kid mumbled something unintelligible. In the back of his mind, Flynn knew he was only a couple of years older than this house president—maybe even less, if the kid had done a gap year or stayed on for a longer period of study. But as far as Flynn saw it, he was an adult, and this president was still acting like a kid. Irresponsible. Taking things too far. Not staying in control.
“Christ.” Flynn watched as the president seemed about to go to sleep, then turned and spewed right over the side of the bed. He had to jump backwards to avoid getting any of it on his brand new dress shoes, or the bottom of his pressed suit. With a grimace and a disgusted noise that came purely from his heart, Flynn walked back out of the room and into the hall.
“You,” he said, collaring a kid going by who looked less drunk. “Are you a member of this frat?”
“Uh, yes sir,” the kid shouted over the music. So, he was sober enough to recognize that Flynn wasn’t just another partygoer.
“Look after your president,” Flynn said, shoving him gently toward the door. “He needs some help.”
Flynn shook his head, standing in the corridor and listening to the party. Loud shouts and screams, pumping music, everyone drunk and probably high as well—it was a typical college party, and just like he had assumed out there, it meant that they weren’t going to get anything useful out of anyone tonight. Even if there had been anything to discover, showing up here would have blown their advantage of surprise, and now the killer would know they were onto him.
Not that Flynn believed for a second that the killer was here. Frat boys could be assholes, sure, and they were more interested in partying and meeting girls than anything else in life, but that was exactly the point. They weren’t killers. And even if they were killers, they normally went after their rich parents or accidentally suffocated a drunk girl during group sex—they didn’t go strangling middle-aged women in remote areas.
This was a dead end, and it always had been. Flynn had known that from the moment they parked outside. Actually, he’d known it since the moment Agent Prime had brought up her hare-brained pi theory, and he was done with trying to follow it up.
He picked his way back down the stairs, dodging a girl who was swaying toward the wall as she stepped upwards, screeching something about needing to pee. Charming. He stepped outside to get a little more quiet and pulled out his phone, dialing his partner’s number quickly.
The line rang and rang. Flynn glanced back at the house, his irritation building. Prime couldn’t possibly be with the president—he’d found him upstairs. What was she doing? Why wasn’t she answering her phone?
Cursing under his breath as the call went through to voicemail, Flynn stalked back through the doors and into the noise of the party, sweeping his eyes quickly over the attendees in the hall. Everywhere he looked, he could see violations that he knew he ought to alert someone to. If not taking care of it himself, at least calling the sheriff. Half of these people had to be underage, and there were at least two instances of public nudity that he was sure had to come with some kind of charge.
But he pressed on. This wasn’t the time to start putting underage drinkers in cuffs. Not that he would have had enough pairs of cuffs on him if he wanted to. He doubted the entire sheriff’s department had enough. Maybe he would have a word with campus security on the way out, but he wouldn’t be at all surprised if they didn’t take it seriously.
Striding through the first room, he scanned unsuccessfully for Prime’s short boyish hair and her black clothing. It was dark here, and he had to squint into a few corners before being satisfied enough to move on. This was some kind of game room, although the games being played in it at the moment mostly consisted of things including the word “pong.” No sign of his partner, again.
From the game room, Flynn emerged into a calmer space—a kitchen, where the music was more muted at least, and where the low-light bulbs were the normal kind instead of blacklight. There was a large kitchen island in the center of the room, loaded with liquor bottles. Yup, Flynn thought to himself, there goes another thing I should