Page 6 of When You're Alone

Once Rob's footsteps faded, Finn and Amelia turned back to Theodore, who pocketed his handkerchief, visibly struggling to maintain composure. Amelia gave him a measured look. "We've just been at Sir Richard's study. Now, we need to gather information about the last people to see him alive. Let's startsimple—who was the last person to speak with Sir Richard before he was found?"

The manager pursed his lips. “From what I’ve heard, it was Frederick, one of our staff. He’s a junior member on the service team, assigned to late-night rounds and guest requests.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Frederick. Right, we’ll need to talk to him.”

"Yes," Theodore agreed. He straightened his shoulders as though reminding himself of his managerial duties. "He's quite shaken, understandably. I left him in a small lounge off the main corridor, with one of our waitresses comforting him."

“Show us,” Amelia said, her tone gentle but insistent.

Theodore turned and led them through the corridor, taking a direction opposite to the grand staircase they’d used earlier. As they walked, they passed a lavish sitting room with old oil paintings and ornate furniture, but it was the next room that caught Finn’s eye. Through a set of open double doors, he glimpsed a spacious hall—perhaps the club’s games room. Polished wooden floors reflected warm light from high brass chandeliers, while a row of green-baize tables stood at the center.

Finn paused, scanning the tables. “So this is where the members spend their leisure hours, I presume?”

“Indeed,” Theodore replied, his voice careful. “Games, billiards, friendly card sessions. The membership prides itself on tradition, you see. We offer activities that have been part of the club’s culture for generations.”

Amelia arched an eyebrow. “Card sessions. So, they do play? But no gambling?”

The manager's hand went immediately to his handkerchief, but he only patted his chest, apparently resisting the urge to wipe more sweat from his forehead. "Correct, Inspector. Officially, no betting. Members can play for fun if they wish, butwe maintain a strict policy against wagering. It's in the club's bylaws, and we are prohibited by law to allow high-stakes poker games."

Finn caught the slight tremor in Theodore’s voice. The manager’s face had tightened the moment “gambling” was mentioned. Amelia must have noticed it too; her gaze narrowed, though she said nothing.

Theodore’s pace picked up as he led them away from the games room, through another handsome corridor decorated with gilded mirrors and framed photos of past club events. Eventually, they stopped at a modest wooden door.

“This is the lounge,” Theodore said. “Frederick’s inside with Maggie, one of our waitresses.”

He pushed the door open to reveal a snug room far less grand than the other areas of the Monarch Club. Soft chairs and a low table sat on a thick rug, the walls paneled in dark wood that seemed to muffle all outside noise. A faint whiff of lemon cleaning product hung in the air, suggesting it didn’t see as much traffic as the main halls.

On a small sofa to the left, a young man in a uniform—presumably Frederick—sat hunched forward, his face buried in his hands. Beside him was a woman with honey-blonde hair coiled in a neat bun, wearing a waitress’s black-and-white attire. One of her hands rested gently on Frederick’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“That’s Maggie,” Theodore said softly. “She’s been trying to help him calm down.”

Amelia nodded. “Thank you, Theodore. We’ll take it from here. Could you and Maggie give us a few minutes with Frederick?”

Maggie looked up, surprise crossing her expression as she realized the manager was not alone. “Yes, of course,” she said with a polite smile. She stood, smoothing her uniform skirt. Shewas in her late twenties, perhaps, with a kindly face and warm hazel eyes that flicked from Frederick to Finn and Amelia as though weighing their intentions. “Frederick, I’ll be right outside if you need me, alright?” she told him gently.

Frederick lifted his gaze to meet hers, nodding gratefully. He seemed pale and exhausted.

Theodore lingered near the door, wringing his hands. “I’ll be just around the corner if you need anything,” he said, his voice thick with reluctance. Nevertheless, he took Maggie’s cue and stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind them.

Alone in the lounge with Frederick, Amelia and Finn approached carefully. The plush rug absorbed their footsteps, so it felt like they glided across the room.

Amelia took a seat in a chair opposite Frederick, while Finn stood slightly behind, arms crossed in a stance that was approachable yet poised. “Frederick,” Amelia said, her tone gentle but firm, “we’re Inspector Winters and Finn Wright, a consulting detective with the Home Office. We’d like to ask you some questions about the last time you saw Sir Richard Doyle. Is that alright?”

The young man nodded, clearing his throat. Up close, he looked no older than his mid-twenties—a bit underweight, hair hastily combed, uniform shirt slightly rumpled. “Yes. Whatever I can do to help.” His voice trembled.

“Take your time,” Amelia encouraged. “We understand this is distressing.”

Finn pulled over a small stool, sitting near Amelia but leaving the main focus on her questioning. She had a knack for putting people at ease in interviews, and it seemed Frederick needed kindness more than intimidation.

Amelia began, “When was the last time you saw Sir Richard? And where?”

Frederick swallowed. “It was… last night, quite late. Possibly around midnight. He was in his private study. I knocked to inform him the kitchen would be closing.” He paused, eyes flickering with memory. “He told me not to worry… that he wasn’t hungry anyway. He even made a small joke about how late-night eating was bad at his age.”

Finn glanced at Amelia, remembering what they had heard from the crime scene. This lined up with the timeline so far.

Amelia pressed gently, “After that, did you see him speak to anyone else or leave the room?”

Frederick shook his head. “No. I just apologized again about the kitchen, and he slipped me some money as a tip. I’ve always been surprised by his generosity. It can be uncommon around here. Then I left him. Everything seemed normal.”

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