Page 24 of When 're Silent

"A hitman?" he finallysaid, his voice a low rumble of disquiet. "Every move calculated andswift. Could someone like Professor Hemingway have hired a pro? Feel like I'mchasing shadows."

“Shadows can still lead us tolight,” Amelia countered, her optimism undiminished.

“Let’s hope so,” Finn conceded,feeling the weight of the case pressing down upon him. But it was that verypressure that honed his resolve. This killer had taken too much, hidden toowell. It was time for the shadows to give up their secrets.

Finn ran a hand along the dust-freemantle, his fingertips skimming over the assortment of framedphotographs—smiling faces frozen in happier times. The air hung heavy withsilence, as if the house itself held its breath, guarding secrets of the past.Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow that seemed atodds with the chill settling in his bones.

“Look at this,” Amelia calledsoftly from across the room.

He joined her by the bookcase,where novels and knick-knacks lined the shelves in meticulous order. Shepointed to a row of hardcovers, their spines aligned with military precision.“Even the books... It’s like someone came through here with a ruler.”

“Rebecca may have had an obsessiveattention to detail,” Finn mused, eyes narrowing as he scanned the titles—aneclectic mix that spoke of broad interests or perhaps a mind in search ofdistraction. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that death usually leftbehind; there was no toppling stack of papers, no overturned lamp to mark astruggle. Even in the presence of such order, however, there was an undeniablevoid—a life interrupted.

"Or a deliberate attempt toleave no trace," Amelia offered. Her voice was steady, but Finn coulddetect the underlying strain. They were both feeling the tug of frustration,the nagging sense of being perpetually one step behind a ghost.

“Let’s move on to the bedroom,”Finn suggested, leading the way down the hallway. His shoes made softimpressions on the plush carpet, the sound somehow intrusive in the homelikequiet.

The bedroom door creaked open toreveal a sanctuary that appeared untouched by time or tragedy. The bed was madeup neatly, the comforter’s edges crisp and smooth. A dresser stood against theopposite wall, its surface clear except for a solitary jewelry box and aceramic figurine of a dancer, mid-pirouette.

“God, it’s like she just steppedout,” Amelia whispered, echoing Finn’s thoughts.

He circled the room slowly, takingin every inch—the slight fading of the wallpaper where picture frames had oncehung, the faint scent of perfume that lingered in the air. There was aprecision to everything, an eerie exactness that left the impression of lifepaused rather than stolen.

“I can’t help the feeling that thekiller hung around...” Finn’s voice trailed off. He thought of Dominique’sbody, the same hollow vibe of a staged set waiting for actors who would neverreturn.

“Do you really think the killerwould hang around to... Tidy?” Amelia asked.

“I know it sounds weird,” he said.“But think about it, maybe the killer had so much disdain for his victims, thathe hate to cleanse their environment, too. This wouldn’t be the first casewhere that sort of thing has happened. Like a post-death ritual.”

“I don’t see much else here that wecan get at,” Amelia pointed out.

It was then that something caughtFinn’s eye, something that would have been overlooked by most detectives. Hewalked over to a small shelf where several pictures sat. Various family andfriends stood in the photos, smiling without a care in the world.

“Why are two photo frames faceddown?” Finn asked.

He reached out and lifted one. Init, Rebecca stood in front of a sprawling mansion on a summer’s day. Net to herwere an older couple.

“Her parents, I’d imagine,” Ameliasaid, looking at the photograph in Finn’s hands.

“What makes you assume that?” Finnasked.

“The matching wedding rings,” shesaid. “And you can see the family resemblance with Rebecca. I wonder if thekiller turned the photo downward out of guilt so that the parents couldn’t seehim.”

“I’m not sure our killer has anyremorse,” Finn added. He reached out to lift the other photograph. On it wasthe same mansion from a different angle, this time a young girl about 8 yearsold in a summer’s dress was holding a daffodil in her hands in front of it.

“I don’t think Rebecca had anysiblings,” Amelia mused out loud.

“It’s not the family’s gaze he’sturning down,” Finn said, gruffly. “It’s the house. Where is this?”

Amelia answered straight away.“It’s the Hanover family estate. I’m sure I’ve seen pictures of it before.”

“Is it far?” Finn asked.

“No,” came the answer.

“The killer had a connection tothat place,” he said. “Why else turn its gaze away? I think we need to headthere and see what we can uncover.”

Amelia nodded and looked around.“This place gives me the creeps, anyway.”

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