Page 30 of When You're Alone

Finn touched the side of his new dark hair self-consciously. “Thought I needed a fresh look.”

“Geoffrey's hair was dark like that when we were younger.” She gave a tremulous smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, both of you.”

Amelia let the silence hang for a beat, then asked gently, “Mrs. Wardlow—this was your husband’s study, wasn’t it?”

Rebecca sighed, glancing around. “Yes. Or… it was. I never really spent time in here. Geoffrey insisted on having one room in this penthouse that was purely his domain. I came in here when you mentioned on the phone that you wanted to look at some of his things.”

Finn took in the details: the desk’s smooth surface, the tall-backed armchair, a faint scent of tobacco lingering in the fabric. “Did he also keep a study at your townhouse?” he asked.

Rebecca nodded. “He did, but the most important papers stayed here, in the heart of London, close to his business dealings. I suppose he found it convenient.”

Amelia nodded, stepping closer to the desk. “Mrs. Wardlow, we wanted to ask if you’d allow us to look into your husband’s financial records. We’re trying to see if there was a specific money-related motive behind his murder.”

Rebecca frowned, wiping at the corner of her eye. “His finances? Why?”

Amelia handed over a folded form. “We’re examining the possibility that his death was tied to gambling debts or another financial trigger. This form is a request for access. Ordinarily, you might want a solicitor’s advice first—”

But Rebecca snatched a pen, scribbled her signature hastily, and thrust the paper back into Amelia’s hand. “All I care about is finding who killed him. If money had anything to do with it, I want you to look everywhere.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said softly, setting the signed form aside.

Finn allowed his gaze to travel around the room again. “Would it be all right if we look through some of Geoffrey’s papers here?” he asked. “We’d like to see if anything stands out—account statements, notes, that sort of thing.”

Rebecca managed a wry nod. “Yes, of course. I—I don’t think I can stay and watch you rummage through his desk. That was always his domain. But please, go ahead.” She fished a small set of keys from her pocket, passing them to Finn. “These might open the drawers.”

Clutching her elbows, she crossed to the door and opened it. Pausing on the threshold, she cast a longing look back atthe study. “I wish Geoffrey were here to tell me off for stepping inside without his permission.”

She turned away, leaving them alone as the door shut with a quiet thud behind her.

Amelia slid into the armchair behind the desk, while Finn prowled around, lifting stray files to see if anything looked obviously relevant. Most seemed to concern mundane research—markets, company profiles, future prospects.

“Might be worth a closer look,” Finn murmured, skimming the titles on a few folders. “He was definitely researching multiple companies.”

Amelia nodded in agreement. “We’ll flag them and see if any stand out. Let’s open the drawers.” She tried the first key, which unlocked the top desk drawer. Inside lay a neat stack of cash, a gleaming gold pen, and some pencils rolling loosely in a compartment.

She picked up the gold pen, weighing it. “Fancy,” she said dryly, setting it aside. Her eyes shifted to the next object—a single poker chip.

Immediately, she held it up with a flourish. “Look at this.”

Finn studied the chip’s design. It closely resembled the vintage tokens found on Sir Richard and Geoffrey Wardlow themselves. “Could be the same type,” he said, voice hushed.

Amelia tapped it thoughtfully on the desk. “So maybe the killer and both victims possessed these chips. Or at least, they moved in the same gambling circle.”

Finn shook his head, setting down a stack of papers. “It’d be foolish to have a trophy like this lying around if he was actively paying off debts—unless he needed it for entry or as a reminder. We’ll keep it in evidence.”

Amelia slipped the chip into a small plastic bag from her coat pocket. “That’s everything in the top drawers. Let’s see the bottom ones.”

She crouched and inserted another key into the lower drawer. It opened with a stiff creak. She riffled through the contents—business notes, a thick ledger of addresses—nothing obviously incriminating. Finn joined her on the opposite side.

“Sometimes desks have secret compartments,” he remarked, half in jest, half serious. “My grandfather’s old writing desk had a hidden panel for letters.”

He tugged gently at the wood, noticing a slight gap at the base. Sure enough, the entire bottom panel could be lifted away—though it wasn’t exactly hidden, more like a false bottom. Beneath lay a black leather-bound book.

“Well, it’s not the classic secret compartment,” Finn said with a small grin, “but I think we found something.”

He pulled out the book and flipped through the pages. Columns of figures and scribbled notes filled each sheet.

Amelia leaned in. “A diary?”

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