Neon Nights Chapter 14

The last twenty-four hours were enough to make anyone crazy, and as Marc pulled onto the interstate headed an hour west toward Woods College, that's exactly how he felt.

Four weeks' notice.

If I'd just said, "I quit," I wouldn't have to deal with this.

The highway did him some good, though, and he allowed his mind to wander as he rode past farmers’ fields filled with summer staples like corn and watermelon. Alec Davidson might be the next Milli Vanilli, but that was of no concern to Marc and wasn't a crime he had any say in. Something felt off about him, but Marc's gut told him the next string to pull was the fraternity relationship between Avery, Jameson, and Ryan.

Woods College was a small but prestigious private school where the one percent sent the world's future stars. The budding capitalists and liberal artisans were promised a network of future collaborators, co- founders, and co-defendants through the school's alumni network. These kids would become politicians, CEOs, and the heads of academia for the next fifty years. The tuition matched the students’ projected future success and charged them upfront for it accordingly.

All in all, it was going to cost them well over $100,000 a year to attend, and while the school had a strong reputation for delivering a prestigious degree, it was often overshadowed by the school's equally well-earned reputation as a party school. Playboy even made them a regular feature on the "Top Party Schools" list published annually. The school was small, but the parties were outrageous, given the financial resources of the kids attending.

The campus was more remote than he’d thought it would be, but there was a charm to having it out this far from everything and everyone else. An impressive stone archway greeted him as he pulled onto the grounds, and a line of perfectly manicured hedges ran the length of the black iron fence that stretched out from the arch in both directions. The grounds were quiet, with many of the students already having left to head back home to enjoy one last break before finals.

A wave of nostalgia rushed over him as he navigated the tree-lined streets, flanked by monuments to academics and athletics. The grounds were the fountain of youth. He breathed the possibility deep into his lungs and sighed. There was a reason the college experience was only four years long (or was supposed to be). If you stayed too long in it, like Peter Pan, you may never want to grow up.

Honestly, why would you ever want to?

He could still taste the food hall's burgers, the warmth of bourbon coating his throat in his dorm room, and the feel of his girlfriend's lips against his in the library.

It was energy.

Energy you could breathe in and out. It was possibility.

It was freedom.

Marc hadn't felt it in ages, and it was intoxicating.

He took a left turn down "Greek Row" and was awed at the size of the houses that lined the street. Massive nineteenth-century Antebellum plantation homes with towering Corinthian columns stood watch over pristine lawns and perfectly manicured hedges. There was no parking on the streets in front of the houses, and sidewalks connected the entire row, creating a seamless party ecosystem.

The street was perfect, and it was obvious that the school intended to keep it that way. If you were trying to sell utopia to a well-to-do high school graduate, you would photograph this street with its beautiful residents, and the hook would be set so deep in the prospect's mouth they wouldn't even apply anywhere else.

Marc counted eighteen houses on the strip, nine on the sorority side and nine on the fraternity side. At the end of the road, he took a right and saw the backs of the houses. While the front of the houses was all "pomp and circumstance," the backs were all Animal House. Tents with the house’s logos blazoned on them lined the backyards with high-dollar outdoor kitchens and patios that looked like they came from a celebrity chef's pool deck. The parking lots rivaled a high-end car dealership with new Range Rovers, BMWs, and trucks so tall you needed two steps to climb in them.

The rusted charcoal grills and run-down Honda Accords of his college days were far back in the rearview mirror.

He parked at Jameson’s frat and walked up to the house, a frisbee whipping so close to his face that he could feel the breeze whiz by

"My bad, man!" yelled a guy with a t-shirt that read “The Great Frat Spat, 2000” and featured a cartoon image of two fraternities staring each other down like rugby players, about to battle one another in the collegiate version of a triathlon … ping pong, pool, and corn hole.

"No worries. Do you know where I can find the president of the fraternity?" Marc asked.

The kid pointed to a good-looking young man holding court over a half dozen of his subjects and wearing the national fraternity uniform of salmon-colored shorts, a light blue button-down shirt, tan boat shoes, and perfectly parted hair.

Belushi would have rolled over in his grave.

When the group broke up, one of the guys went to tend the burgers and dogs on the grill and crack open a few beers for his brothers.

"Excuse me, are you the president of the fraternity?" Marc asked. The kid turned around to face him with sad, dark eyes.

"I am, sir. Evan Black. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Marc said, taking the young man's extended hand.

This kid is getting elected to something someday.

"Evan, I'm Detective Marc McKinley. Is there somewhere quiet we can go to talk?"

"I'm guessing this is about Jameson," he said.

His voice was distraught at the mention of his fallen comrade's name.

"It is. I want to chat with you for a few minutes and learn a little more about him if that's alright," Marc said.

"Absolutely. There's not usually a lot of quiet in one of these houses, but with what happened, everyone is pretty subdued this afternoon. Most of the guys have gone home for the weekend, and just a few of us are staying behind."

"Makes sense; it's always hard to lose a friend," Marc said.

They made their way across the parking lot and headed toward the nerve center of the school, the quad.

"How long did you know Jameson?" Marc asked.

"I'm going into my senior year now, and he was too. We pledged together and were tight for the last three years."

"Have you always gotten along?"

"Since we met. We became friends quickly. Our families were really into fishing, and he and I immediately picked up on that connection."

They stood in front of an eighty-foot-tall red brick clock tower at the center of a large patch of grass and cobblestone paths.

"Impressive clock," Marc said with a chuckle.

"The university founders wanted something show-stopping for the center of the grounds. Since it was the early 1900s, this was what they could do."

They grabbed a seat on opposing sides of a park bench. "What was Jameson studying here?" Marc asked.

"We were both in the business school together. He was studying finance, and I was doing accounting. The goal was law school after this for both of us and then out into the world."

"Was he a good student?"

Evan's voice tightened up a bit, and a pall cast over his face that he fought hard to restrain.

"Sorry, it just kind of hit me that he's gone with you asking everything about him in the past tense."

Marc nodded and let Evan compose himself.

"He was a nice person, you know … he never got off on treating the new pledges like shit or anything. He was always the guy to help them if someone was coming down too hard on them."

"How did he get involved with the pill scene? Seems like a well-liked kid, no money worries. What am I missing here? I can't seem to reconcile these against each other."

Evan looked away from Marc at a small group of kids passing within earshot and waited until they had passed before answering.

"His sophomore year, he started binge-watching videos online, got a mixing kit to mess around with making music, and started going

to festivals with some of the brothers whenever they were close by. It wasn't a massive change like he started wearing rave clothes in his day-to-day life or painting himself with glitter. It was just that I could tell he felt freer when he was involved with it. I'm sure you know, but his dad is a senator and was a C-something at a pharmaceutical sales company before that. He's had a lot of pressure from day one to be perfect. I think it beat him up inside, and he wanted to be free."

"What type of pharmaceuticals did his dad sell?"

"I don't know. I know he did it for a long time and made a lot of money. His dad was in this same frat, like, twenty years ago."

"No kidding."

"Yep, it's a legacy thing here. Nearly everyone here has a dad, or uncle, who was a member."

The midday heat bore down on them, and Marc felt the back of his neck getting hotter, wishing he had put on some sunscreen before coming out.

"Was he using a lot at the festivals? Was he bringing it back around the other guys?" Marc asked.

"No," Evan said without hesitation. "To which question?" Marc asked.

"I don't know about the first; I never went with him. I never saw him dealing anything with our guys, though. We wouldn't have tolerated it. Booze is fine, even if the guys want to smoke a little pot, but we draw a hard line at anything racier than that."

"Who did he hang out with?" Evan thought for a minute.

"He spent most of his time with Ryan and Avery, and the girl he dated for a long time, Jessica. He was cool with everyone, though."

"Avery Bass, right?" Marc asked. "Yep."

"Was he in the frat also?"

"He was for his freshman year but got kicked out of school at the end, so it wasn't a long stay."

Marc cocked his head like a dog who had heard the word bacon. "What did he get kicked out for?"

Evan laughed, a polished, professional laugh that someone would use at a work function.

"What didn't he get kicked out for? Avery's dad went here, so he still hung around and couch-surfed for the last two years."

"Do people get along with Avery?" Evan shrugged.

"It's hit or miss. He parties hard … too hard. He's good for what he is. Fun for a bit until he's had too many, and then too intense for most. The three of them seemed to find a way to feed off each other."

Marc stood up from the bench to stretch his legs. "Ryan and Avery were tight then too?"

"Very. Ryan’s our resident used car salesman. He is an A-plus bullshit artist, but if we needed something for the frat, all we had to do was send Ryan in, and there was little doubt we weren't coming out with it."

"Knowing what you know about them both, do you think either of them are capable of murder?"

"Avery, yes. Ryan, no."

A couple walked past, books in hand, headed toward the library building.

Weekend studying.

Marc couldn't have made that claim in college. "Can I take a look at Jameson's room?"

Evan nodded.

"Sure, we can walk back over there now."

Forty or fifty people were milling around the backyard when they arrived at the house.

"Little memorial for Jameson with some of the other houses that haven't gone home yet," Evan said as they walked up.

A dozen young women from the neighboring sorority walked across the street in outfits that most would find difficult to wear to their corporate jobs one day unless those jobs were in Vegas. Each wore long t-shirts that fell right below their butt cheeks, with athletic shorts so tiny you couldn't tell if they were wearing any at all. Every member wore rain boots in a variety of colorful prints and symbols

and crossed the street with their arms interlocked like they were six years old. They were smiling and laughing and apparently ignorant of the fact that they were going to a "memorial service."

Oddly enough, there was an almost instant change in the young men's moods, and the girls scattered across the patio like cheetahs in a den of zebras.

There was never any doubt to Marc who the dominant species was.

A smaller group of girls approached from the opposite direction and seemed more emotionally attuned to the gravity of the situation than the first. They still wore a uniform, but theirs consisted of frayed jean shorts, pastel-colored tank tops with the house's letters, and matching white shoes that weren't likely to be a coincidence.

Marc looked at Evan. "Who are those girls?"

Evan waved to a pretty blond who wore a heavy expression on her face as she got closer.

"The blond is Jessica Larsen. That was Jameson's girlfriend. The rest are her sisters at that house over there. They are the 'good girls' of the sorority world."

Marc cocked his head to him. "Good girls?"

Evan laughed.

"Yeah, it's not like the movies or TV. There are sorority girls who aren’t wild."

"And the first group that just took over your patio?" "The opposite."

Marc hung back while everyone finished their greetings and waited for his chance to introduce himself to Jessica.

Evan helped him bridge the gap and pulled her over to where Marc was standing.

"Jess, this is Detective McKinley. He’s the one who is investigating Jameson's death," Evan said.

The girl flashed a set of cloudy turquoise eyes at him that looked like a storm had rolled over a mountain pass, destroying a bluebird day on the slopes.

"Hi, Jessica. I'm sorry to hear about your boyfriend." She nodded a silent thank you.

"Can we go for a little walk, please? I'd like to ask you a few questions."

She brushed her hair behind her ear and muttered, "Sure."

They stepped away from the growing crowd and headed in the opposite direction from where he and Evan had walked.

"How long were you guys dating?"

"I'm sorry, it's still really fresh, I guess. I lost my mom last year too. Kind of a tough run."

"I'd say so," said Marc.

"J and I had been together for three years now. We got together freshman year and haven't spent much time apart since. He is, I mean, I guess, was, always a super sweet guy."

"I've heard a lot of great things about him. Did you see anything weird going on that gave you a clue that things weren't right?"

"No, he didn't seem any different to me, but maybe it's one of those things where if you’re too close to it, you miss it."

Jessica appeared bothered by the words, as if speaking them made her complicit in the crime.

She was there.

She could have seen it … should have seen it. Guilt by farsightedness.

"Did you guys do the festival thing together?" Marc asked.

"Sometimes. It was his thing. I let him have his space because I knew it excited something in him."

"What about all this wasn't him?" Marc asked, gesturing to the row of houses.

She paused and considered her words carefully.

"It's hard being the son of someone important. Nothing was good enough … ever."

Marc felt the sting in the word "ever."

"He and his dad didn't have a good relationship?"

She looked at the ground now and seemed unwilling to meet his eyes anymore.

"His dad saw him as a political liability. The son who was playing with glow sticks and dancing. He didn't get what J really loved about it."

"Which was …"

"Freedom. Absolute freedom. It's why most kids fall into it. There’s no judgment there. That's appealing when you've never had your own life."

Marc nodded.

"Were you friends with Avery Bass also?"

Her face contorted in a mask of disgust as if she had just eaten some rotten fish.

"God, no."

"What about him don't you like?"

"Where do I start? J hated him too. He was a frenemy. They didn't get along often, and Jameson didn't trust him."

Marc put his hands up in a questioning gesture.

"Why did Jameson spend so much time with Avery then?" She gave him a look like she was surprised he didn't know. "Ryan," she said.