Page 14 of When You’re Broken (Finn Wright #11)

Finn made his way through the corridor of Hertfordshire Constabulary HQ early that morning, the soles of his shoes clicking on polished tiles still damp from the janitorial crew’s round.

He noted how the building always felt both too large and too cramped: wide corridors but offices packed to the brim with investigators.

Sleepless eyes, fresh coffees, and the ever-present hush of urgent phone calls all said the same thing—no one could rest when Wendell Reed was still at large.

Near the end of that corridor stood the conference room used by the Wendell Reed taskforce.

Its double doors remained closed, the opaque glass panels obscuring the view inside.

Finn paused just before them. Dressed in his usual crisp shirt and tie, Rob hovered nearby at the closed entrance, flipping through a ring-bound folder. He looked up at Finn’s approach.

“Morning,” Rob said, not quite warmly—there was too much tension in the air for warmth—but with a friendly nod. “How’re you holding up?”

Finn sighed, pushing back a wave of residual exhaustion. “I’m all right. The bigger question is Amelia.” He forced a slight shrug. “She isn’t really talking to me.”

Rob frowned. “That bad, huh? Why the silent treatment?”

Finn glanced down, spotting a line of scuffs on the floor from some late-night trolley. “Last night, I… I told her we should maybe pack up and go to the States until Wendell’s caught. She, uh, didn’t appreciate that suggestion.”

Rob’s eyebrows rose, then he let out a quick burst of laughter, though it carried an undercurrent of sympathy. “I can imagine. She’s not exactly the type to run from a fight.”

Finn glanced toward the closed doors, not wanting anyone inside to overhear.

He stepped closer to Rob, lowering his voice.

“I just can’t shake the worry. She’s under so much pressure—her brother’s life in danger, Wendell determined to torment her.

I keep thinking maybe we should remove ourselves from the equation. But… well, you see how that went over.”

Rob gave a tight nod. “Honestly, from a purely objective standpoint, it might not be a bad idea. The safest route for you and Amelia is to be far away, let the taskforce handle the ground search. But you know her: she’s not likely to accept it. She’s too personally involved.”

“I know.” Finn raked a hand through his hair. “But do me a favor—maybe you could be the one to talk to her about it? If it comes from you—”

Rob held up a palm, smiling ruefully. “No, no, that’d go down even worse. She’d think it’s an orchestrated attempt to sideline her. Trust me, I might outrank a few people in there, but Amelia can outrank me in stubbornness.” His expression softened. “I get your concerns, though. I do.”

Finn exhaled, letting it drop for now. “Thanks anyway.”

Rob nodded, flipping the folder closed. “Hey, changing the subject, how about you both come over to mine in a couple of nights? Eleanor said it’d be nice to see you both. She’s softened her stance on you, by the way.”

Finn’s lips twitched in amusement. “Eleanor? Softened her stance on me? That’s news.”

Rob smirked. “She might’ve used the phrase, ‘He’s not as infuriating as I thought.’ She’s apparently learned some embarrassing stories from our college days—ones featuring you. I may have spun them in a pitying way.” He shrugged innocently.

Finn feigned an eye roll. “Glad my humiliations amuse her.’

Rob turned to open the conference room door.

The morning hush gave way to a subdued bustle inside: a large rectangular table flanked by chairs, whiteboards crammed with scribbled notes, and a few wall-mounted screens showing satellite images or local area maps.

A handful of staffers manned computers along the side, headphones on, presumably scanning phone logs or running checks.

Clint looked up from a cluster of files.

At the head of the table, Inspector McNeill stood, arms folded.

Amelia was already there, perched next to a computer, scanning something on the screen.

She raised her gaze, and Finn caught the flicker in her eyes—relief? Tension? Possibly both.

Clint came forward, extending his hand in greeting. “Finn—good to see you. I’ve been reviewing some prison records, but we’ll talk in a moment.”

Amelia gave Clint a polite handshake, murmuring a greeting. Finn followed with a quick handshake as well, offering a subdued “Good to see you, too.”

From his vantage, Finn saw McNeill watching with a hawkish glower. A tension-laden silence pulsed for a second, though he didn’t speak up. Finn, for his part, wanted to keep the atmosphere calm. He’d resolved not to push any more buttons after last night’s blow-up.

He stepped over to Amelia, noticing the tight line of her shoulders. Her hair was neatly pinned up, her jacket crisp, though there were slight shadows under her eyes. Silently, he slid a paper cup of coffee onto the table in front of her. “Peace offering,” he murmured.

She glanced at the steaming cup, then up at him. Her lips curved into a faint, tentative smile. She placed a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle rub. “Thanks, you know the way to a woman’s heart,” she said softly. Finn was glad to see that last night’s bitterness had faded.

“I’ve sent an email to my old boss at the FBI,” Finn said. “Just in case the US agencies have picked up any chatter about Wendell.”

“Good thinking,” Amelia offered.

McNeill cleared his throat loudly, bringing the group’s attention back to the front.

“All right, folks. Let’s get started. We have a busy itinerary.

” He recited half a dozen items quickly, referencing several constables by name.

“They’ll be canvassing the neighborhood around Peterson’s address, plus anywhere Wendell Reed was last spotted on CCTV.

We’re also trying to trace the emails the manager received from Wendell—perhaps we can find an IP or a proxy link.

Meanwhile, we still have zero reliable lead on where Reed is keeping Brendan Wilson. That’s top priority.”

Amelia folded her arms, voice collected.

“Agreed. We should also consider other potential targets. Wendell’s fixated on me personally, but remember the Shankland murder—he killed a prison guard’s sister out of spite.

He may well have a list of old grudges, trying to tie up all his ‘loose ends’ or punish people he blames. I might just be one name on that list.”

Detective Clint lifted his eyebrows. “So you’re suggesting we identify everyone who had contact with Wendell in prison. That’s a lot of people—officers, staff, other inmates, visitors. Then see if they have local ties?”

Amelia gave a quick nod. “Yes. If his pattern holds, he might attempt to punish multiple individuals. Or punish their relatives. In the Shankland case, it was the sister, not the guard directly. So we should watch for family members too. He seems to be wanting to hurt people with loss.”

Rob sighed from near the screen. “There might be hundreds of potential targets. We’d need significant manpower to track down all those relatives, see where they live, cross-reference if they’re in this region.

” He ran a hand through his hair. “We can do it, but it’ll be like searching for a needle in a haystack unless we find some narrower parameter. ”

Finn mused out loud. "Is there anyone else who he might have a vendetta against…

" He stood up and approached the whiteboard.

He saw some newspaper clippings attached next to the crime scenes, and then…

Suddenly, a memory jumped into his mind.

"Wait a minute… What about that book I have stashed in my glove compartment?

The one about Wendell Reed, written by that reporter.

Didn't you say it had some choice things to say about Wendell's mother? "

Amelia’s expression brightened with sudden recollection.

“Kelvin Street,” she said. When McNeill’s gaze flicked to her, she elaborated, “He was an ex-cop and for a short stint became a reporter, wrote a scathing biography of Wendell a couple of years back based on an earlier expose he’d put out.

It dug up questionable details about Wendell’s family—stuff about his mother—”

Rob nodded. “Wait, I remember reading something like that… About Wendell’s mother being a prostitute, bringing her clients home? Was that from the exposé?”

Amelia nodded. “Yes! Wendell always insisted it was false. I haven’t read it, but it’s likely Kelvin Street hammered the mother angle in his book, basically painting Wendell’s entire childhood in humiliating detail.

If Wendell’s taking revenge on everyone who humiliated him, Street would be a prime candidate.

And he’s an ex-cop, which would give Wendell even more satisfaction. ”

Clint scratched at his notepad. “So is Kelvin Street local?”

McNeill gave Amelia a pointed look, as if suspecting a tangent, but he said nothing, letting her continue. She turned to a side computer, fingers poised on the keyboard. “Let’s see. I’ll do a quick check for his address or any contact info. At the very least, we can question him or warn him.”

She typed for a moment. The others hovered, waiting. Then she pursed her lips. “I found a phone number for him.” She grabbed her mobile, dialed it, and put it on speaker. After a few rings, it went straight to voicemail. Amelia ended the call with a sigh. “No luck. Might be switched off.”

Finn’s brow furrowed. “We can’t rely on that. If Wendell’s potentially zeroing in on Kelvin Street, we need a better lead. Typically, a journalist or author has an agent or manager.”

She nodded, already searching again. “Right. Found a listing for his representation: Delilah Philips, an agency number.” She pressed the speaker function again as it rang. The group listened, hush gripping the conference room.

A female voice answered: “Delilah Philips speaking, how can I help?”

Amelia cleared her throat. “Hello, Ms. Philips, this is Inspector Winters with the Hertfordshire constabulary. I’m trying to contact Kelvin Street—his safety might be at risk.”

There was a pause, then a startled intake of breath. "Kelvin? Oh dear, I—I haven't heard from him in about two days. His phone is switched off. Usually, he calls me if he's traveling or..."

Amelia felt that the lady was holding something back. Amelia exchanged a glance with Finn. “Ms. Philips, he is in great danger. It’s a matter of life and death. Do you know where he is?”

Delilah’s voice quivered slightly. “I… I assumed he was on another drinking bender. He goes heavy on the booze after finishing a manuscript—kind of a self-destructive reward, if you will. But you say he’s in danger?”

Amelia pressed on gently. “Yes. We have reason to believe someone he wrote about may have a grudge against him and mean him harm. We need to warn him. Do you know where he might likely be?”

Delilah was silent for a moment, presumably gathering her thoughts.

"Kelvin lives at 15 Alison Road, in Wandsworth Village.

That's his official address. But if he's on a bender, there's a better chance you'll find him at Harlin's Bar in Putney.

He's a regular there. If you do find him, can you please…

well, keep me updated?" Her voice faltered.

"He's not always good at saving himself from trouble. "

Amelia nodded, though Delilah couldn’t see it. “Thank you, Ms. Philips. If you hear from Kelvin at all, call our HQ immediately. This is urgent.”

She ended the call. The tension in the room thickened, everyone aware of the time sensitivity. If Wendell was indeed targeting Kelvin Street, each passing hour placed him in deeper danger.

Finn turned to McNeill. “We can check Alison Road or the bar. We need to move quickly. Which do you suggest we cover first?”

Amelia chimed in, “I was thinking we head to Alison Road. If Kelvin’s a no-show, Clint or someone else can handle the bar. Unless we want to do the opposite.”

McNeill’s jaw tightened, a faint sneer creeping onto his face as though he wanted to reassert control. He spoke in a clipped tone. “You and Finn will go to the bar. Inspector Clint and I will handle the address. That’s final.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Amelia’s face; Finn noticed her mouth press into a thin line. We recommended the exact opposite, so of course McNeill has to flip it. But Finn watched as she exhaled, evidently deciding not to pick a fight.

Finn simply nodded, though he felt a prickle of frustration. “Understood. We’ll head there right away.”

Rob offered them a faint, supportive nod from behind McNeill’s line of sight. “Keep me up to date. I’ll chase forensics’ up for the report on Stanley’s phone.”

McNeill snapped his gaze around the group. “Yes. Let’s get this done. Everyone, we reconvene if we find anything. Priority is figuring out if Kelvin Street’s in harm’s way. And beyond that, we keep searching for leads on Brendan Wilson’s location. Understood?”

A collective round of murmured agreement passed, and McNeill promptly dismissed them. Rob said, “Good luck,” addressing the words primarily to Finn and Amelia.

Finn and Amelia walked out of the conference room, and yet Finn felt overcome with something inside; a fear that he couldn’t quite place. It was like a premonition of something terrible on the horizon, and it was getting closer.