She had been strangled. The marks on her neck and the evidence in her face, including a nosebleed staining her face and dress, told the story of the violent scene that had played out in these peaceful woods.

  Strangulation. The word felt wrong, impossible, as May stared at the corpse. How could anyone have done such a thing? What had played out?

  Had it been a crime of passion? she wondered. Fueled by excessive drink and emotion, had someone committed this violent act in the heat of the moment?

  Or had it happened some other way?

  A prickle of fear danced along the back of her neck, almost like someone was watching her. But when she turned to look, she could see nothing out of the ordinary. Only the dense, thick trees, still and waiting in the brightening light.

  “Morning, Andy,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “What evidence do we have so far?”

  "Morning, May," he greeted her, his voice sharp and worried behind his mask. "This victim has been identified as Alyssa Darlington, who lives in Sevenfields."

  May nodded, visualizing the nearby small town immediately. It was an affluent area, less than fifteen minutes' drive from Fairshore.

  "The cause of death is strangulation, as I'm sure you can see. On her neck, there are clear signs that someone reached around to strangle her," the coroner continued. "The attacker is most likely right-handed." May nodded, grateful for this important early evidence as he continued. "The witness who found the body is over there. He said he is her boyfriend."

  He inclined his head toward the young man standing with Sheriff Jack and the paramedics.

  A boyfriend? This situation was getting more confusing. Why had he not been with her as she headed into the woods? May wondered. Or had he? she then thought, with a chill.

  "Do we have a timeframe?" she asked, glad that she sounded as calm and controlled as she’d hoped.

  "We received the call twenty minutes ago, and reached the scene five minutes ago. The death must have occurred very recently prior to our call."

  "That's helpful," May said.

  "There's nothing we can do for her now but the post-mortem," he continued. "We'll prioritize that, of course. All the vital evidence will be gathered and recorded. I hope it tells us something."

  May nodded. Given how recent this timeframe was, the testimony of every person still at this after-party would be critical and could add something important.

  She felt glad she'd asked the officer at the parking lot to prevent anyone from leaving.

  But first and foremost, she needed to find out more from the witness who had discovered the body. Why was he covered in blood? What had played out?

  "I think we should speak to him first," she said to Owen in a low voice. He looked at her gravely, before nodding.

  Feeling purposeful now that the shock of seeing the body had subsided, May turned away from the crime scene and headed over to where the paramedics were at work.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As May walked over to where the dark-haired and good-looking young man was being attended to by the paramedics, she saw that he was sitting up on a waterproof sheet, staring ahead, with a lost, bewildered expression on his face.

  He was holding a Kleenex to his nose, and his face was streaked with tears.

  Sheriff Jack walked quickly up to greet her and Owen.

  "I haven't been able to speak to this young man yet as the paramedics have been treating him. But we need to interview him urgently. Will you two handle this, and I will go and help manage the scene at the parking lot?"

  "Yes, Jack," May replied, and he strode off.

  May walked up to the paramedics.

  "Is the witness ready for us to speak to him?" she asked.

  "I think so, ma'am," the young woman replied in a low voice to May. "He says he’s Dylan McDowell, boyfriend of the victim. He was in a very emotional state when we arrived, and had also gotten sick a few times. He told us he had already had several alcoholic drinks so we were monitoring him for signs of alcohol poisoning. Anyway, we have controlled his vomiting, given him some water and electrolytes, and treated minor scrapes on his hands and knees, so I don’t think he's in any danger now, and can speak to you."

  May approached the young man.

  His hair was tousled and his eyes were traumatized. Turning, he looked at them unhappily.

  "I’m Deputy Moore," she said, introducing herself. "And this is Deputy Lovell. We are going to ask you some questions, alright?"

  "Alright," he said softly.

  "You called this crime in? You found the body?"

  "That's correct," Dylan said.

  "What happened?"

  May knelt down on the blanket herself, so she could be at eye level with him.

  "I - I - it's so confusing." He was still sobbing softly. "We were in the woods, together, you know - making out? And Alyssa said she wanted a blanket, that she wasn't comfortable."

  "Go on," May said.

  "I remembered I had this camping sheet in my car. So I told her I would go get it. I - I didn't think I would be long. I went back to the parking lot to get it. I got it out of my car and I came back. And when I came back, I found her - I found her dead. That's it."

  He shrugged miserably.

  May frowned at him.

  There seemed to be a multitude of holes in this sketchy story. The timeframe in particular seemed problematic. She was convinced that this was not the full truth and might not even be the partial truth.

  Glancing at Owen, she saw his gaze was fixated on the blood on Dylan's shirt. He was clearly wondering how this witness had managed to get liberally streaked with blood on a simple trip to the car and back.

  May decided it was no longer appropriate to question him here. This needed to be done more formally.

  "Deputy Lovell and I are going to escort you to the car," she told him. "We're going to take you into the police department and you can give us a full statement there."

  May stood up and helped the young man to his feet. He stumbled. He was clearly very drunk and she guessed his pallor was not just from shock.

  She reached out her arm to steady him.

  "Do you think you are able to walk?"

  "I don't know," he whispered. "I don't feel very good."

  "We'll get you to the car," she promised, and Owen took the young man's other arm and picked up the camping sheet.

  As they escorted him out of the woods, May heard a shriek coming from the parking lot. Sheriff Jack was hurrying over to a couple who had just arrived.

  "My son! What is going on? He called us to say there's been a crime! Where is he?" the blonde woman demanded. Then she uttered another appalled cry. "He's with the police!" she shouted, pointing in May's direction. She rushed over, again ignoring Jack's warning shout.

  "Dylan! What happened?" she asked in a shaking voice. “Who hurt you?”

  Dylan didn't answer. He hung his head, looking mortified.

  "Was he attacked? What's all the blood on his shirt from?" Dylan's father asked, sounding shocked. He glared at May as if suspecting one of the police might have done something to his son.

  "We don't yet know what happened. That's what we need to find out," May said. "Your son has received medical treatment for vomiting. He does not appear to have been attacked."

  May glanced at Owen and gestured for him to open the back door of the police car for the witness.

  "But where are you taking him? He needs to come home!" Mrs. McDowell insisted.

  "We have to take him in to give us a statement," May explained. "We won't keep him long. But he’s a witness to a murder, so we do need to ask him some questions."

  The slim woman stared at her mutinously.

  "Well, I demand that we be allowed to sit in on this. We need to hear what our son has to say. He's only seventeen. He’s injured and he is ill and he should be going straight to the medical center."

  Now, May looked at Sheriff Jack for guidance, knowing her boss would make the right call.

  He nodded.

  "Yes, Mr. and Mrs. McDowell," Jack said, sounding resigned, as if he didn't want to make this decision but yet, he felt it was best. "You can be in attendance. If you could please follow the police through to the Fairfield Police Department, the deputies will meet you there and you can sit in."

  He nodded at them, his expression sympathetic.

  May knew their presence would mean interference. Immediately, she could see they were those kind of people, with their behavior made worse by the fact they were upset and distraught. But all the same, it was the most sensible decision. Their son was underage and they had every right to sit in on the interview. In a small town, May knew, the police had to be considerate of locals and families. But undoubtedly it would make their job harder.

  As Owen helped Dylan into the back of May's cruiser, she walked a few steps away from the group with Sheriff Jack.

  "I've been speaking to the remaining party goers,” he told her quietly. “Accounts are confused. There was definitely excessive drinking taking place. People were drunk. They’re still drunk. And can't recall accurately.”

  May nodded. This confirmed her fears that it would be hard to get any coherent version of events.

  Jack continued. "So far, nobody has heard or seen anything, but we have taken everyone's contact details before allowing them to leave. One thing I have ascertained, though, is that Dylan McDowell is not Alyssa's boyfriend. A number of the witnesses were very clear on that and volunteered the information without being asked. So we already seem to have an inconsistency in his version," he warned.

  "Thanks for telling me," May said in a low voice. "I will make sure we ask him about that, and question him in a lot of detail." She knew she would have to do all she could to get to the truth.

  "Good luck," Jack said. "I'll let you get on with that. I need to wrap up my interviews of the other students, and I've then got to speak to the parents of the victim, who are on their way." He sighed heavily and May knew the thought of this difficult task was already weighing on him.

  Turning away, he headed over to the pavilion.

  May turned back to the car, feeling overwhelmed by the complexity of this case.

  They had a violent, senseless murder that was all the more painful for May to handle because the victim was so close in age to her sister, at the time of her disappearance.

  They had hordes of drunk witnesses who would provide unreliable accounts.

  The witness who had found the body was lying. He was covered in blood for reasons they hadn't yet found out. And his overwrought parents were clearly going to interfere in any way they could.

  As she glanced back at the pavilion, she noticed that the red rose bush seemed to have fewer blooms than the pink and white ones.

  Had the killer picked one of these roses to offer to the victim, or else deliberately plucked a rose, knowing that he was going to kill her and intending to scatter the petals over her body? she wondered suddenly. That was a creepy thought as it added another layer of complexity to the scenario.

  May had the sinking feeling that this wasn't going to be a slam-dunk investigation. They had only just started, yet already she feared that this was going to be a long, difficult, painful case.

  She hoped she would have what it took to cut through the lies, fend off the parents' interference, and fight her way to the truth. This interview would be a critically important first step.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With Dylan and his parents sitting in the small interview room at the Fairfield police department, May thought the room felt cramped and airless. She wished they could open a window, but the only window was the small square of mirrored glass leading to the observation room where she knew Owen was monitoring the interview.

  She did her best by turning on the aircon as cold as it would go.

  Dylan looked miserable. His head was bowed. His breath reeked of alcohol.

  Mrs. McDowell looked irate, protective, and fierce.

  The air in the room felt charged with hostility, like a storm was approaching.

  May had to admit that the couple appeared to have genuine concern for their son. However, she was not going to let that sway her from her duty.

  "I have to ask you some questions," she said, looking at Dylan. He had his arms wrapped around himself, as if he was cold. He didn't reply and May knew the tone had been set. This was going to be a demanding session. But she had to get to the truth.

  May was trying to decide what angle would work best to begin the questioning. She had the distinct feeling that things were not the way Dylan McDowell had told the story.

  At that moment, Mrs. McDowell interrupted things.

  "I know your mother," she said.

  May's eyebrows shot up. This was not what she'd expected.

  "You do?"

  "We go to the same church. She's not always at the Sunday services." Mrs. McDowell looked at May through narrowed eyes, as if this was a definite character flaw that somehow counted against May, too. "But we've spoken quite regularly and we both helped with the last bake sale."

  "Um, that's great," May began.

  Clearly, Mrs. McDowell was hoping to use the connection somehow, probably to help get her son out of the interview room quicker.

  "We're a good family. My son has a good heart. We've raised him well," she added. Her gaze pierced May like a skewer.

  "Absolutely," May said.

  She leaned forward, focusing once again on the unhappy looking witness. "Dylan, the quicker you tell us your story, the sooner we can all go home," she said as kindly as she could.

  Dylan's head jerked up at the mention of his name and his gaze was shocked.

  "I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking down again. “I’ll try to answer.”

  "Were you and Alyssa dating?" May asked, wanting to get to the core of this inconsistency as soon as she could.

  "Uh, look, not really. We were friends. Good friends."

  "You said she was your girlfriend?"

  May needed to dig deeper into this issue because a misunderstanding, a rejection, could potentially have exploded into violence. It was clear that Mr. McDowell had the same thought because he interrupted angrily.

  "Does this seriously matter? I mean, girlfriend can mean someone who's a girl, and a friend. Why on earth are you arguing these semantics?"

  "Yeah, I dunno, Dad," Dylan mumbled.

  "It's important to get everything straight,” May explained, making sure to sound non-judgmental.

  "She was a friend, but we were, like, moving to being closer. I knew her really well. Ask anyone, we spent a lot of time together. And I said girlfriend because I didn't want anyone to think I was the type of guy who'd casually fool around with a girl."

  Mrs. McDowell nodded approvingly. "Our boy has morals."

  May accepted this explanation. But it didn’t rule out that he could have been the killer, and it raised the question of whether he was the type of guy who would tell a bigger lie.

  "W-will this take much longer?" Dylan asked, his voice sounding small and childlike.

  “You have to understand, this is a serious matter, and we have to get everything straight. So I do have a few more questions,” May said. “Next, I need you to tell me about your movements around the time of the crime. You went back to the car to get a blanket. How long did that take?"

  "I told you already," he said mutinously. He was starting to seem combative, and May knew that his parents were only making things worse by being so protective of him, and being so antagonistic toward her.

  May had a suspicion that Dylan McDowell was replying in this aggressive way because he was lying.

  But how far?

  Was he covering up a crime of passion in which he had lost control, or was he lying about something more minor?

  May decided she was going to look at the minor details first.

  "Where did you go when you returned back to the parking lot? Did you go straight to your car?"

  Now he looked down, staring furiously at the desk.

  May guessed there was something about the timeline of his actions that was an issue here.

  "Did you speak to anyone?"

  "Yes. I spoke to my friend George for a couple of minutes. We - we did a dare. Downing shots."

  May understood now. Dylan was torn up that he hadn't gone directly back to Alyssa. And she could not argue the fact that if he wasn't the killer and he had gone straight back, then she might not have been murdered. His presence there could have kept the killer away.

  However, Dylan was clever enough to realize that and there was no reason at all to labor this point. The guilt was probably eating away at him already. Nobody could possibly have known this would happen, and Alyssa had not necessarily been left in dangerous circumstances.

  And if Alyssa had been targeted personally and the murderer had wanted to kill her specifically, then he would have made a plan to try again.

  "So you then got the blanket and returned to the woods?"

  "Yeah."

  Now she saw relief in his eyes. Relief that he wasn't being judged for having spent time with his friend.

  "Did you hear or see anything on your way back?" she asked.

  He narrowed his eyes and she could tell he was thinking, really thinking, about this.

  "I think I heard a scream, but at the time I thought it was from the party behind me. I didn't realize she was screaming," he said. "But now, I'm thinking it might have been her."

  "You didn't mention that earlier."

  "Well, I wasn't sure."

  "Did you see anything?"

  "No."

  "Was she in a different place when you got back?"

  He nodded. "Yeah, yeah, she was. She must have run - run from the guy. I arrived back and she was nowhere to be seen. I thought maybe I’d remembered wrong, and we’d actually gone further, so I walked ahead looking for her, with my phone flashlight on, and then I saw her ahead."

  He buried his face in his hands.

 

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