“Both of you. My office. Now.” He looks at the two-way mirror. “You, too.”

The observation gallery has a funny way of disrupting time. Back in the task room, I blink under the fluorescent lights. Our desks and computers are all hard right angles, casting blue shadows. We’re silent as we follow Truman to his office. His head is down, shoulders a hard line. The bull, I think, ready to charge.

“I have never,” he says, gazing out his window, his back to us, “in my thirty years on the force, seen anything like this.”

I think of the photos. The tattered blankets and handcuffs.

He turns, his jaw set. “Students curled up in the lobby. Parents raging in my office.” He gestures angrily toward the door. “The president of the university is on his way here now.”

Michael’s father. I blink, and then try to catch Teddy’s or Oliver’s eyes. Neither will look at me.

“Well,” I say when no one speaks. “He should be. This happened under his watch.”

Truman’s mouth tightens, but he ignores me.

“We do not investigate fraternity business.” He slams his hand on his desk and the computer screen rattles. “We investigate murders. Jay Kemp was not a pledge. His death was not related to fraternity misconduct but a driver with a lead foot.”

I open my mouth.

“Do you hear me?” Truman’s voice has gone low. “His death had nothing to do with Kappa Phi Omicron. These young men come from good families. They have bright futures in front of them. We are not going to ruin their lives for some misguided, probably alcohol-fueled, ritual with a senseless investigation.”

And just like that. Justice takes off her blindfold and gives a wink. Free from investigation, free from judgment, free from consequence. A lesson learned for life.

Truman sighs, taking our silence to mean that we accept his point.

“All of the members have alibis for the morning of November twelfth, which you double- and triple-checked, correct?”

Oliver nods.

“Then I want you to inform the young men waiting in the lobby that they may go and caution them against speaking to the press.” He rubs his hand over his jaw. “This is bad enough already.”

Oliver and Teddy turn on their heels. I plant my feet.

“Marlitt, you stay,” he says without looking at me.

I nod. I wasn’t planning on leaving.

There’s a moment of silence, both of us expecting explanations from the other.

I stare at the back of the silver-framed photograph on his desk.

He breaks first.

“What were you thinking?”

His voice is low, and I know that doesn’t bode well, but I feel the heat rise to my face.

“What are you thinking?” I yell back. “Those guys—young men”—I jab my finger toward the hall—“are monsters.”