May's mind was racing. She was determined to follow this strong new lead, and also, potentially, to help the family of the previous victim get the closure and justice they deserved. Having a case like that go cold meant a whole different level of pain and uncertainty.
"Let's go there immediately," she said. "Let's go and speak to the family."
They left the crime scene, thanking the forensics officer for his hard work and for having observed those details. Then, May got in the car and headed out to the suburbs of Southbrook, which was where the Tyne family had suffered this terrible crime two years ago.
She felt nervous as she drove, her mind going to all the possible outcomes of their visit. Would they find out any information that could help them solve their own case? And what had happened in the two-year interval between that crime and this one? Why such a long gap?
"Maybe he got scared off," Owen said. "Maybe the police got close, and he decided to lay low."
"Maybe he went to prison for another reason, and they never tied up this crime with the other," May suggested.
They would find out soon because they were approaching the road they needed.
Now to find out if these crimes really were related to each other.
The house was a corner property: a small, white-painted, two-story house, with a neat yard. May saw a thick forest lined the road opposite. She further noted that the garage was on the side of the house nearest the forest. It wouldn't have been easy for anyone to have seen this killer if he had used the same method of entry.
She walked up the neat path to the front door, with Owen beside her, and rang the bell.
When the door opened, a woman who looked to be in her late twenties stood there with worry in her eyes. She had thick, brown hair braided down her back and wore a pair of scuffed jeans and a leather jacket.
"Hello, we're May Moore and Owen Lovell from the Sheriff’s Department," May said. "We've come here to ask you a few questions about the murder that happened here two years ago. We think it might be related to another crime we're investigating. Do you have time to speak to us?"
The woman's face paled, and May could see the pain in her eyes.
"You think the same person did this? We assumed it was just some random criminal passing through, a drug addict or mentally disturbed vagrant."
"That might be the case," May replied. "We'd like to find out whatever you know, in order to try and get to the bottom of this. Are you Anthea?" That, she remembered from the case file, was the sister's name.
The woman nodded but looked dubious. "I am Anthea, but I'm not sure I want to talk about it," she said. "Dave was my only brother. It was very painful, and we have tried to put it behind us."
May felt a wave of sympathy for her. She could understand the woman's reluctance to talk about it. Old memories were hard to dredge up when they brought pain and sadness with them.
"I understand," she said. "But if you could tell us anything, it could help you get justice for your brother. It could help other families who are going through the same pain."
May could see that Anthea was wavering.
"Please," May added. "We need your help if we're going to catch this person."
The woman looked at her for a moment and then nodded. "I'll tell you what I know," she said finally. "But I don't remember much. It was two years ago, and it was so shocking at the time. Plus, details were sparse, and nothing new got uncovered since then."
May and Owen followed her inside. Immediately, May saw what she'd suspected from the woman's appearance. She was a biker. There was a calendar for upcoming rides on the hall table and a motorcycle helmet on the hat stand in the small living room. Framed photos of Anthea on rides were displayed on the walls.
As the woman began to tell her story, May felt her heart breaking for the family. They had gone through so much pain, and yet still had the courage to help other victims of similar crimes.
May and Owen listened intently as Anthea recounted the events of that terrible day. "My brother was home alone. He'd been going through a tough time. He lost his job, he and his fiancée had to move out of their rented place. They moved in with me until they got on their feet again, and I'd actually taken Tanya out for a girl's night. I thought she needed cheering up. There had been problems between them, obviously."
"Of course. It can't have been easy," May sympathized.
"We headed out at about six, and we got back at ten. And immediately after we opened the garage, we saw him there. You could see immediately that he was dead—he'd been stabbed multiple times." Anthea wiped a tear away as she relived the terrible moment. "It was unbelievable because he was a big, strong man. We couldn’t understand it when we saw it, but when we neared his body, Tanya smelled the Mace immediately. She has a very good sense of smell. She picked it up in the air. We were both appalled. We were in tears. We called the police and waited, locked in the car. When the police arrived, we went into the house. I guess we'd both expected that it would have been ransacked, but nothing had been taken. Nothing! No money, no bikes, no tools. It was the strangest thing. We decided that the burglar must have been scared off. Perhaps he'd scared himself after killing my brother and realized what trouble he would be in."
"It's definitely possible," Owen reassured her.
“What about the break-in itself?” May asked. “Did the killer break in through a window?”
“Yes. They found where he’d forced his way inside, and they photographed the scrape marks. They were made by some sort of crowbar that seemed to have—almost like a serrated edge, I think.”
May and Owen exchanged a glance. Undoubtedly, the same tool had been used to gain access.
