Secrets Worth Killing For

CHAPTER THREE

Day two, driving back to Briarwood. Today Evan would need to begin speaking with everyone involved in those three girls' lives. Parents, friends, neighbors, teachers, co-workers – everyone. It was now up to him to determine what exactly happened yesterday on that rooftop.

Being in Briarwood was different than being in Riverton. The busy streets and skyscrapers were missing. The ground was softer, the air was different. Was that even possible? He assumed with all the coal and fossil fuels burning in the city, a smog wouldn't be that surprising to conjure. And it was almost unfathomable to him that just over forty minutes north of the city was this small, suburban town of five thousand. So small that you could barely notice it on a map. So small that if you weren't looking, you might pass right by without giving it a second glance. Yet here he was, in this small town, investigating three deaths.

Evan had seen his fair share of crime and violence in Riverton. Not that it was overly violent or had extremely high crime rates, but it wasn't perfect – far from it. There were gangs, shootings, stabbings. Downtown was the worst. Domestic disputes, theft, arson. He'd seen it all, so he was prepared for the worst. The worst was what he specialized in.

Evan enjoyed working alone. Often times the officers and detectives were assigned partners. It made the job easier, gave you someone to lean on, always have your back. But as of late, Evan preferred working alone. Going out into the field, conducting interviews, surveying crime scenes. He felt that having someone else there wouldn't be the most beneficial. Another body to take into account. Another human being to worry about.

Perhaps this personal preference was due to the fact that he was slightly introverted and enjoyed his solitude. Perhaps he just wasn't that fond of working with other people. Or perhaps it was due to the fact that his last partner of two and a half years died on the job and he still wasn't completely healed from it yet.

It had been three years since the incident, but Evan was still haunted by it every single day. And since the death, Frank hadn't pushed for him to be reassigned a new partner. So for the past three years, it was just him, alone, doing what he did best.

Evan made it to Briarwood shortly after ten a.m. He slowed down once he got off the highway and simply took in his surroundings. Green everywhere, surrounded by trees. Quaint roads, quiet streets. Elderly couples sitting on their front porch, young mother's pushing strollers, dogs chasing each other in the park. In that moment, he could understand why the mayor had been so insistent that this was a suicide. She didn't want to ruin their perfect community they had formed here. Announcing a triple-murder would be driving a steak-knife right through the center of it all. And once something like that happened, there was no coming back from it.

He glanced at the GPS and veered the car over to the next street. First up on his list: the home of Haddie Taylor. Only child to Renée and George Taylor. Mother was a defence attorney, father was a cardiac surgeon. Now, they were childless. And all the money in the world couldn't make that better.

He pulled into the long driveway of a large, Victorian house, two stories, triple garage. The entrance was huge, two white pillars extending from the ground to the second floor. The lawn was well kept and the bushes were trimmed to perfection. Evan took in a deep breath, grabbed his notepad, and made his way to the front.

A woman answered the door, presumably Renée Taylor. She was either young or looked young for her age, he couldn't tell. She had short blonde hair that was cropped to her shoulders. Blue eyes, no makeup, dressed in all black. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She had a pleasant face, a face that people would enjoy looking at. He could see the resemblance from the photo of Haddie that he had in his car. Practically a spitting image of her mother. Same face, same eyes, same blonde hair.