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Finn’s eyesdarkened. “It’s more than just money or property. It’s about identity,recognition. Think about it. He grew up so close to being a DeGrey, to then becast aside. He had to watch his mother’s heart be broken and everything he knewbeing taken from him. It was like life had teased him with the possibility ofan amazing life and snatched it away before he reached adulthood. And then, oneday, he’s told he doesn’t belong, that he’s not truly a DeGrey. That’s enoughto mess with anyone’s head. And if he feels the DeGreys owe him, if he feelsthat Quentin owes him and his mother, then he might think that by eliminatingthe ‘legitimate’ heirs, he can finally claim his place, if only metaphorically.”
Winters lookedsomber. “It’s a solid theory. But we need evidence, and we need to find thisman. If he’s as vengeful as you say, there might be more DeGreys in danger.”
Rob added, “Wealso need to tread carefully. Digging up past scandals, especially ones that involvepowerful families, can have consequences.”
Finn nodded,his resolve unwavering. “But if it means catching a killer and saving lives, it’sa risk we have to take. Besides, the DeGreys have a chance to make thingsright, to acknowledge a mistake they made decades ago. Maybe that will beenough to stop this madness.”
The mood inthe room was quickly filling with urgency, each breath palpable, laden with asense of danger and foreboding.
Winters rushedover to a computer on a desk and typed in her login details.
“Okay,” she said.“Let’s see what we have on him.”
“From what Ifound online,” Finn said, “his name is Sam Falstaff and he lives at 71 WitchfordLane. That’s all I could get without access to any database.”
Winters’sfingers danced across the keyboard, rapidly pulling up the details on SamFalstaff. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of the computer’s coolingfan and the distant murmurs of officers talking in the hallway outside.
“Sam Falstaff,71 Witchford Lane, London,” Winters read aloud, scanning through the availabledata. “Born thirty-two years ago, no prior arrests, no known affiliations withany criminal organizations. Seems like he’s lived a fairly quiet life. The onlyinteraction with the police was a complaint a few years ago—some local kidsburning bins near his residence. He gave a contact mobile telephone number.”
Rob leanedforward, intrigued. “That’s it? A minor complaint? This doesn’t fit the profileof a serial killer. We’re looking for someone driven by rage, someone who haspotentially been nursing a grievance for decades. It’s odd he hasn’t shown upon our radar before.”
Finn nodded,musing over this revelation. “Life in the shadows can be quieter, more subtle.It doesn’t mean he wasn’t nursing that grudge, Rob. It just means he was goodat hiding it, until he couldn’t hide the urge to do something about it anylonger.”
Wintersinterjected, “His digital footprint is minimal. Apart from some social mediaaccounts that haven’t been updated in years, and a few mentions in localcommunity newsletters, there’s not much here. But…” she hesitated, clicking alink, “here’s something that might interest you.”
A newspaper articlefrom nearly two decades ago appeared on the screen. The headline read: “YoungSam Falstaff Honored for Bravery After Rescuing Stranger from House Fire.”
Rob whistledsoftly. “Our potential killer was a hero?”
The articlerecounted how a young Sam had risked his life to save an elderly neighbor whenher house had caught fire. He had rushed in and managed to pull her out momentsbefore the house was engulfed in flames. Sam was hailed as a local hero, andthe article featured a picture of him—a shy boy, around twelve, with dark curlyhair and an awkward smile. Next to him was a young girl of the same age holdinghis hand.
Finn took adeep breath. “It’s not uncommon for people to have both light and dark in them.Heroic acts in youth don’t preclude darker tendencies later in life. Still,this adds a layer of complexity. He wasn’t always a monster, if he is our guy.”
Winters lookedup, determination in her eyes. “I don’t care how much good he’s done, if he’sour killer, we’re putting him away. It’s time we meet Mr. Falstaff. We need toask him some questions.”
Rob nodded. “Agreed.But given his past, we need to approach this with care. If he is our killer,confronting him directly could be dangerous. If he’s not, we might be draggingan innocent man through the mud. If he’s guilty, then he could hide the secondwe try to snag him.”
Winters lookedup from the screen, an intense gaze fixed on the information displayed. “Is itpossible to get a ping on his current whereabouts? We could put him under surveillance,”she said, looking to Rob.
Rob ponderedfor a moment, and given the gravity of the situation, he replied, “Under thesecircumstances, yes. I’ll talk to tech and see if they can trace his phone usingthe number we have.” He quickly left the room, his footsteps echoing down thecorridor.
In thestillness that followed, Winters and Finn were left alone with the tension inthe room. The hum of the computer and the occasional distant sounds of policeradios filled the silence.
“You know,”Winters began, a small smile forming on her lips, “maybe we won’t need toreplace you after all. If your theory holds and we catch this killer soon, youmight just wrap things up before heading back to the US.”
Finn chuckled,though there was a hint of melancholy in his eyes. “One can only hope. I’d liketo leave knowing we made a difference, that we’ve put this to rest.”
Winters leanedback in her chair, her gaze never wavering from Finn. “I have to admit, I’vehad… fun working with you on these cases. There’s never been a dull moment withyou around.”
Finn’s smirkreturned, his eyebrow arching teasingly. “Inspector Winters, are you saying you’restarting to have feelings for me?”
Winters didn’treply immediately. Instead, she held Finn’s gaze, her expression unreadable.There was an intensity in her eyes that Finn hadn’t seen before, and for amoment, the world seemed to fall away.
It was asthough time had stopped, and Finn felt a fluttering in his chest, anuncertainty and a hope that mixed with memories of old wounds. He was takenaback by the rush of emotions that surged through him. The jesting comment hadbeen meant to lighten the mood, but now, faced with that deep gaze, he foundhimself pondering on the unspoken what-ifs.
The momentlingered, stretched by the weight of unspoken feelings and thoughts. Finn brokethe silence, his voice softer. “If things—”
Just then, thedoor swung open, and Rob returned. “We’ve got a ping on Falstaff’s location. It’sbeen sent to your phone, Amelia.”
