Page 17 of When You’re Broken (Finn Wright #11)

Finn stood on the pavement outside Harlin’s Bar, aware of a distinct hush hovering over the scene. A pair of uniformed officers guarded the shuttered front doors. Occasional gawkers paused, craning their necks for a glimpse of drama, only to be ushered away.

Amelia stood a few feet from him, arms crossed over her jacket, her expression taut with worry.

The drizzle that morning had settled into a gray gloom, but the midday was no brighter.

She’d said little since they’d updated their team and called in forensic support.

Finn stole a glance her way, concerned about the shadows under her eyes.

She’d insisted on staying on-site, refusing to let the matter rest, even though she’d hardly slept since the last time they’d found new bodies.

A wail of sirens announced another arrival.

A police car pulled up, lights rotating but no longer flashing.

Out stepped Rob, phone in hand, his tie crooked from a rushed exit.

Another figure climbed out from the passenger side: a woman in her early thirties, wearing a well-fitted black coat over a charcoal sweater, dark hair pulled into a neat bun.

She carried a small forensic kit with a sense of familiarity and mild annoyance.

Finn recognized her as Wednesday the pathologist. She’d assisted on several cases before. Finn couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at his lips—he’d privately nicknamed her “Wednesday Adams,” a joke about her first name, though it rarely amused her.

Rob approached them first, his footsteps quick over the wet pavement. “All right, you two, let’s have the details,” he said, scanning from Finn to Amelia.

Finn nodded, letting a breath escape. “We came here under McNeill’s orders, checking the bar for Kelvin Street. Found it unexpectedly closed. Suspicious, so I climbed in through a back window.”

He paused, casting a look at Amelia to see if she wanted to add anything.

She just pursed her lips, so he continued.

“Inside, it was dark—power cut. We discovered the bar owner’s corpse behind the bar.

He’d been stabbed. Then we found Kelvin Street strangled, his fingers glued to a typewriter, apparently forced to type some twisted apology about Wendell Reed’s mother, and to tell me that ‘the end is nigh’ for me, too.

That’s… about it.” The horror of it still churned in his gut.

Wednesday, who had been listening with an air of clinical detachment, folded her arms. “And you rummaged about, stepping all over my crime scene, I take it?” She cast Finn a sharp glance.

Finn caught the faint edge in her tone. “I was an FBI agent, you know,” he said stiffly, bristling under her critique. “I’m aware of crime scene protocol.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “And yet you still went in alone, rummaging in the dark.”

Amelia interjected, a half-smile curving her lips. “You see, Wednesday, he’s got that unstoppable hero streak in him. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”

Wednesday gave a curt laugh. “I hope for your sake, Finn, that you didn’t smear footprints or shift the bodies around. Because if you have, I’m going to label it all over my official records: ‘Contaminated by ex-FBI agent who can’t keep his hands to himself.’”

Finn sighed, turning to Rob for backup. “I did the bare minimum. I just needed to see if anyone was inside. Once I found the bodies, all I did was confirm they were dead and see if we could ID the victims. That’s it.”

Rob grinned sympathetically, patting Finn’s shoulder. Then he faced Wednesday. “Give him a break. Let’s check the bodies. If it’s as bad as they say, Wendell Reed left us another real mess.”

Wednesday sniffed. She shrugged dismissively, then turned to the constables at the door. “Shall we go in, then?” Her tone softened slightly as she addressed them, indicating her readiness to do her job.

Amelia followed suit, hooking an arm through the police tape so they could duck under it. Finn trailed behind, aware that Wednesday’s criticism was mostly banter, and the tension he’d been carrying eased a fraction; he’d take a bit of mild ribbing over contemplating Wendell’s next move, any day.

Inside, the dim hush remained oppressive.

The power was still out, and the bar’s interior was soaked in the watery glow of late afternoon seeping through the half-drawn shutters.

Pools of shadow filled the corners, and the stench of dried blood had grown more pungent since their discovery.

Wednesday flicked on a high-powered flashlight, stepping carefully between overturned chairs and sticky puddles.

Finn guided her around the bar, pointing out the first victim. “This is the bar owner. We believe. He was behind the counter.”

Wednesday crouched, setting her kit to the side. She flicked her light over the corpse, careful not to dislodge any evidence. “Multiple lacerations across the torso… likely a stabbing or a slashing. Hard to tell specifics until I examine more closely. Rigor’s fairly advanced.”

She snapped on latex gloves, adjusting them with brisk efficiency. “From the initial report you gave me, he might’ve been killed a few hours before Kelvin, or possibly around the same time. We’ll check body temps, though with the power out, the environment’s not typical.”

After taking preliminary notes, she rose, glancing at Rob. “We’ll get the body bag in shortly. Let’s see the second victim.”

Finn ushered her across the bar area, weaving around a spatter of broken glass. Amelia went with them, voice subdued. “Kelvin Street is over here, near the small corner table.”

They reached the place where Kelvin’s body slumped.

A flickering beam from Wednesday’s flashlight revealed the typewriter, the dried adhesive on Kelvin’s fingertips, and the final line typed out on the page.

The reek made Finn want to flinch, but Wednesday took it in stride, leaning closer to examine Kelvin’s wrists, his neck, the glistening glue around his nails.

Amelia grimaced. “Was he forcibly strangled? That tie is bound to the chair’s leg. He must not have had a chance to fight back.”

Wednesday nodded. "Yes. Torsion around the neck.

The bruise pattern is consistent with being pinned in place while strangled.

The glue on his fingers suggests a sadistic ritual.

He typed out that note, or was forced to.

And from the position of his arms, he might've been fully conscious until the end. "

Finn swallowed. “The note references Wendell’s mother. Kelvin was writing an apology, presumably. Wendell forced him to recant the rumors he’d published.”

Wednesday exhaled softly, pity flickering in her gaze. “Brutal. And all for some twisted sense of vengeance.”

Rob stepped closer, letting the flashlight pass over the keys. “He typed: I am so sorry, The End is Nigh, Amelia. A direct threat.”

Suddenly, Wednesday frowned, leaning in to angle the typed page. She reached carefully behind the sheet, extracting a second slip of paper jammed between the platen roller. “Hold on… there’s something else.” She slid it free—a small, crumpled thermal-printed photograph.

She held it up so the others could see in the dim light. The grainy image showed a young man bound to a chair, head slumped forward but seemingly alive, if only from the posture. Finn immediately recognized the scuff of hair, the shape of the shoulders from prior pictures. Brendan Wilson.

Amelia’s eyes widened in shock. “That looks like my brother from the photographs we’ve seen.” Her breath hitched. “He’s tied up, but it doesn’t look like a corpse shot. So he might still be… I mean, hopefully he’s still alive.” Her voice trembled slightly at the end.

Finn felt a flood of relief that the photo didn’t depict a corpse, though dread still coiled in his stomach. Wendell wants to torment her with this. “This means Wendell’s keeping him somewhere. He’s definitely alive at the time of that photo. That’s our main lead.”

Wednesday slipped the photograph into a small evidence bag.

"We'll send it for analysis, see if we can glean any location clues from the background.

The environment, lighting, etc." She turned to Amelia with a subdued nod.

"I hope it yields something. But this Wendell Reed is smart.

I hear the phone you sent for analysis came back with nothing, as he was able to hide his location with multiple VPNs and spoof signals.

Finn’s heart sank.

“Dammit!” Amelia said, shaking her head. “We were really hoping for more.”

“But all is not lost,” Wednesday said, softer than usual. “I’ll get these bodies back to the lab and see what we will see.”

Amelia pressed her lips together, brushing away tears she refused to let fall. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Finn set a hand on Amelia’s arm, voice soft. “Things have changed. Priority number one: we keep you safe, especially if Wendell sees you as the final piece in his twisted puzzle.”

She pulled her arm away, stepping back from him. “Don’t start on that again.”

Rob, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. “Amelia, that note—‘The End is Nigh, Amelia’—makes it crystal clear Wendell’s threatening you directly. Maybe he’s ramping up to kill you soon. You have to consider protective custody.”

Amelia shook her head. “We have constables outside the cottage at night. During the day, I’m with Finn or at HQ surrounded by cops.

That’s enough. I can’t vanish into some safe house, not when my brother’s out there.

I need to be in the thick of this.” The fire in her eyes contrasted with the trembling in her voice.

Finn tried to keep his tone measured. “Amelia, if you were any other civilian, the first step would be immediate relocation. Wendell might be unstoppable if you’re on your own. This is an official suggestion, not a personal attack. Please think about it.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “I’ve thought about it.

And my answer is no. The only chance to save Brendan is following every clue, being on the front lines.

Putting me in a safe box helps no one.” She flung her hands up.

“I can’t keep having this argument with you, or with McNeill, or with anyone. I know the risk. I’m taking it.”

She turned sharply, striding away from the bodies, heading toward the open side door. Finn called after her, “Amelia—” but she ignored him, disappearing into the hallway. They all heard the squeak of the door as she left the building.

A heavy silence fell. Finn stood there, an ache twisting in his chest. He wanted to chase after her, but he also knew her well enough to give her space. She can’t keep going like this.

Wednesday let out a soft breath, kneeling by Kelvin’s body once more to check for any final detail.

“You boys,” she said quietly, not glancing up.

“You should know better. She can’t let go of this, nor should she.

It’s her brother we’re talking about. Life or death.

You can’t train that sort of drive. The stakes are real for Amelia, and that will help her focus all her skills and training on finding this guy. ”

Finn felt that old helplessness surge. “I only want to keep her alive. Wendell’s more brutal and cunning than anyone we’ve seen, even Max Vilne.”

Wednesday straightened, surprisingly gentle for a moment. “Then stand by her while she does what she must.” She placed a hand on his arm, a rare gesture of kindness. “You’re a detective, yes, but you’re also her partner. Protect her. Support her. She won’t accept running away.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Right.” He cast another glance at the glued fingertips, the typed message. Wendell’s cunning. The circle was closing in around them, and Amelia’s name was right at the center.

Rob’s phone buzzed, the jarring ring echoing in the hush.

He pulled it from his pocket, checking the screen.

“Eleanor,” he said, surprise coloring his tone.

He stepped away, picking up. “Eleanor?… Wait, calm down—What’s happening?

Are you—?” His face paled. “Look, I’ll be home as soon as I can.

Hang on.” He ended the call abruptly, stuffing the phone into his coat.

Finn frowned. “Something wrong?”

Rob exhaled, worry etched across his brow. “She says she’s feeling extremely ill. This isn’t like her—she never calls me in a panic. I need to go check on her. She says she might need to see a doctor.”

Finn nodded, subdued. “Of course. Go. We’ll handle things here with the local team.”

Wednesday glanced up. “Is everything all right?”

Rob shrugged helplessly. “I’ll find out. She’s never one to dramatize, so if she’s calling me like that… I’d better go.” With an apologetic glance at Finn, he headed for the exit. “Call me if you find anything about these two victims, or about Amelia. Let me know how it goes.”

Finn forced a reassuring nod. “We’ll keep you in the loop. Take care of Eleanor, okay?”

Rob offered a wave before disappearing into the corridor.

Finn watched the door close, a knot of concern forming in his chest for his friend. “Hope it’s nothing serious.”

Wednesday gathered her kit, standing from Kelvin’s body. “At least he has the sense to check on her. Maybe you should do the same for Amelia.” Her gaze flicked to the hallway where Amelia had stormed off. “She’s in no state to be alone with these feelings.”

Finn let out a weary sigh. “I know. Just not sure how to talk her down from this. She’s furious every time I suggest stepping back.”

Wednesday gave him a half-smile, ironically gentle.

“She’s determined. That’s not always a bad thing, but it could get her killed if she’s not cautious.

You’re the one who can guide her without undermining her autonomy.

For now, let me finish here. I’ll have forensics come in, do the full treatment.

Then I’ll get the bodies to the morgue.” She arched an eyebrow.

“After that, I’ll write a scathing note in my report about someone messing with my crime scene, no doubt. ”

Finn let out a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied, raising his palms. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She turned away, quietly directing a couple of uniformed forensics staffers who had arrived.

They began photographing the bar’s interior, taping markers near the blood spatter.

Finn realized he no longer had any reason to linger inside—Amelia was outside, presumably battling her frustration alone.

He would go to her, and support as Wednesday suggested.

Even though he feared it could be the end of things.