“What about the rest of us?” Jacqui interrupted and glared at him from under her brow. She wasn’t particularly tall but she was clearly the leader of this group.

He blanked his expression. “How do you mean?”

“Look, we watch the news and now you say you’re with the FBI. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you must be Darby’s alibi for this poor woman’s murder. Presumably you must believe someone else killed Martin too.” Jacqui scanned the crowd and lowered her voice. “That means the killer is out there somewhere.”

Eban didn’t say anything. It was glaringly obvious that she was correct.

“We are potential witnesses because we were all at the ceilidh too. What if this killer comes after us?”

Her voice was rising in agitation, and she was beginning to draw attention.

“Jacqui,” he said softly. “I can understand you might feel scared and unsettled by the situation.”

She visibly calmed. One of the guys squeezed her shoulder.

“You’ve suffered the loss of a good friend. Then there’s the confusion and guilt associated with how you treated another close friend when they were vulnerable. It’s understandable that you’re upset.”

Remorse etched itself across each of the four earnest faces looking at him. He suspected they weren’t bad people. Just human.

“Your fear about being potential witnesses is not unfounded.” He shouldn’t enjoy the growing look of horror on Jacqui’s features, but his inner sadist wasn’t quite done tormenting her. “I suggest you all go down to the police department and provide written statements as to exactly what you remember about Tuesday night.” Eban’s words formed clouds of vapor between them. His fingers were starting to tingle painfully despite his gloves.

“I saw that guy at the dance.” Davis Farraday nodded toward Gleeson.

Eban looked. “Yes, I’m aware the Gleesons were in attendance.” He wanted them to make statements too.

“When should we do this? Provide written statements,” the tall guy, Mohammed, asked.

Eban checked his watch. He’d already left Darby alone longer than he’d intended. “For your own safety I’d get it over with sooner rather than later. Why don’t you head down there now? An officer should be able to assist. If you could each make a comprehensive list of people you saw at the dance, inside or outside, I’d be grateful. And what time they left?”

Jacqui nodded. “Fine. We’ll drive over there now.” She folded her arms defensively over her chest.

“How is Darby?” the guy in the red jacket asked tentatively. Stef Riddell.

“Hurt. Upset. Scared,” Eban replied. “This whole situation has been extremely stressful for her.”

“It hasn’t exactly been a bed of roses for us.” Jacqui’s breath hitched and she blinked rapidly. “Martin was one of our best friends. Darby…”

Eban smothered his irritation with the woman and drew on his training. “It’s understandable that you must all be grieving and confused about what has happened.”

They all bobbed their covered heads in unhappy unison.

Multiply that feeling by a thousand if they’d found the body, been accused of murder, and then discovered a serial killer had fixated on them. And that was on top of the atrocities that had happened to Darby last summer. But she was still out there, still planning to get on with her life.