Page 10 of When 're Silent

As they crossed the thresholdmarked by fluttering police tape, the silence bore down on them in oppositionto the opulence that surrounded them. The murder scene lay ahead, meticulouslycordoned off, yet nothing could restrain the cold presence of death thatsaturated the air. Finn’s gaze fell upon Dominique’s body; her pale featureswere set in an expression of shock and agony. The stillness around them feltlike a heavy cloak, and he knew this case would peel back layers far beyondwhat the eye could see.

“I’ll be at the lobby if yourequire me,” Jones said, looking ill.

“No worries,” Finn answered with akind smile. He knew how sick a scene like that could make you, and he felt noill will to any police officers who didn’t have the stomach for a murderinvestigation.

“Notice the pose,” Finns said,firmly.

Amelia nodded. “Knees bent, handsoutstretched, palms up... Looks like the killer posed her that way.”

“I wonder if it has a religiousconnotation,” Finn mused. “The way her body is, it almost reminds me ofcrucifixion.”

“I saw her in the West End oncedoing a play... I thought she seemed immortal. Didn’t stand a chance, here,poor woman,” Amelia murmured next to him, her voice betraying a hint of sorrowfor the fallen star of Thornheart Manor.

“Looks that way,” Finn replied, hiseyes never leaving the corpse as he knelt beside it. His fingers hovered close,careful not to contaminate the scene, as he traced the air above her twistedform.

A shiver ran through him, not fromthe creeping chill but from the realization of what lay before him. The methodof murder was theatrical, calculated. It spoke volumes of the killer’sintentions and possibly their identity. Finn’s mind, a catalog of crime scenespast, thought that there was something familiar about the kill and the positionof the body, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it just yet.

“There’s soil on her arm,” Finnsaid. “She wasn’t murdered here. She was moved indoors. We should haveforensics check the grounds for any sign of blood.”

“Agreed,” Amelia said, watchingclosely.

“Winters, look at this,” he thensaid, his voice low and steady. “The wounds to the side of the body, thepositioning—it’s not random either. I can’t tell for certain, but even the stabwounds look staged somehow. There’s something false about this all, like thestage has been set for maximum effect.” He could almost hear the echoes ofapplause from Dominique’s recent performance, where she had brought history tolife on stage. But now, it seemed history had been reenacted in her death.

Thornheart Manor, with its stonegargoyles peering down from the eaves, became an even more sinister backdropfor the investigation. Finn wondered if the murderer had chosen this place,this method, to send a message. As he stood and stepped back from the body,Finn felt the weight of the challenge before them. They were not only huntingfor a killer but deciphering the narrative of a murderer who had turned deathinto a spectacle.

"Execution-style," Amelianoted, her analytical mind already piecing together the profiles and motives."If this was staged, the body moved after the kill, it's too specific. Shewas an actress, after all."

“Exactly,” Finn agreed, his jawtightening. The killer was taunting them, hiding behind the curtain of history.Yet every act leaves a trace, and Finn Wright was determined to uncover it. Achill ran through the room as if a ghost walked by.

“Art imitating life or vice versa,”Finn murmured, more to himself than to Amelia, who was meticulously examiningthe body’s position.

Finn’s mind churned with the grimtableau before him; Dominique’s body lay still and pale, her last moment anexpression of unspeakable horror frozen in time. Finn’s eyes, however, weredrawn not to the body but to the artifacts left behind—a message from thekiller. There was something beside her.

The note was aged, its edgesfraying and the ink faded to a dusky brown. The words were English, but fromanother era. Its placement was conspicuous, just inches from Dominique’soutstretched hand as if she had been reaching for it. Stooping down, Finn useda gloved finger to hold down one corner of the paper, which the ghostly chillthreatened to steal away. He read the older English script, the words crypticyet laced with arrogance.

“Thou art slain... no medicine inthe world can do thee good,” he recited softly. The verse was from Shakespeare,‘Richard III’, a play steeped in treachery and death, but just as he was aboutto tell Amelia this, she interrupted.

“Richard the third,” she said,calmly, smiling with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t think a good English girlhad never studied Shakespeare, Finn?”

Amelia’s mind as well as her beautyexcited him, even when close to such hostile crimes. His lips formed a thinline as he stood back up, feeling the tendrils of a theory taking root. Thekiller had not only reenacted a historical execution but left them a literarybreadcrumb. This murderer wanted their deeds to be seen, understood, andmarveled at—as if murder were a form of perverse artistry.

“Showboating,” he muttered, hisgaze sweeping the floor for more clues. That was when he saw it.

“Doesn’t it look like Dominique’shand is almost pointing?” Finn said.

“Come to think of it, her indexfinger...” Amelia kneeled down on the ground and followed the line from thedead woman’s hand. With gloved hands, she pulled something out from beneath anantique sofa, stood up and put it in Finn’s hand.

And there it was, gleaming dullyagainst the blue latex of his glove—a small metal disc imprinted with a symbol.A signet ring’s emblem, unmistakably deliberate in its placement by the killer.Finn crouched once more, eyes narrowing as he inspected the sigil—an intricatecrest that spoke of lineage and legacy. It was familiar in a way that gnawed athim, a piece of a puzzle that he couldn’t quite place.

“Amelia,” he called without lookingup, “take a look at this.”

She moved closer, peering over hisshoulder at the emblem. Her breath caught slightly, a reaction not lost onFinn. He knew that she, too, understood the weight of their discovery.

“It looks like an old coat ofarms,” Amelia said. “Wealthy families all have them, and they would once wearsignet rings like that to showcase the influence of their family lineage.”

“Someone’s playing a game with us,”Finn said, his voice low and steady. “This was too easy to find. The killer hasstaged this, I’m certain of it.”

“Then the killer wanted us to findthis,” Amelia replied, determination etching her features. “That’s a dangerousmindset. Perhaps he wants us to stop him.”

---