Page 7 of When You're Alone

“So you didn’t notice anything suspicious outside his door or in the corridor?” Finn chimed in.

Frederick mulled that over, brow knit. “Nothing. It was quiet. Hardly anyone roams that late, except if there's... Guests playing cards or a late drink in one of the smaller rooms.”

At the mention of cards, Finn exchanged a brief look with Amelia. She nodded, taking the cue. “Frederick, we’ve heard rumors. Are there ever ‘unofficial’ card nights here—games that involve a lot of money?”

Immediately, the young man tensed, gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I don’t want to get in trouble, Inspector. The club has strict rules.”

Amelia’s voice remained calm. “We’re not here to get the staff in trouble. But a man is dead, and we need every clue we can get. Was there gambling in the club last night, or any night?”

Frederick’s eyes darted around, as though the walls might have ears. Then he exhaled shakily. “Yes. Sometimes, after midnight, a group of members gather in one of the game rooms. They keep it hush-hush, but… they bet real money, big sums.Most of the staff knows to look the other way. It’s management’s unspoken rule: don’t meddle, so long as no one makes a fuss.”

“How about last night?” Finn asked. “Any sign of an after-hours poker session?”

Frederick grimaced. “I think so, but I’d been running errands around that time. I didn’t see them playing, as I'm not really allowed to be around them when they play because I haven't been here long. If they did, it would’ve been behind closed doors.”

Amelia took a measured pause. “Alright. Thank you. That aligns with what we suspected. You’ve been very helpful, Frederick.”

Tears rimmed the young man’s eyes, clearly shaken by the day’s events. “I can’t believe Sir Richard is gone. He was kind to us… even if some of the members can be—”

He trailed off, seeming uncertain whether to say more. Amelia decided not to push him just yet. “We understand. If you recall anything else—any detail—please let us know immediately.”

Frederick nodded, blinking rapidly.

Finn stood, removing his gloves in an absent-minded gesture. “We appreciate your honesty. We’ll get to the bottom of this.” He attempted a small reassuring smile, though it felt stiff in the weighty context.

They led Frederick to the lounge’s door, opening it to find Theodore and Maggie hovering just outside. Maggie quickly slipped back into the room, throwing Finn and Amelia a thankful look. She moved to Frederick’s side, offering more gentle comfort.

While the waitress resumed consoling Frederick, Finn and Amelia stepped fully into the corridor, closing the lounge door behind them. Theodore waited anxiously, his posture rigid. “Everything alright?” he asked.

Amelia answered with a measured nod. “We spoke with him. He’s had quite a shock, but he gave us some helpful information.”

Finn turned to Theodore. “We’d like a list of everyone who was in the building last night, including members, staff, visitors—anybody.”

The manager bobbed his head in agreement. “Of course. We maintain a sign-in sheet at the front desk for members. I can show you the log.”

“Lead the way,” Amelia said.

Theodore walked them back toward the main reception area. Sunlight poured in through tall windows overlooking the bustling square. Outside, camera flashes still popped as paparazzi jostled near the door, though a pair of constables now held them at bay behind a rope barrier. A tension buzzed in the air—the sense that a single misstep could send the press into a frenzy.

At an imposing mahogany desk near the entrance, Theodore rummaged through a large ledger, flipping pages with hurried motions. He paused, eyebrows knitting. “Strange,” he mumbled, scanning each page more carefully. He then opened a drawer beneath the desk, rifling through more documents. “It should be here, but…”

“What’s missing?” Finn asked, even though he already suspected the answer.

Theodore’s face went ashen. He pulled out the ledger fully, revealing that a section of pages had been torn out. Where once was a crisp binder of sheets, there now lay ragged edges. “The sign-in sheet,” he said, voice trembling. “This is where we keep daily logs of who comes and goes. It’s… it’s been ripped out entirely.”

Amelia and Finn exchanged a grim look. “Someone doesn’t want us knowing who was here last night,” Finn murmured.

The manager exhaled shakily, horror dawning on his features. “This club has prided itself on order and privacy for decades. Now a murder, missing logs… Good heavens, this is a nightmare.”

“It’s a problem, but we’ll solve it,” Amelia said with quiet conviction. “We’ll need you to think if there’s any other record—partial or otherwise—of who entered.”

Theodore gripped the edge of the desk, nodding frantically. "I'll check everything. Old receipts, staff shift rosters, anything that might help, but we are discrete here at The Monarch. The sign-in sheet really is our main record of who comes and goes."

Finn sighed and looked around at the opulent surroundings. Someone was already playing games with them.

CHAPTER FOUR

Amid the lingering hush inside Sir Richard Doyle’s private study, the mood felt markedly somber to Finn. The crime scene lights had been set up, casting harsh angles across the centuries-old wood paneling and the now-empty armchair by the fireplace. Forensics technicians moved about with practiced efficiency, photographing blood spatters on the curtains and carefully bagging fragments of broken glass from a toppled tumbler.

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