Lena’s hand lifted, reaching for mine, but it fell back to her side before reaching my fingers. “I can’t imagine what that was like.”
I shrugged. It left a hole, one I tried not to climb down if I didn’t have to.
“Thanks for letting me tag along today,” Lena continued. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”
“Happy to help.”
Lena bit her lip and then quickly stepped forward, hopped up on her toes, and kissed me on the cheek. Her face immediately flared red, and she hurried off without saying anything else, following my mother to the car.
I stood frozen on the pavement. She’d accidentally kissed my scrape, so the area stung, but there was something sweet about it as her floral perfume lingered in the air. She glanced back when she reached Eleanor’s red car, several emotions warring across her face.
Finally, she shook her head and opened the door, disappearing as my mother peeled away from the restaurant.
Seventeen
There was someone waiting to speak with me as soon as I returned to the station. Fletcher was seated at my desk but leapt up and practically ran over as soon as she saw me come through the door. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said, eyes gleaming.
“What?”
“Come on.” She seized my hand and led me back to Dunnel’s office. Through the window, I could see him speaking to a blonde, curly-haired man seated with his back to us.
“Did you find anything out about the castle?” I asked as she dragged me along.
“We’ll get to that.”
Fletcher opened the door without knocking, and the blonde man stood as we entered. He was surprisingly young, almost baby-faced, and his black tie was loose around his neck. He smiled and held out his hand to me.
“DI Felix Bateman,” he said. He had a Yorkshire accent and an easy openness to his face.
“Callum MacBain,” I replied and shook his hand, glancing at Fletcher for answers.
“DI Bateman is from the Sheffield police,” Dunnel explained. “He’s got some insight into your case.”
“Really?” I looked back at Bateman with renewed interest.
“Yes. I drove up as soon as I heard. I think I’ve encountered these people before.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“I don’t know what they call themselves, but I believe there's some kind of shadow organization scouring the world for undiscovered artefacts with cultural, historical, or religious significance that they then steal and sell to the highest bidder.” Bateman spoke with his hands, gesturing to emphasize his point. “They operate a lot like what you’ve seen in your case--snatching up deeds to plots of land or buildings where they believe these treasures are hidden, though I’ve never heard of them being this violent before. I was second on a case where they got away with a never-before-seen illuminated copy of The Confessions of St. Augustine. It showed up in some rich bloke’s private collection, but we couldn’t prove that it was stolen.”
“So what did they want in the Castle of Old Wick?” I asked, looking to Fletcher.
“I found my way onto this forum that mentioned rumours of a hidden Viking cache.” Fletcher grinned excitedly, but I just stared flatly at her, Dunnel, and Bateman.
It was quite a tale, right up there with Sam’s Loch Ness Monster conspiracy theory. It was very Tomb Raider-esque. A secret, powerful organization stealing ancient artefacts. It was absolutely mad, and I couldn’t believe that Dunnel and Fletcher were taking it so seriously.
“He’s joking, right?” I said, pointing at Bateman. “You’re all having a gaffe with me.”
“It makes sense,” Fletcher said.
“‘Makes sense?’” I repeated. “How does this make sense?”
“Why would you go through that much bother to get a deed to a tiny castle in the middle of nowhere?” Fletcher pointed out. “It doesn’t bring in any tourism money. It doesn’t really have any historical value other than being one of the oldest castles in Scotland, so why? Why? Unless there was, somehow, something of value hidden there.”
“Treasure troves don’t really exist,” I insisted and folded my arms.
“Callum, a girl in Sweden pulled a fifteen-hundred-year-old sword out of a lake not too long ago,” Fletcher began, throwing her arms in the air. “The Greeks uncover another ancient ruin virtually every day, say ‘oh well,’ and keep on building around it. There’s stuff lying around everywhere, just waiting for us to discover. Why is this so hard to believe?”
Because if it were, then maybe I’d been too quick to dismiss certain other crazy theories.
“How does this help us find Finn?” I said, instead. “Do we have any idea where they operate? If they have a home base? Who’s in charge?”
Fletcher’s face fell. “Well, no.” She pursed her lips and scratched at her chin, thinking about. “But we do have Seamus O’Connell in custody, and his lawyer is here now, so maybe we can get something out of him.”
She could be onto something there. “My mother, former Chief Inspector MacBain, I mean, mentioned that he tried to bribe a city councilman. They never found out what for.”
“Councilor Rickerson, right?” Dunnel asked, but I shrugged. Eleanor hadn’t mentioned a name. “Let me make a few calls while you speak with O’Connell.”
Fletcher pursed her lips as she rubbed her temple with two fingers, thinking. “There might be one other thing, actually. It’s a long shot, and if you think a treasure trove is crazy, you’re definitely not going to like this.”
“What is it?” I asked and spun my hand in a ‘spit it out’ motion.
“Well, I’ve been doing some digging, and guess who one of Smith, Flynn, and MacDonald’s clients are?”
I blinked at her. “I don’t like guessing.”
“You’re no fun.” Fletcher paused for effect. “Allraise Ventures.”
“You’re right. I don’t like that,” I said. “If our two totally random cases are somehow connected, I’m going to punch you. That’s like something out of a bad 80s pulp thriller. It’s ridiculous.”
Fletcher shrugged. “That’s what the money
