When You’re Silent by Blake Pierce

Author:Blake Pierce [Pierce, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-09T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The gravel crunched under the tires of their unmarked car, a soundtrack to the unease churning in Finn’s gut as they approached Blackwood’s home. The evening was drawing in, and soon it would be dark. The building loomed ahead, its weathered facade and overgrown garden mirroring the decay that seemed to cling to James Blackwood’s reputation. Finn’s hand rested on the door handle, feeling the cold metal against his palm—a grounding sensation against the buzz of his instincts.

“Looks homely,” Amelia remarked sarcastically, her voice low but steady as she scanned the structure with a detective’s practiced eye.

“If by homely, you mean a bomb site,” Finn replied, pushing open the car door. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and something else, something that reminded him of old pages. He stepped out, his boots sinking slightly into the soft ground as he closed the door with a soft thunk behind him.

Together, they navigated the path to the front door, sidestepping a rusted bicycle and an assortment of garden tools left carelessly on the lawn. As they reached the porch, the wind picked at the loose shingles above them, echoing the restlessness stirring within Finn. This place was a physical echo of Blackwood—the man’s essence permeated through the rotting wood and shattered windows.

Amelia rang the bell, the sound hollow in the silence that followed. Finn watched her, appreciating her calm demeanor despite the setting. She met his gaze briefly, a silent exchange before the door creaked open.

James Blackwood stood in the doorway, a figure of suspicion cloaked in his twenties. His sharp features seemed chiseled with defiance, framed by a tangle of dark hair that fell unkempt over his brooding eyes. There was an air of intensity about him, as if every word spoken was carefully chosen to convey a hidden agenda. Dressed in worn jeans and a faded black t-shirt that bore the emblem of a clenched fist, he exuded an aura of rebellion that clashed with the quaint surroundings of his neglected home. His gaze lingered on Finn and Amelia with a mix of challenge and calculation, hinting at depths darker than the shadows that danced behind him.

“Mr. Blackwood?” Amelia inquired.

Mr. Blackwood hesitated at the threshold, his eyes darting between Finn and Amelia with a guarded wariness. “I can smell a pig from a mile away. What do you want? I don’t think this is a good time,” he said, his voice tight with anger.

Amelia’s gaze remained steady, her tone firm yet composed. “We have some questions regarding a matter of importance, Mr. Blackwood. The murder of Rebecca Hanover. It would be in your best interest to cooperate.”

Blackwood’s jaw clenched, his reluctance palpable as he shifted on his feet. “No. I don’t want to talk about it or her. You can’t just let you barge in like this,” he stammered, a flicker of defiance in his eyes.

Amelia took a step forward, her presence commanding yet reassuring. “We understand your concerns, Mr. Blackwood. However, if you choose

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