The activity outside had already increased. Police officers in fluorescent green jackets with reflective stripes were all over the place, putting up even more blue and white crime scene tape, marking off paths around the grounds. I continued past them, taking the long way around to the library. Two uniformed officers were stationed outside the doors. They admitted me. Another officer talked to me when I entered and escorted me to one of the worktables, where various people—I assumed more police officers—had already set up shop. These people were in normal clothes, suits and business wear. I was placed at a table, and a tall black woman with closely cropped hair and rimless glasses sat down across from me. She looked like she was in her twenties, but she wore a no-nonsense navy blue suit with a white blouse that made her seem older and more serious. She set down a few forms and a pen.

“I’m DI Young,” she said politely. “What’s your name?”

I told her my name.

“American or Canadian?” she asked.

“American.”

“And you saw or heard something last night?”

“I saw a man,” I said.

She pulled out one of the forms and put it on a clipboard, so I couldn’t see what she was writing.

“A man,” she said. “Where and when was this?”

“I think it was two . . . just after two. It was right when everyone was looking for the fourth body. The fourth murder was supposed to be at one forty-five, right? Because we waited for a few minutes before we came back . . .”

“Came back from where?”

“We snuck out. Just to go over to Aldshot. Just for a little while.”

“Who is we? Who was with you?”

“My roommate,” I said.

“And her name is?”

“Julianne Benton.”

DI Young wrote something else on her form.

“So you and your roommate snuck out of your building . . .”

I wanted to tell her to keep it down, but you can’t tell the police not to broadcast your business so you don’t get in trouble.

“. . . and you saw a man just after two in the morning. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

She made another note.

“And you’re sure of the time?”

“Well,” I said, “the news kept saying that the fourth victim in 1888 was found at one forty-five. We were on the roof watching the news on Jerome’s computer—”

“Jerome?” she asked.

Now I’d gotten Jerome into it.

“Jerome,” I repeated. “He lives in Aldshot.”

“Exactly how many of you were there?”

“Three,” I said. “Me, Jazza, and Jerome. We went to see Jerome in his building, and then the two of us came back.”

More writing.

“And you were watching the news at one forty-five.”

“Right. And they . . . I mean, I guess, you . . . didn’t find a body. So we waited for a while, about ten minutes or so, then Jazza wanted to go home, because it was creepy. So we ran across the square—”