“What’s she have to do with this?” Tripp asks, and then turns three shades of strawberry.

I hold up the papers in my hand. “Lots of messages between them,” I say meaningfully. “It seems they were really close.”

I let that hang in the air between us. Tripp’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t say anything.

“All right,” Teddy says, “if there’s nothing else—”

“One more thing,” I interrupt him. “Jay texted you that he thought someone was in his room. Going through his things.”

Teddy raises an eyebrow at me. I pointed to the line when I handed him the sheet, but he must have missed it.

“Oh, yeah.” Another squirm. “Every once in a while things would go missing. You know, like, after a party, someone wouldn’t be able to find a book they needed for class or their grandad’s watch or—”

“A watch could be pretty valuable. Why didn’t anyone file a police report?”

We’ve been through everything already. Not a single report filed by anyone at the frat. And only a few noise complaints, one of which must have come from Ray, filed against them.

“Mostly the brothers had just misplaced whatever it was, and it would turn up later. Or one of the pledges would have moved it while they were cleaning. That kind of thing.”

“What was taken from Jay’s room?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” Tripp thinks about it a second too long. “I don’t remember.”

Eight

Thursday, November 14, 6:00 P.M.

At this point, the house should feel familiar—layers upon layers of beige paint and scuffed laminate floors mopped clean by a dozen pledges, scents of pine and gym clothes, fried food floating from the industrial-style kitchen. And we’re marching through the house, cell phone records in hand like we’re in charge. But it doesn’t feel that way. Instead, the walls narrow and shift around us. A missed step, footing uncertain on the squeaky floor, and the sudden realization that it’s just the two of us. And thirty or so of them.

I take a deep breath and put my hand on the door to the chapter room.

“Detective Kaplan,” a voice calls behind me.

I turn.

Wherever he’s come from, Michael’s done so silently. He’s dressed in a suit and tie, and I’m not sure if this is common for fraternity meetings or is donned for our benefit.

“Tripp said you might be stopping by.”

Tripp. I knew we should have held on to him a little longer.

“My lawyer’s on his way.” Michael pulls out his cell phone. “Should I tell him to meet us at the station instead?”

Asshole, I think. Instead of us doing the good cop, bad cop routine, we’ve got Tripp and Michael playing good suspect, bad suspect, and me feeling like we’re missing something huge and it’s right in front of our faces.