She shook her head. “They both date a lot, but they joke about not tying themselves down. They’re too young for that.” Her face crumpled when she seemed to realize neither of them would ever get any older or fall in love or have a chance to give a committed relationship a try.

“There were three boys and three girls,” Freddie said. “Do you know who the others might’ve been?”

When it appeared to dawn on her that other young people she probably knew had been murdered, Mrs. Chastain shook her head. “Six of them. Good Lord. Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s what we’d like to know too,” Sam said. “Can you give us an idea of who might’ve been with Michael and Hugo?”

“Todd Brantley was another of their close friends.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s tall and very muscular with brown hair and eyes. He’s captain of the football and hockey teams at Wilson.”

Sam looked up at Freddie, who shook his head.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“The girls... Any ideas of who they might be?”

“No. I teased Michael and his friends that they changed girls more often than they changed their underwear.”

Looking exhausted and unusually pale, Gonzo stepped into the house looking for them. “Dr. McNamara is ready to begin transport, Lieutenant,” he said, eying the woman sitting next to Sam on the sofa.

“Mrs. Chastain, I’d like to have you taken home until we have more information for you. Is there someone you could call?”

“I...I can call my neighbor. She’ll come.”

“Detective Cruz will stay with you until she arrives. We’ll need your address and phone number so we can get back in touch when we know more.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Lieutenant. I’ve read about you and your husband. You seem like good people.”

“Thank you.” Sam never knew how to take comments like that when on the job. If she had her druthers, no one would know who she was married to. “I’ll be back in touch as soon as I know more.” She followed Gonzo next door and down the stairs to view the crime scene before the bodies were removed. “Holy Christ,” she whispered as she took in the bloody carnage, the chaos, the drugs, the booze, the utter waste that was being systematically recorded and bagged by crime scene detectives.

The thought of Brooke in the middle of something like this... Had she been here? If so, who had gotten her out before she could be killed too? And how close had she come to being murdered?

“Thought you were on vacation,” Lindsey McNamara said to Sam.