Page 5 of When You're Alone

“Anyone in or out, Officer?” Rob asked briskly.

The constable shook his head. “No, Chief. No one’s been permitted inside since we got here.”

“Good,” Rob said. He motioned for Finn and Amelia to don latex gloves. All three snapped on the gloves, a ritual that carried the weight of grim familiarity. The simple act meant they were about to step into someone’s final moments.

Theodore clutched his handkerchief again, sweat dappling his forehead. “He was a member for forty years—FORTY—and… now he’s… well.” His eyes darted to the threshold, as though repulsed by the horrors beyond.

Rob placed a hand on Theodore’s shoulder. “We appreciate your help. Might be best if you wait outside until we finish our initial look.”

The manager swallowed hard, then nodded. “Right. Of course. I’ll… fetch some water.” With a shaky bow, he turned and hurried away, footsteps echoing on the polished floor.

Taking a fortifying breath, Rob pushed open the door. Finn and Amelia followed him into a study reminiscent of an art gallery fused with a private library. The walls were lined with shelves holding first editions and lavish leather-bound volumes. A heavy antique desk dominated one corner, crowned with gilded picture frames. At the far end, an oil portrait of Sir Richard himself—silver-haired and confident—looked down on the proceedings with silent reproach.

Sir Richard Doyle’s body lay face-down in a space between the desk and a high-backed armchair. The hush in the room was profound, as though the ancient furniture itself mourned its master. Rob edged closer, flipping on the overhead light so they could see more clearly.

Amelia crouched near the body. The victim wore an elegant suit, the fabric darkened where blood had seeped through. She noted that Sir Richard’s arms were splayed out in a particular angle. “Look at his arms,” she murmured. “It’s not a naturalfalling position. It’s almost as though someone positioned him after death.”

Finn knelt opposite her, shining a small pocket flashlight. The stillness felt heavy, a jarring contrast to the normal hustle of a crime scene. He glanced at Sir Richard’s features—a man who, in life, had likely projected dignity and command. Now, his face was slack, every muscle undone by violence.

That was when Finn noticed something lodged in the man’s mouth. He leaned in, mindful of preserving evidence. “There’s… something here,” he said, voice hushed. Delicately, he used the flashlight’s beam to illuminate the interior of Sir Richard’s parted lips. “It’s a poker chip.”

Rob’s head snapped up. “A poker chip in his mouth? That’s twisted.”

Amelia drew a short breath, eyebrows lifting. “A statement of some sort?”

Finn straightened. “Hard to say. It could be a reference to gambling debt or a metaphorical message. If he owed someone, this killer might be suggesting he couldn’t ‘pay up.’ Or if someone owedhim, it might signify revenge.”

Rob set a hand lightly on Amelia's shoulder, as if to gather the team's collective thoughts. "So we're dealing with a symbolic murder, possibly linked to poker or gambling. Is this the motive? Money and cards?"

“It’s possible,” Amelia said, adjusting her gloves. “But we can’t confirm anything yet. For all we know, the killer wanted to stage it this way for some reason that has nothing to do with real debts. Or maybe Sir Richard was blackmailing someone. We have to keep every angle open.”

Finn flicked off his flashlight. “We’ll need to speak with staff, find out when Sir Richard was last seen, see if he was known to gamble regularly. And I’d like to know who else is a memberhere. If this is a club for the elite, the suspect pool could be shallow in number but deep in potential secrets.”

Amelia nodded. “Yes, and we should check if the club keeps any form of logs—maybe not cameras, but sign-in sheets, membership logs, or visitors recorded. They can’t rely on total secrecy with a full staff around.”

Rob sighed. “Right. Let’s start with Theodore and the rest of the staff. We’ll get forensics in to examine the body more thoroughly. Then we’ll see who was around last night.”

Finn took one last look at Sir Richard’s lifeless form. The old man’s pose, the forcibly placed poker chip—it all suggested an elaborate staging. “A hand of cards,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

Amelia shot him a questioning glance. “Pardon?”

He shook off the thought for now. “Nothing yet, just… an intuition. Let’s find the staff, shall we?” With that, he rose to his feet, trying to ignore the weight of Sir Richard’s death that hung over the study like a final sentence.

The three of them filed out of the room, each resolved to unravel the truth behind this unsettling murder. Outside, they could hear Theodore pacing in the corridor, and beyond the tall windows, the murmurs of gathered paparazzi indicated that this wasn’t just another violent crime. It was a spectacle—one with the power to shake the pillars of a rarefied London world. Finn cast a final backward glance, certain that whatever sinister secrets lurked in The Monarch Club, they were just getting started.

CHAPTER THREE

Finn and Amelia stood with Rob in one of the Monarch Club’s side corridors, away from the flashing cameras outside. The noise from the paparazzi had turned into a faint hum, but the tension in the air was unmistakable. Theodore Crawford, the balding and increasingly anxious manager of The Monarch, hurried toward them, dabbing at his forehead with a linen handkerchief.

“I just had a report,” Theodore said breathlessly. “More photographers and a television crew have gathered. It’s turning into a madhouse. A few of them even tried to chance their hand and push their way inside.”

Rob exchanged a glance with Amelia and Finn. “I’ll see what I can do about that,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We can post more constables at the entrance if need be.” Then, turning to Theodore, he added, “In the meantime, I want you to provide these two”—he inclined his head toward Finn and Amelia—“with anything they need. I’ve got to handle crowd control and keep the press off our backs.”

“Of course,” Theodore replied, nodding nervously.

Finn clapped Rob on the shoulder. “Make sure they get your good side,” he joked.

Rob managed a half-smile. “Right. Good side, sure,” he said dryly, before striding down the corridor toward the front doors, already placing a call on his mobile phone.

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