproclaimed beneath the headline. It wasn’t just scholarly theories now;Thompson had actively opposed Jillian no doubt because of her connection toroyalty.

“Amelia,” he said, holding theclipping out to her, “Margaret’s been out there, in the flesh, at the verystages our victim graced.”

“I wonder...” Amelia said, lookingat her phone. “Yes! Here’s a review of one of Dominique Plantagenet’sperformances - interrupted by none other than Margaret Thompson.

Finn grinned.

“Hmm,” Amelia then said. “But herregistered address is hours from here.”

“Then we need to figure out whereshe might... Be...” Finn smiled again at a thought.

“What do you have going on inthere?” Amelia asked.

“Care to take in a concerttonight?” he suggested.

“Why would she go there if sheknows Jillian isn’t going to attend... Unless someone else there could be underthreat?”

“It couldn’t hurt to check out thevenue and speak with people there,” Finn said.

“True,” answered Amelia. “It’spossible someone there knows more about this than us. Besides, some culturemight rub off on you.”

“After you, Madame,” Finn said,cordially.

“Then let’s not keep Ms. Thompsonwaiting,” Amelia replied, her voice laced with urgency. They left theapartment, every step away from the crime scene a step closer to the elusivekiller lurking somewhere beyond the bloodstained walls.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The late afternoon sky, a broodingcanvas of grays, loomed over the Royal Albert Hall as Finn Wright and hispartner Amelia Winters approached the iconic venue. Its Victorian Gothicarchitecture rose like an ancient sentinel amid the sleek glass and metaltowers that pierced London’s skyline. To Finn, the contrast felt like steppinginto a chiaroscuro painting, the past and present clashing in the heart of thecity.

“I always dreamed of being famouswhen I was a kid and singing here,” Amelia muttered, her voice barely audibleabove the murmur of traffic and the distant echo of the Thames.

“If I ask them, maybe they’ll letyou,” Finn replied with a smile, the quip doing little to lighten the sense offoreboding that had settled over him since their arrival.

They crossed the threshold, and thebustling sounds of the city fell away, replaced by the hush of reverence thatalways seemed to accompany such grandeur. The ornate interior, with its lavishfrescoes and gilded accents, was breathtaking, but it did little to distractfrom the grim task at hand.

A man, whose posture bore theburden of recent events, approached them. He was the manager, his face drawntight with concern. His eyes flitted to Finn and Amelia, clear indicators ofnervous energy.

“Inspector Winters, Mr. Wright,” hegreeted, his voice a tremulous note that resonated oddly in the silence of thehall. “Thank you phoning ahead... And for coming so quickly.”

“Of course,” Amelia responded. “Weunderstand this is a difficult time.”

“Jillian was... she was one of ourfinest violinists,” the manager said, leading them through the maze ofcorridors behind the stage. His hands wrung themselves compulsively, anunconscious gesture betraying his inner turmoil. “If there’s anything we can doto bring the perpetrator to justice, we will do it.”

“Her music filled these halls,” hecontinued, his tone wistful, almost forgetting the detectives’ presence. “Now,there’s just this dreadful emptiness.”

Finn stayed quiet, observing theman. He wondered if someone who worked with Jillian might know somethingimportant. Whether they wanted to hide that something or not, that was adifferent matter altogether.

“Was there anything unusual beforethe—before her death?” Finn asked, his question cutting through the somber airlike a scalpel.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” themanager replied, shaking his head. “She was rehearsing for a concert up untilyesterday, seemed in good spirits.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,”Amelia chimed in, her voice steady, hinting at untold stories lurking beneaththe surface of routine.

“Yeah,” Finn agreed, his mindracing through the possibilities, trying to piece together the fragments ofJillian’s last days within these walls.

“Could you show us to Jillian’sdressing room?” Finn asked.

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