Page 17

Finn and Amelia stepped through the revolving door into the lobby of Halbourne Towers, the same high-end residence where Geoffrey Wardlow’s widow lived. The marble floors gleamed beneath bright chandeliers, and the faint scent of lemon polish hung in the air. A uniformed doorman—an older gentleman with impeccable posture—stood by the reception desk. He recognized the pair immediately, offering a polite smile.

Amelia flashed her badge. “Inspector Winters, Hertfordshire Constabulary. We’re back again, I’m afraid.”

Finn gave the doorman a friendly shrug. “That’s right. Although if we have to come back a third time, we might just buy an apartment here.”

A twinkle of amusement flickered in the doorman’s eyes. “I assume you’re here to see Mrs. Wardlow again?”

Finn nodded. “Yes, indeed.”

The doorman pressed a button to unlock the secure elevator bank. “Welcome back. Please let me know if you need anything.”

They made their way across the ornate lobby—glass-and-chrome accents contrasting with the old-world marble columns. Once inside the waiting elevator, Amelia hit the button for the top-floor penthouse. Soft instrumental music filled the small space.

Amelia let out a hushed laugh. “You know, to afford a place like this, we’d have to sell some organs.”

Finn slid his hands into his pockets, feigning casual curiosity. “So we’d be living together?”

Amelia’s lips parted, but before she could respond, the elevator pinged and the doors glided open, revealing a short corridor lined with plush carpeting. She stepped out, offering no answer. Finn bit back a grin and followed her.

They reached the Wardlow penthouse door and knocked. The same maid from their first visit answered, hands folded primly in front of her apron.

Finn produced a courteous smile. “Hello again. We called ahead to let Mrs. Wardlow know we were coming.”

The maid inclined her head. “Yes, sir. She’s expecting you. Please, follow me.”

They were ushered into a spacious study off the main living area. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two walls, displaying legal volumes and leather-bound journals. A wide window let in the early afternoon light, gleaming off a polished mahogany desk. On the far side of that desk sat Rebecca Wardlow, her shoulders slightly hunched. She stared at a messy array of papers and folders spread across its surface. As Finn and Amelia entered, she dabbed her eyes with a tissue and stood.

“Thank you, that will be all,” Rebecca said softly to the maid. The maid bowed out, closing the door with a gentle click.

Wearing a subdued black dress, Rebecca turned her reddened eyes to Finn. “You changed your hair color,” she observed, voice tinged with faint surprise. “It suits you.”

Finn touched the side of his new dark hair self-consciously. “Thought I needed a fresh look.”

“Geoffrey's hair was dark like that when we were younger.” She gave a tremulous smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, both of you.”

Amelia let the silence hang for a beat, then asked gently, “Mrs. Wardlow—this was your husband’s study, wasn’t it?”

Rebecca sighed, glancing around. “Yes. Or… it was. I never really spent time in here. Geoffrey insisted on having one room in this penthouse that was purely his domain. I came in here when you mentioned on the phone that you wanted to look at some of his things.”

Finn took in the details: the desk’s smooth surface, the tall-backed armchair, a faint scent of tobacco lingering in the fabric. “Did he also keep a study at your townhouse?” he asked.

Rebecca nodded. “He did, but the most important papers stayed here, in the heart of London, close to his business dealings. I suppose he found it convenient.”

Amelia nodded, stepping closer to the desk. “Mrs. Wardlow, we wanted to ask if you’d allow us to look into your husband’s financial records. We’re trying to see if there was a specific money-related motive behind his murder.”

Rebecca frowned, wiping at the corner of her eye. “His finances? Why?”

Amelia handed over a folded form. “We’re examining the possibility that his death was tied to gambling debts or another financial trigger. This form is a request for access. Ordinarily, you might want a solicitor’s advice first—”

But Rebecca snatched a pen, scribbled her signature hastily, and thrust the paper back into Amelia’s hand. “All I care about is finding who killed him. If money had anything to do with it, I want you to look everywhere.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said softly, setting the signed form aside.

Finn allowed his gaze to travel around the room again. “Would it be all right if we look through some of Geoffrey’s papers here?” he asked. “We’d like to see if anything stands out—account statements, notes, that sort of thing.”

Rebecca managed a wry nod. “Yes, of course. I—I don’t think I can stay and watch you rummage through his desk. That was always his domain. But please, go ahead.” She fished a small set of keys from her pocket, passing them to Finn. “These might open the drawers.”

Clutching her elbows, she crossed to the door and opened it. Pausing on the threshold, she cast a longing look back at the study. “I wish Geoffrey were here to tell me off for stepping inside without his permission.”

She turned away, leaving them alone as the door shut with a quiet thud behind her.

Amelia slid into the armchair behind the desk, while Finn prowled around, lifting stray files to see if anything looked obviously relevant. Most seemed to concern mundane research—markets, company profiles, future prospects.

“Might be worth a closer look,” Finn murmured, skimming the titles on a few folders. “He was definitely researching multiple companies.”

Amelia nodded in agreement. “We’ll flag them and see if any stand out. Let’s open the drawers.” She tried the first key, which unlocked the top desk drawer. Inside lay a neat stack of cash, a gleaming gold pen, and some pencils rolling loosely in a compartment.

She picked up the gold pen, weighing it. “Fancy,” she said dryly, setting it aside. Her eyes shifted to the next object—a single poker chip.

Immediately, she held it up with a flourish. “Look at this.”

Finn studied the chip’s design. It closely resembled the vintage tokens found on Sir Richard and Geoffrey Wardlow themselves. “Could be the same type,” he said, voice hushed.

Amelia tapped it thoughtfully on the desk. “So maybe the killer and both victims possessed these chips. Or at least, they moved in the same gambling circle.”

Finn shook his head, setting down a stack of papers. “It’d be foolish to have a trophy like this lying around if he was actively paying off debts—unless he needed it for entry or as a reminder. We’ll keep it in evidence.”

Amelia slipped the chip into a small plastic bag from her coat pocket. “That’s everything in the top drawers. Let’s see the bottom ones.”

She crouched and inserted another key into the lower drawer. It opened with a stiff creak. She riffled through the contents—business notes, a thick ledger of addresses—nothing obviously incriminating. Finn joined her on the opposite side.

“Sometimes desks have secret compartments,” he remarked, half in jest, half serious. “My grandfather’s old writing desk had a hidden panel for letters.”

He tugged gently at the wood, noticing a slight gap at the base. Sure enough, the entire bottom panel could be lifted away—though it wasn’t exactly hidden, more like a false bottom. Beneath lay a black leather-bound book.

“Well, it’s not the classic secret compartment,” Finn said with a small grin, “but I think we found something.”

He pulled out the book and flipped through the pages. Columns of figures and scribbled notes filled each sheet.

Amelia leaned in. “A diary?”

He shook his head. “No, more like a ledger. It’s packed with financial info—loans, debts, payoffs. Looks like a history of Geoffrey’s obligations stretching back years.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “Any suspicious spikes that could relate to a poker game or a sudden debt?”

Finn’s finger traced across lines of figures. “The debts fluctuate a lot… then here, on March 11th, 2003, there’s a massive sum—over two hundred thousand pounds—wiped out overnight. It went from that to zero in the space of a day.”

Amelia straightened, her brow furrowing in thought. “He suddenly cleared a huge debt in one day?”

“Exactly. Something big happened on or around that date.” Finn closed the ledger carefully. “We’ll need to see if that was a private loan, gambling debt, or hush money.”

Amelia folded her arms. “I’d like to compare that to Sir Richard Doyle’s finances. If both men had the same pattern—sky-high debts that vanished—maybe it’s connected to whoever’s leaving these poker chips.”

“Rebecca?” Finn said loudly.

Rebecca quickly reappeared. “Yes? Did you find something?”

“We found a poker chip and a ledger that might be connected to what happened,” Amelia explained. “Do either of these look familiar?”

“No. Sorry,” Rebecca said. “Please, if you find anything, you have my permission to use it as you need to find who did this.”

“Thank you,” Finn said. But Rebecca looked weary and only nodded before leaving again.

Finn slid the ledger into his bag, picking up the keys Rebecca had given them. “So what’s next?”

Amelia guided him out from behind the desk, shooting a glance at the closed door. “I think we should split up for a few hours before you… well, before you meet Lady Pembroke at The Monarch tonight.”

“Split up? Why?” Finn asked, arching an eyebrow.

“So you can get some rest,” Amelia replied, her tone firm. “You need to be sharp for whatever that midnight gathering is.”

“And you?”

She paused, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I’m going to track down Sir Richard’s financial data. If his debt pattern or big payoffs match Geoffrey’s, we’ll have a clearer angle on the killer.”

Finn considered protesting but saw her determination. Besides, they had separate roles in this complicated puzzle. “All right. But be careful, okay?”

A faint smile played on her lips. “I could say the same to you.”

They exchanged a knowing look, one they had exchanged far too many times before. This was dangerous work, and Finn would have to keep his head, because within the walls of The Monarch Club, earpiece or no earpiece, he would be alone.