Page 30 of When You're Lost

With shaking hands, Robert tore open the envelope.A photograph slid out, dropping halfway to the floor before he snatched it.The camera angle on Amelia’s screen allowed her a glimpse of a blurred image.Robert let out a choked cry.

“Robert?”Amelia’s voice shook.“What is it?”

His voice wavered, tears streaming down his cheeks.“It’s—Rachel… my sister.A photo of her, tied up, gagged.It must’ve been taken before—” He broke off, sobbing openly now.

Amelia felt nausea twist in her stomach.“I understand.”She forced her voice to remain steady.“Is there… is there writing or a note with it?”

Robert turned the photo around.The camera revealed smears of dark crimson letters scrawled on the back.A single phrase: “FAMILY HOLIDAY.”

“It’s… in blood,” Robert choked out, barely coherent.“He’s mocking me.Telling me… telling me he did this as a message.”

Amelia clenched her jaw, anger and pity tangling.“Robert, I am so sorry.We— I promise you, we will do everything to bring Wendell to justice.Your sister deserves that.”

Shankland let the photo slip from his trembling fingers.“He’s a monster.A pure monster.I—I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Her heart clenched at the utter hopelessness in his voice.“Stay with the police detail, Robert.Please.I’ll contact the task force right away about witness protection.We’ll get you somewhere safe, get justice for your sister.”

He nodded, trying to wipe his tears away.“Thank you,” he whispered.His gaze flicked off-screen as more commotion sounded—likely the officer telling him they needed to secure the evidence.“I—I have to go.”

The call ended abruptly, the screen fading to black.Amelia sat there, laptop still open, her mind reeling.For a few seconds, she simply stared at her own reflection in the blank display.The cottage around her felt suddenly cold despite the gentle morning sun outside.

Slowly, she closed the laptop and rose.Her pulse pounded in her ears, adrenaline and sorrow battling inside.She moved to the window, drawing aside the curtain to peer into the cottage’s small garden.The ground was damp, tiny shoots of green just barely poking up, and the early spring air remained chill.No vibrant blossoms yet—just dull buds not quite ready to face the world.

She wondered bleakly if summer would come at all, and whether warmth and life could reassert themselves while Wendell Reed roamed free.His brutal acts defied comprehension, and each new discovery seemed more horrifying than the last.And now, the only thing she could do was pass the information up the chain, keep pressing.Because if Wendell was out there, and he’d fixated on her or anyone else, who knew what his next move would be?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Finn stood in the cramped conference room at Constabulary HQ, waiting for the kettle to finish boiling.The corner “kitchen” setup—complete with a battered kettle, mismatched mugs, and a tiny counter—was as unglamorous as it got, but it would have to do.Though Finn tried to avoid even looking at the sticky-looking microwave.The overhead light clicked for a moment, reflecting off the scuffed floor where older stains hinted at countless spills over the years.

Seated at the worn table, Eleanor Matthews flipped through files regarding the bizarre, art-themed murders.She looked perfectly groomed in her neatly pressed blouse and jacket, though her posture seemed rigid.He couldn’t help noticing she wasn’t as calm as she tried to appear.

Finally, the kettle clicked off with a dull snap.Finn poured himself some instant coffee and waved a mug in Eleanor’s direction.“Coffee?”

She looked up, the tension in her eyes momentarily softened by a small grin.“Thank you, but I’m more of a tea girl,” she replied, a touch subdued.

Finn smirked.“Right, British tastes, sorry—should have guessed.Next time, I’ll dig up some Earl Grey.”

Eleanor’s smile wavered, not quite reaching her eyes.“Yes… next time.”She returned her attention to a stack of witness statements, leafing through them quickly.

Sipping his coffee, Finn joined her at the table.Just then, Rob stepped in through the open door, a grin tugging at his lips.“Morning, you two.Thought I’d see how it’s going before I get sucked into a briefing.Need me to keep the paparazzi off your backs or something?”

Finn grinned, setting his mug down.“We’ll let you know.I think the only cameras we’re dealing with right now are security cams at the Blackthorn Gallery—and they’re not exactly paparazzi.”

“Don’t joke,” Rob teased back.“I bet the press would love to run a story on these staged art murders if they found out the details.”

Eleanor stiffened, gaze flicking to Rob.“We need to avoid leaks at all cost.The killer… might escalate if they see media attention.”She tapped the corner of a file, clearly uneasy.

“Agreed,” Rob said.“So, what’s on today’s agenda?”

Finn exchanged a glance with Eleanor.“We’ve got a new angle,” he explained.“We’re suspecting forgeries might tie into these killings.Harrison Blackthorn’s gallery might have more going on than meets the eye.So we plan to look deeper into how these forgeries got there.”

Eleanor nodded.“And who might’ve produced them.If the paintings themselves were forged, someone was paid or coerced to do it.”She paused, then shrugged.“It’s a possibility we can’t ignore.”

Rob leaned against the table, arms folded.“So you’re diving into the seedier side of the London art world, then?Sounds like fun.”He shot Finn a wry look.

Finn laughed briefly.“I wouldn’t call it fun, exactly.More like stepping into a nest of potential liars, con artists, and black-market dealers.”

Rob grinned.“So your natural habitat.”He playfully jabbed at Finn’s shoulder, then sobered.“Just don’t get lost in the labyrinth.This killer’s cunning, so keep your wits about you.”

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