It was just after three o'clock. Evan was having mixed feelings about each of the families he had spoken with so far. Of course all parents speak highly of their children. Of course all parents of a deceased child speak highly of them. But with these families, everything seemed too perfect. No enemies. No arguments. No boyfriends – with the exception of Haddie Taylor – and no known mental illnesses. In fact, every time Evan mentioned mental illness or suicide to the parents, they got defensive. As though he were a terrible person for even suggesting such a thing. Was this simply a coping mechanism to deal with their daughters' deaths, or were there things they were keeping from him?

Evan didn't know what to think. When he first arrived on scene the day before, he knew that something was off. The dispatch call had detailed that three girls were plunged off the roof of their school. His initial assumption was that they'd been pushed. But then getting to the school, hearing what everyone was saying – they were all convinced it was suicide. And that began to muddle his perception of the case.

With the absence of a suicide note and no plausible cause for suicide, all fingers were pointing at this being a murder. But even then, it was a rare and unusual homicide. Broad daylight, roof of the school. It wasn't pre-mediated. If the killer had planned this out, they could have done a much better job. This implied that the killing was a last-minute decision, perhaps even accidental. Something happened on that roof yesterday morning. Someone got those girls up there and either pushed them or had them jump. But who would do that? To all three of them? And more importantly: why?

Perhaps it was a teacher, someone who worked at the school. A key role-model in the girls' lives. That might make sense, given the circumstances. A teacher or someone who worked at the school would have had access. It could have even been another student. Or multiple students. They would have seen the girls every single day, observed them, knew their habits and patterns. It would be convenient if the killer was someone in the school. Easy to narrow down. But that still left motive. Why would someone do that? What did those girls do to deserve what happened to them?

The next step in this investigation was social media. It was the twenty-first century, after all. Millennials were practically glued to their phones and laptops. The internet was almost as good of a tool in solving a crime as DNA evidence. Teenagers put everything on the internet – their relationship status, who they are and aren't friends with, what books they're reading, the thoughts in their heads. If Evan wanted a closer look into those girl's lives, social media was the key.

First he began with Kiera Barnes. Her Facebook name was listed as Kiera Mae Barnes. Profile picture was a self-portrait (a selfie), and she was smiling, bright-eyed, brown hair flowing over her shoulders.

She had 348 friends. Lives in: Briarwood. Studies at: St. Paul's Catholic School. He scrolled down her timeline. Posts from friends, videos she shared, mobile uploads. She had made a status three days ago about how much she loved Leonardo DiCaprio. More posts revealed that she was in support of the Cancer Society, was participating in a Relay for Life event in two weeks, and loved Oreos.

A girl named Sierra Green posted on her wall an inspirational quote, most likely found somewhere on the internet. "Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence."

There weren't many personal posts, mostly just shared links from friends. There were check-in points from when she went somewhere, and mobile uploads of Kiera and the girls. Evan clicked the photos and scrolled through. All three of them in a forest. The photo was taken from behind, the three of them walking through the trees. Another shot – a selfie – of Kiera and Haddie, sticking their tongues out. Photos of them at a party, holding up red solo cups, wide smiles.

He exited out of the album and found her Instagram. Mostly selfies. Selfies with the other girls. A picture of a coffee mug and her feet in fuzzy socks. A shot of her finger nails, freshly painted. A clear Starbucks cup, filled with red liquid. A bathtub, filled to the rim with bubbles. Quirky little captions.

Evan clicked out of Instagram and went back to Facebook to find Haddie. Her name was simply Haddie Taylor. 657 friends. That was nearly the population of their school. Her profile picture looked professionally taken; a shot of her posing on a beach. White sand, turquoise water. Must have been somewhere tropical.

Her cover photo was a pink sunset over a lake. As he scrolled down her timeline, he saw another link to the Relay for Life page, probably a mutual thing between the girls. A photograph taken at the school, presumably, of Haddie kissing a giant poster that read: Kiss Away Cancer. A tagged post from Gabriella Pratt thanking her for the birthday wishes. Then photos of Gabriella and Haddie at a party together, pink ribbons and balloons surrounding the room.

Another post from a friend – Layla Bowen – a photo of the two of them standing at the beach, posing for the camera. Haddie had shared a post the week prior titled: 10 Reasons why I Love my Mother.

Evan scrolled down further and found photos of Haddie and Oliver, holding hands, him kissing her on the cheek. There were photos of Haddie and her parents, Haddie in a field beside a horse, Haddie doing a handstand in a grassy field. Not many status posts at all.

Her Instagram page consisted of selfies, artsy shots of sunsets and scenery, and photos with the girls. He clicked one of the photos; it was of Haddie, Kiera and Anya, all smiling into the camera. Evan felt strange looking at it, as though the three of them were staring directly at him. So happy, so alive. Their eyes were silently willing him to bring them justice. To find out what happened to them.

Lastly he found Anya Wilson's Facebook page. Her profile picture was a selfie: a closed-mouth smile, her short blonde hair over one shoulder as she turned sideways for the camera. Her cover photo was a black and white photograph of New York City.

The first few posts on her timeline were photos. It was an album titled Photography. In it she had posted all of the photos she had taken. They were good, Evan noticed. Really good. There were landscapes, portraits, shots of her dog. Photographs bursting with colour – red sunsets, green forests. And then there were black and whites. Abandoned houses, furniture, trees, silhouettes. The photos were stunning.

As he scrolled down her timeline, Evan noticed that there were no status updates, only photos she had taken, along with posts from friends. There was a photo she added of her and her father captioned love you dad.

Then, going back farther, more photographs from the previous summer. Vacation, the beach, seashells, Haddie and Kiera. And that was it. There wasn't much else to see.

He looked up her Instagram, which proved to be exactly what he assumed: Purely photography. Mostly the same photos he had seen on her Facebook with a few newer ones, the last one posted four days ago.

Most teenagers posted everything about their lives online. But other than photography, Anya hadn't posted a single thing. Was that strange? Possibly. But perhaps she just preferred to keep her life private. That wasn't a crime. There was nothing wrong with that. In fact, Evan appreciated people who didn't post their entire lives on Facebook. He found it quite bothersome when Jordan's friends would post essays on their statuses, going off and ranting about things that no one else cared about.

Evan closed the internet tabs and sat back, taking a sip from his coffee cup. As far as he could tell, all three of the girls lived happy, normal lives. But then again, social media wasn't the best representation of one's mental health. People post when they're happy – they don't post when they're sad. It also didn't tell him who hated them and wanted them dead. Evan would return to the subject of social media later. He would also need to get their phone records and see who they were in contact with the most. That would prove useful. If there was anything they were hiding – or anyone – Evan would find out.

_____

The next stop on Evan's list was the boyfriend's place, Oliver Harris. It was 4:15p.m. He only had so much time of investigating left for the day before he had to meet with Kennedy and Jesse to discuss their findings then head back to Riverton. He had already begun mapping out tomorrow's agenda: Return to the victim's homes, search the girls' rooms, talk to the teachers, neighbors, and anyone else close to them. But right now, it was the boyfriend.

Oliver Harris was a good looking kid. Evan could see why Haddie Taylor – who was your picture-perfect ideal of the high school cheerleader – was dating the guy. Everyone thought they were going to get married, Evan remembered Kelsey saying.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Evan said to Oliver, who sat on the couch in his living room. Oliver's mother had answered the door, looking just as distraught as the other mothers of the day. She excused herself and gave them privacy as she busied herself in the kitchen.

"Thanks," Oliver said. The kid looked numb. Like he'd been crying all day, but didn't want this detective to sense any sign of weakness.

"How long had you and Haddie been dating?" Evan asked, tapping his pen against his notepad.

"Um," Oliver took in a breath. "About two years, maybe?"

"How did the two of you meet?"

"That's a dumb question."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone knows each other here. The question isn't how. It's when. When you meet someone."

"Okay. When did you and Haddie meet?"

"Well, we kind of grew up together, living in the same neighborhood and all. We were never close friends or anything. But then I guess, when high school started, I began to notice her... in a different way. You know?"

"And she noticed you too."

"Yeah."

"So you started dating."

He nodded.

"What did her parents think of that?" Evan inquired.

"Her parents love me. And my parents adored Haddie. The daughter they always wanted. I have three brothers, so."

"What was she like, Haddie?"

Oliver took a moment to answer this. "She was fun. Loud. Charismatic. Everyone noticed her. Everyone loved her."

"And you," Evan said. "You loved her?"

"Of course I loved her."

"Did the two of you ever fight?"

"Obviously. Doesn't everyone? I'm not saying we were perfect. There were things she did that I didn't agree with. And of course the same goes for me. We bickered and disagreed. But at the end of the day, I loved her more than anything."

"You two were close. You would know if she had any enemies, anyone who might want to hurt her."

Oliver was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I suppose I would. But I don't. I don't know a God damn thing."

"She never said anything to you? Never mentioned anything unusual?"

Oliver shrugged.

Evan stared at him. "Oliver, what do you think happened to Haddie?"

"Call me Ollie. I hate Oliver. Sounds so conservative."

"Ollie," Evan said. "What do you think happened?"

Oliver was quiet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. "Someone pushed them?"

"You say that like it's a question."

"It is a question. How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"You were her boyfriend," Evan said. "Did she jump? Did Haddie kill herself?"

He was quiet again. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Why would she jump?"

"You tell me."

"Haddie wasn't crazy, okay? She wouldn't jump off a building to prove a point."

"Prove a point? What are you talking about?"

Oliver was quiet again.

"Ollie," Evan said. "What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing."

"Oliver."

He looked at Evan, flattened his mouth into a line, thought about it. "She was just... I don't know. She could be a bit dramatic sometimes."

"How so?"

"Like, if something happened to her, it was the end of the world. And she thought everyone believed it too. Like she was Miss Center of the Universe."

"Were things not good between the two of you recently?"

"Not at all, things were great. Haddie's always been that way. If you know her, you know what I mean."

"Drama queen?"

"Yeah. And very attention-seeking. All eyes on Haddie. But I just... I don't know. I don't think she jumped. My point was, if you think she did jump... she wouldn't have."

"To prove a point?"

"Yeah."

Nothing he was saying was making sense.

"What kind of point would Haddie be trying to prove?" Evan asked.

Oliver shrugged. "I don't know. She's a girl. She wanted people to notice her. Girls are always trying to prove something. That they're better and smarter. That they mean something to the world. That they matter."

"Do you think Haddie mattered, Ollie?"

"Of course she mattered. She mattered to me. I didn't care if the whole world loved her or not. I loved her. I cared." He was quiet again. "But that wasn't enough for her."

"She wanted more."

Oliver nodded. "She wanted fame, fortune, celebrity status. Briarwood wasn't good enough for her. She wanted to go to Hollywood, make it big as a singer or an actress."

"Big dreams, little town."

"Yeah, exactly. She hated it here. Briarwood did nothing for that girl. It didn't deserve her. She could have done anything. Been anyone. Been with anyone. Yet she chose me. She loved me." He was quiet again.

"So she didn't jump." Evan said.

"She didn't jump."

______

Evan left Oliver's house and headed for his car. Talking with Oliver proved more beneficial than he initially suspected. Oliver opened up new possibilities about Haddie Taylor. Things family members would never say. Not because they were untrue, but because parents don't think of their children in a negative light. Not that what Oliver said about Haddie was negative – it was realistic. Evan could understand more about her now, get a better understanding of the type of person she was, get inside of her head. Dramatic. Attention-seeking. What did Oliver mean when he said to prove a point? Would she have done something like that for attention? Pushed herself to the edge of suicide to make somebody notice?

Why did you jump, Haddie? Evan thought to himself. Or... what did you do to make somebody push you?

It was just after five when Evan arrived at the local diner to meet with Kennedy and Jesse. They were having an end-of-day meeting to go over the information that each of them had gathered thus far – evidence, interviews, plausible explanations. Evan felt that Cross and Tanner had it easy. They were officers, after all, and he was the detective. While they obtained preliminary information and gathered things like evidence and witness testimony's, Evan had to talk to everyone, go through the case step-by-step, rack his brain for hours on end about culprits and suspects and logic. Who did it and why. That was the tough part – analyzing it all and trying to put a finger on the right thing with one hundred percent certainty.

The diner was one of the only ones in town. It was a quaint place, only two waitresses working. The place wasn't busy. Evan found them at a booth near the back and slid in across from them. Kennedy and Jesse already had food and drinks in front of them. A coffee sat there waiting for Evan.

They made brief small talk then got right down to business. Each of them went over everything they had gathered. Evan filled them in on each of the families, the boyfriend, the Facebook pages. He listened intently as Kennedy spoke, then Jesse. Once they had all finished speaking, it was quiet, a gap in the conversation.