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kids knew Derek Patel from school. Nobody seemed to know his angel date at all. Time to change tactics. Maybe Derek had sobered enough for a conversation.
    Leaving Zina to finish questioning the final few, I headed out the front door. And went from hangover central into a grab-ass free-for-all.
    Derek Patel was sprawled on his back in the driveway, his face a bloody mess. Van Duzen was wrestling with a big guy in a flannel shirt, who was clearly trying to break free to have another go at the kid on the ground.
    I came on the run. Crashing into Van Duzen’s opponent from behind, I snaked an arm around his throat in a crude chokehold. I managed to haul him off Duze, but he was bull-strong and enraged. He kept kicking wildly at Derek on the ground. It was all I could do to hold him back.
    I drove a quick body shot into his rib cage, but he was so wired he didn’t even feel it. I had no idea who he was or what the hell was up, and it didn’t matter. We had to shut him down.
    Throwing my weight backward, I hauled him down on top of me, still locked in a stranglehold. I tried scissoring my legs around his knees to immobilize him, but it was like wrestling a bear. Couldn’t hold him.
    Patrolman Tommy Barden came charging up with his nightstick drawn. He slammed it down hard across the big guy’s midsection, driving his wind out, locking him up for an instant. Barden was drawing back for another swing when Van Duzen shouldered him aside.
    “Don’t hurt him, damn it! He’s the girl’s father!”
    Duze and Barden piled on, each seizing one of the big guy’s arms, pinning him down with sheer bulk. The four of us lay entangled in a squirming rugby pileup in the snow, straining, struggling.
    “Mr. Novak,” I panted, trying to keep my tone level. “Stop fighting us, please. I’m going to ease my hold to let you breathe, but I need you to calm down.”
    He didn’t reply. For a moment, we lay frozen in a tableau, a violent counterpoint to the holiday display on the lawn.
    I released my hold a little. Novak gasped in a quick breath. And then he broke, sagging back against me. Sobbing like a child.
     
    I had Duze drive Carl Novak into Hauser Center, the “house” shared by Valhalla PD, the state police, and the Vale County sheriff’s department. No handcuffs. Novak wasn’t under arrest, but he wasn’t going anyplace either.
    I ran Derek Patel into the emergency room in my Jeep, pedal to the metal, with lights and sirens. Derek didn’t say a word. Probably couldn’t. His nose was flattened, clearly broken. I guessed his jaw was dislocated as well. I turned him over to the ER staff, and was pacing the crowded waiting room like an expectant dad when my partner rolled in. We stepped out to the corridor, away from the others.
    “What the hell happened?” Zina demanded.
    “Derek felt woozy, so Duze let him walk around to get some air. Carl Novak showed up, saw his daughter dead on the ground. When Derek tried to talk to him, Novak lost it. Laid him out, broke his nose, maybe his jaw. I warned the ER staff Derek might be high, so they’ll have to run a tox screen before they can work on him. He won’t be talking for a while. Your turn,” I said. “What did you get from the interviews?”
    “Short version? Julie Novak left the party early,” Zina said. “Only a few kids noticed and they’re pretty vague on the time. Pretty vague on everything, actually. Half of them are still hammered, the other half are so hungover they wish they were dead.”
    “One of them is,” I said. “Any luck with their smartphones?”
    “I collected a half dozen. Joni’s downloading them now. She thinks she can patch together a highlight reel of last night’s action—”
    “What in the devil’s going on here!” An Indian doctor in a white lab coat bulled between us, grabbing my shoulder, jerking me around. “The staff says you people brought my son into emergency. Beaten! What have you done to him?”
    “Yo! Calm down!” I said,