Together, they all went down to Bluewood Mountain Infirmary. They saw their baby there, stretched out on a cold steel table. Autumn Jack was so sweet, so calm, so fair. So dead. The victim’s ripped dress—and all her clothes for that matter—had been removed as a matter of course. For decency’s sake, her body had been draped with a clean, white sheet. Only her face and her bare shoulders were uncovered. Autumn’s lively blonde hair bounced over the edge of her cold, cold bed. Xanga, the girl’s exotic mother, fixed her daughter’s hair with the push of a slim finger. Meanwhile, Arteur simply stood behind his wife; he shivered and wept uncontrollably.

The constable—waiting at the back of the room—had done the family the favour of closing the hopeless girl’s eyes. As an officer of the law, he was familiar with lifeless eyes and their wicked capacity to inflict trauma. Sleeping eyes were the best, thought Dodo.

After some time, the infirmary’s broad doors gently crept open to welcome a procession of the Bluewood Mountain’s mourners. Chief among them came the crying tears of River and Inca Roe. In contrast, the Roe family’s adults ambled with the solemn silence of those previously acquainted with grief. Rosa Roe grabbed Inca by the shoulder and squeezed, relieved that her precious child wasn’t on the table.

“Uncle Juck,” River asked quietly, “how long will they keep her here?”

“Probably just today,” his uncle replied. “Because of the way it happened they’ll want to do tests,” he conceded with a long, drawn out sigh.

River bit his lip and sniffled.

The constable, meanwhile, cast himself with decorum. He carefully guided the townspeople in to pay their respects. But, internally, the detective’s mind was wandering through the possibilities. The boyfriend, River Roe. Naturally, that’s where the investigation would begin. Martie, Inca. Dodo watched, maintaining his blank expression, while each of Autumn’s family members and friends walked by. The parents. Over the years, the constable had watched with ease while criminal after criminal exposed their own guilt—body language, for most, was difficult to subdue.

In the dim light of the infirmary’s viewing room, Constable Dodo watched hands shake hands, he watched hugs and he watched tears, he watched the movement of their eyes. Yet, for all his watching, nobody screamed out in sin. For the first time in a decade, Bluewood Mountain’s principal policeman had a real mystery on his hands.

Who killed Autumn Jack...

One of Dodo's deputies poked his head through the door and winked at the constable. "It's the doc," whispered Dodo's underling, "he's out here acting like a-"

The constable cut off his deputy with an thunderous brow and mouthed back, "TELL. HIM. TO. WAIT."