Page 37 of When You're Forgotten

Finn shrank lower, holding his breath.The man paused at the garden gate, scanning left and right, face partially revealed in the daylight.He had a hawkish nose and a faint scar across his left cheek.Then, evidently satisfied he was unobserved, he slipped through the gate.

Finn let the man gain a few yards' distance, then stealthily followed.The man cut across the lawn toward the tree line, edging the estate.His stride had a certain nimbleness that reminded Finn of the masked intruder's agile moves, though he couldn't be sure.The man paused once by a tall oak, glancing over his shoulder.Finn ducked behind a stone planter, heart thudding, relieved that the man didn't spot him.

Continuing on, the man entered the woods, the canopy swallowing him.Finn lingered at the edge, eyes narrowed, uncertain if he should attempt to trail him further.The occupant of the walled garden might well be the same person who rummaged through James’s study or maybe an accomplice.In any case, he was suspicious.

Finn debated calling for backup: if he confronted this man alone, he might end up outnumbered if there were others in the woods.He reached for his phone, only to remember how easily a simple chase could end in an ambush.Catherine’s fate weighed heavily on him.

Yet the pull of the unknown was strong.He had a chance to uncover the masked figure’s identity, or at least someone with knowledge of the family’s secrets.Gritting his teeth, he pulled up short.The man’s silhouette vanished behind a cluster of pines.If Finn didn’t act now, he’d lose him.

He swallowed his doubt, glancing behind him—no sign of Mrs Hughes or any policeman.The estate’s perimeter was guarded, but these woods offered countless hiding spots.Tensing his shoulders, he started forward, easing into the undergrowth to follow.If this man was linked to Wilkie’s or Catherine’s demise, capturing him or gleaning a clue might prove vital.

Stepping over a low branch, he inhaled the earthy scent of moss and decaying leaves.The forest shadows loomed, dense enough to block direct sunlight.Every twig underfoot threatened to snap, potentially alerting the unknown man.Finn tried to tread lightly, senses on high alert for a glimpse of movement or a cough in the gloom.

The hush of the woods closed around him, reminiscent of the time he chased the masked figure at night.But this was day, and he felt more confident in the partial sunlight filtering through the canopy.Still, his heart thrummed, a taut readiness coiling in his stomach.If the man was indeed the masked attacker, then caution was essential.

He spotted a flash of that scuffed jacket through a break in the trees.The man pressed on deeper.Finn inhaled, summoning nerve.He’d follow carefully, track the man’s route.Perhaps it would lead to a hideout or a meeting with an accomplice.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Finn advanced cautiously through the dense cluster of oaks and conifers, the thick canopy above allowing only faint slivers of daylight to break through.Even though it was midday, the forest floor lay in an eerie twilight, steeped in greenish shadow.He walked slowly, mindful not to snap too many twigs or rustle the underbrush more than necessary.Every sense stayed on high alert—if this was the masked man or another threat, Finn wanted to avoid another ambush.

A bird’s sudden flutter caused him to freeze, heart thumping loudly.For a moment, he thought it might be the man he’d followed from the walled garden.But no, it was just a startled thrush flapping to a higher branch.Drawing a slow breath, he pressed on.The figure he trailed—an older man in a flat cap—had vanished among the trees moments before.With each step, Finn watched for footprints in the loamy soil, for broken branches or any sign of passage.

Gradually, the woods grew denser, trunks closing in so that the path was little more than a faint gap in the greenery.Moss hung from low branches, and damp leaves clung to Finn’s shoes.He paused intermittently, listening for a stray footstep or the rustle of movement.It felt like an unspoken cat-and-mouse game: each time he paused, the forest returned to a hush, broken only by the soft drip of condensation from leaves overhead.

Then, in the distance, he saw a glow that stood out from the natural gloom—a weak, steady light.At once, Finn’s heart gave a lurch of adrenaline.Could it be a lantern or lamp at some hidden hideaway?He pressed forward, weaving past a cluster of ivy-choked trunks.As he drew nearer, the shape of a small cabin emerged from behind a bramble of wild holly.The structure had a makeshift look: rough-hewn logs, a slanted tin roof, and a single window that glowed faintly from within.

Holding his breath, Finn edged closer, stepping lightly over a muddy patch.The cabin had no sign of electricity aside from that lamp, which cast a flickering glow on the wooden walls.Carefully, he peered around the corner, hoping to glimpse whoever was inside.He managed to get close enough to see a window on the side.Rising onto the balls of his feet, he angled to look through.

No immediate figure was visible in that portion—just a small table with scattered gear, a coat thrown over a chair.He strained to see further, leaning a fraction more.Before he could fully adjust, something cold and unyielding pressed against the back of his head.Instantly, his pulse spiked, and he froze.It was a gun barrel.

“Never hunt a man in his own woods,” a voice growled behind him.It was deep, raspy, and unmistakably the same older man from the walled garden.“Turn around slow-like, hands where I can see them.”

A jolt of fear flashed through Finn, but he forced a calm tone."Easy," he said, raising his palms."I'm not hurting anyone.I'm a detective.Others know I'm here, so let's not do something we both would regret."

The man let out a short, humorless laugh."I already know who you are, Finn Wright.The fancy detective staying at the Hall with that lovely partner of yours."He withdrew the gun from Finn's skull with a careful motion, though he didn't holster it."But you're pokin' your nose where it doesn't belong."

Slowly, Finn turned to face him.The older man’s cap shadowed a rugged face lined by years of outdoor living.In the gloom, Finn saw the glint of steel in the firearm, a standard shotgun with a shortened barrel—legal for pest control on large estates, perhaps.The man gave him a cold, assessing stare, then lowered the muzzle slightly.

“My gun’s licensed,” he said in a calmer tone.“I use it for pests and vermin around these parts.Nothing illegal about that.”

Finn lowered his hands, though he remained tense.“Sorry for trespassing,” he said evenly, “but I saw you talking to Mrs.Hughes in the walled garden.We suspect someone’s been committing murders, or at least scaring the Penrose family to death.So I’m investigating.”

A flicker of frustration crossed the man’s face.He gave the briefest nod and then stepped back toward the cabin door.“Well, come inside if you want answers.I’m not about to shoot you in cold blood.Long as you mind your manners.”

Finn’s heartbeat still pounded, but relief flooded him at the man’s shift in stance.“All right.”He followed the man up two wooden steps onto the small porch.The older man shoved open the door and beckoned Finn in, keeping the shotgun at his side.Inside, the cabin smelled of pine resin, wood smoke, and something sharper—perhaps homemade spirits.Finn noticed many different plants, some local, some obscure, cultivated in different pots.

The single room boasted a stone fireplace, a narrow bed with rumpled blankets, and a small table.A lantern hung from a hook on the wall, casting dancing shadows.The man nodded to a battered wooden chair near the center.“Sit.”

Finn perched on the edge, scanning the walls.Animal pelts hung in places, and some old photos of hunts or gatherings adorned a makeshift shelf.“I appreciate you not pulling the trigger back there,” Finn said, attempting a half-joke to break the tension.

The man shrugged, setting his shotgun aside on a rack near the door.“You’d only have yourself to blame, creeping up on folks.I’m Edwin Pierce, by the way.”

Finn’s eyes flickered—he recalled the name from Hobbs’s account.“Edwin… you discovered Wilkie Penrose’s body years ago, right?”

Edwin's weathered features twisted in a grim half-smile."Hobbs told you, did he?Indeed, that was me.Used to be the groundskeeper at Brynmor Hall.Now, I just keep to these woods.Mind my own business mostly."

Finn nodded.Mrs.Hughes hadn’t mentioned Edwin’s name or presence in the official staff list.“Why did Mrs.Hughes not mention you live out here?She’s given me a list of all the people working on the estate.You weren’t on it.”

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