By the time me and Elias have wandered around the house and gone back in, Emerson is coming down the stairs, looking for us.

"I've got Brunsley on video call upstairs," he tells us, and goes back up with us following, returning to the library where Emerson's iPad screen displays Brunsley sitting behind a desk with a neutral background, shuffling papers and flicking through his phone busily. It's slightly annoying that I can't see what his surroundings look like, especially if he's at home, just to get a better glimpse at his personality.

He looks up at the camera as we sit down in front of the iPad, and his gaze focuses on me with a look of unhidden relief.

"Holly," he greets me with a half-smile and a nod. "How are you doing?"

There's really no right answer to that question, but I shrug and nod back at him. "I'm alright, thanks."

"You have no idea how much I regret not moving you from your home when I came by earlier," Brunsley reprimands himself with a small frown. "I knew it was dangerous, but no one expected an attack like that out of nowhere. Are you in any bad pain?"

"Not as much," I respond, stopping my fingers from drifting up to the mild bruise on my neck, compliments of the RoseBlood Killer. The headache's fading now that I've taken the painkillers, but I can still remember the harsh grip of the murderer's hands, squeezing relentlessly, making my stomach clench and head spin from the lack of air.

"Well. I'm glad that you're in a safer place now," Brunsley says, "and I'll never make a stupid mistake like that again. But, aside from that, I have some developments on the case, assuming you're interested."

"You know I'm interested," I reply, giving him a look, "but I don't have my casebook yet. It's still at home. Edith's gone to get some of my things."

"That'll help, then," Brunsley approves, smoothing out sheets of papers in front of him. "Right. I've been interviewing the guests who came to your party, one by one, including Clarissa. I went to her house and spoke to her, looked around. I haven't spotted anything to do with poetry or love or 60s items. She looked genuinely terrified and confused when I asked her questions, but, of course, it could be a front."

"It could be," I agree. "Does she still have the migraine?"

"I believe not," Brunsley answers. "I don't know whether she had a faux migraine to avoid attending the party or if she actually was suffering from one, but all I've seen is that she's fairly oblivious to everything that's happening. The only thing I picked up on was... well, she just seemed worried. About someone or something. When I asked about your parents, she wouldn't say much, especially about your dad. I got the simple state that 'he's really nice,' repeated a couple of times, and when I asked Clarissa about anything she could think that linked to the murders, or anyone that could've had something against them, she just shook her head. Didn't say a thing."

"Guilty conscience," Emerson suggests, and I almost jump as I'm reminded that he's sitting and listening right beside me, Elias glancing at Brunsley's image every so often in thought.

"Maybe," Brunsley nods slowly. "But there are eighteen other suspects, which is every other guest that did attend the birthday party. Jessica and Roland Williams, parents of-"

"Mia," I finish, already shaking my head. "No."

"They're still suspects," Emerson points out, and I look over at him in barely suppressed annoyance. "You might know them well, but the murder could have been committed by them, hypothetically."

"Yes, hypothetically," I repeat in mild sarcasm, "except that they had no motive, Emerson, and that's a key point to the whole concept of murder."

"Anyway," Brunsley interrupts, his amused look matching Elias' smirk as he speaks, "they attended, didn't they? You were with Mia when we first met."

"She found me at the stairs of the basement, after Lizzie did," I tell him. "She's gone to Oxford University now, to study English Lit and Language. But I've known her for years, and I'm absolutely certain, has no means, motive or capability to have killed my parents on my birthday. Same for her parents."

"Okay," Brunsley acknowledges, "what about Dylan Charles and his daughter Emily?"

I blink at him blankly, then remember the small cluster of teens my age that had been dragged along by their prestigious parents. "I don't know them. Most of the guests were workmates or clients."

"Louisa Boyle and her son and daughter, Sandy and Jason?"

"No."

"Carmen Mosey and her daughter Lillian?"

"No."

"So, these are all parents associated with your parents' work," Brunsley concludes, jotting down some notes on a spare piece of paper, and Emerson does the same on his phone. "Okay then... Lorraine and Paul Jones?"

"Yeah, I know them," I say, "they're some of my parents' oldest clients. They're the ones who introduced me to Clarissa. Lorraine knew her mother, apparently. They described Clarissa as timid and all too."

"I've actually spoken to them," Brunsley mentions, looking up at his paper to the camera. "They were worried about you, understandingly. Seem like nice people."

I nod, and Brunsley moves on swiftly. "Andrew and Charlotte King?"

I shake my head.

"Sisters Tanya and Hannah Simmons?"

"Nope."

"And Christina Bloom?"

"No. I don't know any of those people well. You'll have to talk to them. If they were important or really good friends of my mum and dad, I would have noticed."

Would you?

I bite my lip and hide a frown of frustration at my thoughts, and Elias speaks up.

"So the whole party was mainly people to do with work? Like a business gathering?" He stops talking suddenly, glancing at me apologetically. "Ah- sorry, didn't mean that like..."

I shake my head. "Don't be. That's basically what it was, anyway."

"What we need to do is dig deeper," Brunsley emphasises, frowning in thought. "Holly, I need you, once you get your casebook back, to write down anything you can think of that was personal about your parents. Forget their work and business lives. What were they like? What did they like? What did you do together?"

Yeah, what a great idea. Their personalities couldn't have changed that much after they ditched you for fancy business lives, right?

I force myself to nod and smile lightly at him. "I will."

"Emerson, go through the backgrounds of these people with your siblings and share them with Holly while I keep on interviewing and searching for any potential clues and links to this case. The sooner we identify this killer, the better, and I know we will."

"You know we will?" Elias repeats, and Emerson shoots him a look with his deep brown eyes. Elias doesn't meet them, nodding at Brunsley shortly. "Yeah, that's the right attitude."

"We will, Elias," Brunsley assures him. "There's a lot more to work with here. If we stick to the leads, we'll uncover what needs to be uncovered to know every little thing, minute by minute, at the time of the Cassias' deaths and ultimately find the only person it could have been to commit the murder."

It sounds easy enough to do. The only thing about digging deeper is that it's a lot more difficult and uncomfortably personal when you're involved in practically everything. Or you should be, I should have been, until I wasn't.