Page 41 of When You're Gone

"Damn it," Finn muttered,scrubbing a hand over his face. He could feel the throb of the blow he'd takenearlier, a reminder of how close danger was. They were always one step behind,reacting instead of preventing.

"Did you see anyone?"Amelia asked, her gaze scanning the room as if she might find the answer etchedinto the ornate cornices.

"Nothing," he admittedwith frustration, the word tasting bitter.

"Then we have to assume thekiller is watching us." Amelia stood, her movements hinting at restrainedanger. "They're mocking us, Finn. Killing right under our noses."

Finn nodded, his jaw set."Let's secure the scene, get statements from everyone here. Someone musthave seen something."

"Right." Amelia's eyesnarrowed as she began issuing orders to the responding officers who were nowflooding the scene.

Finn's heart clenched like a viseas he gazed down at Clara's lifeless form, the weight of guilt settling heavyon his shoulders. He saw her peaceful face, robbed of life too soon by a crueltwist of fate. The image seared into his mind, a stark reminder of the dangerslurking in the shadows they chased.

Amelia, ever perceptive to hisinner turmoil, placed a comforting hand on Finn's shoulder. Her touch was alifeline in the darkness that threatened to consume him. "It will be okay,Finn," she murmured softly, her voice a beacon of solace amidst the chaos.

Finn's jaw tightened, his gazesteely as he met Amelia's understanding eyes. "Nothing will be okay untilVilne is stopped once and for all," he declared with unwaveringdetermination. The specter of Vilne loomed large in his mind, a malevolent forcethat needed to be eradicated to bring justice to those who had fallen.

Amelia squeezed his handreassuringly before straightening up. "We need to search Clara Redwood'shome for any clues," she suggested, her mind already racing ahead to thenext lead in their relentless pursuit of truth.

Finn nodded grimly, the resolvehardening in his expression. "That's about all that's left to usnow," he agreed, steeling himself for what might lie ahead.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The afternoon had deepened itsclaim over the city when Finn and Amelia arrived at Clara Redwood's apartment,tucked away in a cobwebbed corner of London where the modern age seemed to havehesitated. The streetlamps began to cast long shadows on the ground underdarkening skies, mimicking the bars of a jail cell—a fitting prelude to asearch for truth among secrets.

"Charming place," Finnremarked dryly, his voice barely above a whisper, as they ascended the narrowstaircase with steps that protested each footfall.

Amelia's reply was lost in herfocus, her eyes already scanning for the unseen, the overlooked. Theirfootsteps halted before the door marked 3B, a nondescript wooden sentinelguarding the threshold to what they hoped would be answers.

Finn produced a key, courtesy of aquick stop at Clara’s landlord’s to collect what was needed after the coronertook Clara away. The lock gave way with reluctance as though aware of theinvasion of privacy they were about to commit. They stepped into the gloom, thescent of aged paper and lavender greeting them, an olfactory epitaph to Clara'spresence.

"Let's make it quick,"Amelia said, her voice a stark contrast to the silence that enveloped the room."We're not here to judge her decorating choices."

"Wouldn't dream of it,"Finn replied, a hint of amusement in his tone despite the gravity of theirtask. He moved to the bookshelf crammed with volumes on Victorian history andancient computing, his fingers grazing the spines as if coaxing secrets fromthem. Nothing.

Amelia sifted through a pile ofmail stacked neatly on a hall table—a mix of bills and catalogs for antiqueauctions. Each piece discarded with a shake of her head; these were the mundaneconcerns of life, not the breadcrumbs of a murderer.

"If we don’t findsomething…" she muttered, frustration nipping at her words.

"We have our skills,"Finn countered, crouching to scan the lower shelves. His hand paused on apeculiarly out-of-place computer manual wedged between treatises on steamengines and social etiquette. Pulling it out, he flipped through pages expectingannotations or hidden notes. But like the rest, it held no revelations—justdiagrams and technical jargon.

"Check her desk,” Finnsuggested, moving toward the window to let in some ambient streetlight."Personal papers might give us something more... intimate."

Amelia approached the antiqueroll-top desk, its surface a landscape of old letters and photographs. Shebegan examining each item with a methodical precision honed by years of policework. Yet, the search yielded little more than reminders of a life abruptlyended—a concert ticket stub, a faded postcard, grocery lists written in hurriedscript.

"Damn it," Finn sworeunder his breath. A sense of urgency gnawed at him—time was their most preciouscommodity, and it was slipping through their fingers like the dust motesdancing in the shafts of light.

"Keep looking," Ameliainsisted, though her voice betrayed a trace of doubt. They were missingsomething, a vital piece obscured by the everyday veneer.

As they delved deeper into theremnants of Clara's existence, surrounded by the artifacts of her passions andpursuits, somewhere amidst the clutter of a life cut short—an answer whisperingthrough the silence, was waiting to be heard.

Finn's fingers traced the edge ofan old leather-bound ledger, his eyes scanning the faded entries for anythingthat might signal a deviation from the mundane. He was too seasoned to let hoperise unbidden, yet every nerve stood on alert for that elusive spark ofconnection. The room felt crowded with ghosts, the air thick with the residueof lives snuffed out.

"Mark had a thing forantiques," Amelia said suddenly, her voice slicing through the silence.She was sifting through a box of Clara's personal effects, her back to Finn. Asepia-toned photograph of a young couple—Clara and Henry, perhaps—lay discardedat her feet.

Amelia had very rarely spoken ofher dead fiance in such casual terms. Finn didn’t want to make a big deal outof it, but he knew that it was.

"Did he?" Finn asked, theledger momentarily forgotten. He turned toward her, observing the set of herjaw, the way her fingers lingered on a small, intricate brooch.

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