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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?"
