Page 5 of When You're Lost

Finn exchanged a glance with him, stepping over to the iron gate and to the spot at its threshold.He crouched, noting the dark stains.“Victim’s blood,” he surmised, “but no sign of drag marks in the grass or soil of the garden.She must’ve stepped outside to the lane on her own, or been coaxed.”

Rob nodded.“A local lad, Tyler, was on his way to check on Ms.Palmer.She’d told his mother, Daisy, that she was afraid someone was snooping around.She was expecting Tyler—only instead…”

“She got her killer,” Finn finished grimly.His gaze flicked to the iron gate.It stood partially open, leading to a narrow lane behind the hedge.“So the body ended up somewhere else entirely?”

“Yeah.Tyler found her, but not here.He noticed something nearby.We’ll show you,” Rob said.He gestured for Finn to follow.Finn slipped on a pair of forensics gloves from his jacket pocket.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” he muttered to the small forensic team swabbing the area around the dark patch.They nodded, letting him pass.He felt a chill at the notion of an elderly woman confronted right here, presumably by someone with enough intent to kill and then move her corpse.

Finn glanced at the lane, which stretched North to South for a distance, flanked on one side by intermittent cottages, and the other by large fields, eagerly awaiting the summer.The ground was loose dirt and pebble.A few more forensics techs busied themselves.“So where’s the body exactly?”

Rob pointed across the lane to a field that stretched out behind a low fence.“Over there.”

Finn followed his line of sight.A drab cornfield sprawled across the landscape, though at this time of year the corn was long gone—just the skeletons of dead grass and brittle stalks.From this vantage, Finn couldn’t see anything but uniform dryness.He frowned.“No sign of blood along the way, though?If they dragged her body across, it should leave a trail.”

Rob gave him a tight shrug.“That’s what we found odd.”

Finn crouched near a patch of disturbed earth.A faint line, like something had been pressed or pulled across the ground, cut through.He reached out and carefully lifted a tiny scrap of blue thread from the dust."Looks like part of a tarp or cloth.It could mean the killer moved her in it.That would explain the lack of blood trail—like wrapping a painting in protective fabric."

Rob blinked at Finn’s analogy.Then he shouted to one of the forensic experts, “Hey, can we get a photo and bag here?We’ve got a potential thread sample and drag mark!”

The forensic lead hurried over.Meanwhile, Finn rose and eased into the field.Stalks of last summer’s crop lay flattened, leaving patches of nothing but dried, lifeless grass.He saw a cluster of people in the distance near what looked like a small pond or water collection area.

He slogged toward them, feeling the uneven ground shift under his feet.Rob caught up, stepping carefully to avoid trampling possible evidence.Approaching the group, Finn spotted a single woman—light hair swept into a loose ponytail—who stood slightly apart from the uniformed officers.She was stooped over a shape on the ground.

Finn’s jaw clenched at the sight of the body.Victoria Palmer, face down, with her head… separated… resting close to the shoulders but turned inward.He glanced away just for a moment, forcing composure.Then, stepping up, he addressed the woman.“Finn Wright.I’m with the Home Office in a consulting capacity.”It felt oddly formal, but seeing the victim’s decapitated form rattled him enough to resort to crisp introductions.

The woman straightened.She was in her mid-thirties, tall, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes.She wore a dark jacket and a scarf looped casually at her neck.Despite the gruesome body at her feet, she seemed poised, if a bit grim.“Doctor Eleanor Matthews,” she replied.“We’ll be working together, I hear—since your usual partner is otherwise occupied.”

Finn was aware of a subtle arch in her brow, as though she found the entire situation more intellectually engaging than horrifying.“Seems so,” he managed.“Rob said you have a background in British and European art.”

She nodded.“Yes.Specializing in eighteenth and nineteenth-century works.But I’ve studied quite broadly.That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

Finn tried a half-smile, glancing at Rob.“So, hopefully we’ll get to do some art appreciation once we wrap this up.”

Doctor Matthews regarded him with cool disapproval.“I’m here for a very specific purpose.This murder, and the manner in which the victim was… displayed… has an artistic element.”

Rob piped up.“Forgive him, Doctor.Finn’s an outstanding detective, but sometimes his sense of humor arrives at the wrong moment.”

Matthews brushed aside a strand of hair.“One cannot always blame humor for a lack of observation.”

Finn cleared his throat.“All right.So, what is this ‘specific purpose?’To be a pain in the ass?”

She rolled her eyes, turned her attention back to the body, then motioned around the field.“Tell me what you see.”

He followed her gaze.The body’s position was deliberate: face-down, arms at the sides, head placed near the hand as if it had rolled there.The small pond behind the victim reflected a now dull gray sky.There was dried grass everywhere—no sign of the tarp.“A murder scene,” he offered.“Decapitation at the garden gate, presumably.Then the killer placed or posed her here, in the field, near the pond.No sign of a tarp, so they must have taken it with them after dragging the body with it.”

Matthews nodded, crossing her arms.“Sure.But do you notice anything else?”

Finn blinked, scanning again, trying to catch a clue: footprints, tire tracks, some sort of pattern in how the victim was placed.The stance of the arms?The angle of the head?He found nothing obvious.“I’m… not sure,” he admitted.

Doctor Matthews’ expression softened, but urgency filled her voice.“Time is short, Mr.Wright.The killer staged this to echo a famous painting—one that belongs to the British tradition.Look at the pose of the body, the presence of a water source, the farmland.”She lifted a brittle length of grass from the ground.“In summertime, this is a cornfield.”

Finn’s eyes widened.“Constable’s ‘The Cornfield’?But I’m no art expert.I vaguely recall a child drinking from a stream in that painting.”

Matthews nodded.“Among other details.The point is, the killer is copying a well-known composition.Decapitation aside, the scene is reminiscent of that painting’s arrangement.They’re creating an artistic statement.And if they’re referencing historic art, I suspect this won’t be the last time.”

Finn inhaled slowly, glancing at Rob.The presence of an art theme meant this might be the work of a killer with a bizarre, methodical plan.Finn knew people like that rarely stopped at one victim.

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