The Competition (17 page)

On the way
downtown, I called Principal Campbell to ask him how they’d come across the letter.

He’d been surprised by it too. “The past couple of days we’ve had mail pouring in from all over the world. There was no way to keep up with it, so some of the teachers volunteered to help sort. But it turned out to be easier than we’d thought. Most of them were addressed to the school, and they were obviously meant for everyone. The rest were addressed to the families of the kids who…didn’t make it.” He paused to collect himself. “So the one addressed to you stood out. I thought I should call.”

“You did the perfect thing, Dale,” I said.

By the time we got to the station, the letter had been cleared by the bomb squad, and Dorian had finished processing it. Now it sat alone in a ventilated cardboard box on Graden’s desk.

“Did you read it?” I asked him.

Graden nodded, tight-lipped. “I only had the chance to scan it, but…”

His worried expression made me nervous. I opened the box. There was just the letter, no envelope. “They took the envelope?”

Graden nodded. “Yeah, to see what they could do with the postmark. And there were two actually. The outer envelope was addressed to Rachel Knight at the school, and there was one inside it that just had your name. The letter was in that second envelope.”

The letter was typed on plain white Xerox paper. I put on latex gloves and took it out.

I felt as though I’d been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. I reread the letter. It wasn’t the fact that he knew about my sister’s abduction. That story had been blasted all over the tabloids during the Antonovich trial. Everyone and his dog could know that my sister had been abducted by a man in a pickup truck while we were playing hide-and-seek in the woods near our house. And it didn’t strike me as a big leap in logic or insight that Logan figured out I might need to avenge my sister’s kidnapping by taking on the gnarliest cases I could find. But that this kid had managed to zero in on my survivor’s guilt—that was a little less obvious. It showed me he not only had smarts, but he also knew how to go for the emotional jugular.

Logan’s teachers had said he tested at genius level. And strategizing the shooting and escape clearly took some intelligence. What I hadn’t counted on was this kind of insidious cunning. Or such grandiose megalomania.

I gave the letter to Bailey. Her face was ashen when she passed it to Graden. He read it, and when he looked up, his eyes were blazing with fury. “This animal needs to be put down, and fast.” Graden raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve got to take this to the chief ASAP.” He looked from Bailey to me, his expression stern. “This stays between us until I say otherwise. If anyone asks, it was just fan mail. Got it?” Bailey and I nodded. If the public found out what was in this letter, the threat of future shootings would cause mass hysteria. And there was no realistic way we could allay the fear. As Bailey pointed out, we couldn’t secure every single public building in the city and county of Los Angeles. Graden reread the letter, then put it back in the box. “This was obviously written by the ringleader—”

“Logan, based on what we know at this point,” Bailey said.

“And it sounds like a high school kid,” I said.

Graden frowned. “Do we know if Shane Dolan is our second shooter?”

“No,” Bailey said. “He’s looking good, but it’s too soon to commit to anything.”

Bailey filled Graden in on what we’d just learned from Isaiah Hamilton and Nancy Findley.

“And we’re sure no students are unaccounted for?” he asked.

“Checked and double-checked,” Bailey said. “All accounted for now. We’ve got alerts out for Logan and his Toyota, and for Shane and his pickup. And the lab is still sifting through a mountain of evidence.”

“We’re going to hit up Caleb and Evan and see what they know about Shane,” I said.

Graden nodded. “Sounds right.” He looked at me closely. “That letter was one hell of a gut shot. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” I’d tried to sound casual, but the words came out a little choky. Graden put an arm around me. That kind of physical display was something we never did at work. Ordinarily I would’ve appreciated it. Not now. This was my private bête noire and I needed to deal with it on my own. I straightened and leaned away. “It really is okay. I’ll be fine.”

Graden nodded and stepped back behind his desk, the move as much emotional as physical. “Just a word of advice about your interview with Evan,” he said. “You might want to go easy on him right now. He felt bad for not telling you about seeing Logan in the parking lot and, beyond that, for not realizing what was up at the time. Go too heavy and he might just shut down.”

“I agree,” Bailey said. “He was trying not to show it, but he looked pretty bent about the whole deal.”

Graden picked up the box containing the letter. “I sincerely doubt that these guys have the wherewithal to follow you two—”

I shook my head. “We’re too small a target. They don’t want us. They want a massive hit and they’re busy planning it. Right now.” Just hearing myself say the words made me want to run outside and start hunting, anywhere and everywhere. Every second we stood there was another second wasted.

“Still, I’m going to try and get you extra security. But in the meantime, be on your guard.” He looked from Bailey to me and back again. We nodded.

Graden left to see the chief, and Bailey and I headed out to her car. In the last twenty minutes, the entire complexion of the case had changed. It had never occurred to me that escaping from Fairmont High wouldn’t be enough for them. That, far from trying to hide, they’d be brazenly planning another attack. But now that I knew, it seemed obvious, even naive of us not to have anticipated this. Bailey’s grim expression as she steered out of the parking lot told me she was having similar thoughts.

“All we can do is push ahead,” I said. “The moves are the same.” Track down the witnesses, squeeze them for information, follow the leads.

“Yeah, but the moves need to be a lot faster now.”

I nodded, feeling my gut tighten with anxiety. I forced my brain to slow down and focus on our interview with Evan. Graden and Bailey had both made a fair point. Evan was pretty frayed around the edges when we’d last seen him. The past few days had given him time to think. Time to feel guilty about not having sounded the alarm when Logan told him to ditch school. Maybe time to wonder whether Logan or the other shooter would remember that conversation—and decide to do something about it.

I still had trouble believing Logan would risk making a move on him. But Evan knew Logan better than we ever would.

The sky was
turning to hues of purple and indigo when we pulled up to Evan’s house. It was downright cold now that the sun had set. I was glad I’d worn my peacoat and cashmere scarf. This time we met Evan’s father. John Cutter had that tight, lean muscle and super-groomed, short-haired look that screamed military.

“Did you happen to know Logan, Mr. Cutter?” I asked.

“I met him a few times when he was here to see Evan, but I can’t say I formed any strong impression one way or the other. He seemed pretty introverted.” He shook his head. “I guess you just never know, do you?”

“You really don’t,” I said. “Have you ever met a person named Shane Dolan?”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell. If you had a picture, I might—” Bailey showed him the photo she had on her cell phone. Cutter shook his head. “No, I’d remember if I saw a man like that in my house.”

Like the
k
in
knuckle
, the “he-wouldn’t-step-foot-in-this-house-again” was silent. “Do you mind if we speak to Evan in his room?” I asked.

“Not a problem.”

Bailey and I followed him down the hall. “Evan has an older sister in grad school back East, doesn’t he? Does she come home much?”

“No. Once she moved out to college, it was just Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“So it’s been, what? Five years since she lived here?” Bailey asked.

“About that, yes.”

We’d let local police back East check with her about Shane, but it was probably a dead end. There were two doors at the end of the hall. A thumping bass was vibrating behind the door to our left. Cutter rapped his knuckles sharply on that door, and a faint voice replied, “Yeah?”

“The detective and deputy district attorney are here to see you, Evan. Open up.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at the door with impatient eyes.

The music got softer right away, but it took a few long moments before the door opened. Evan looked like he’d had a bad night. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face looked drawn and pinched.

“Hey, Evan,” I said. “We’ve just got a few questions for you. It won’t take much time, I promise.”

He nodded, dipped his head, and stood aside to let us enter. I turned to Mr. Cutter. “Thank you. We’ll just be a couple minutes.”

Cutter wanted to listen in. I could tell he was fighting the urge to say that it was his house and he’d damn well be in any room he wanted. But his better instincts won out. He nodded and left us. We stepped inside and closed the door. Evan leaned against his desk.

“How’re you doing?” Bailey asked.

Evan shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

I guessed otherwise but knew better than to call him on it. “It’s a tough time for you, I know. We won’t take long. Just a few questions, okay?”

Evan gave a resigned nod.

“Do you know someone named Shane Dolan?” I asked.

He frowned, then shook his head. “No.”

Bailey pulled up Shane’s photo on her cell and showed it to him. “Do you recognize this person?”

Evan studied the photo. “No.” A worried look crossed his face. “Who is that?”

“We think he might be a friend of Logan’s,” I said. “Did Logan ever talk about someone named Shane?”

“No, not that I remember.” Evan’s eyes strayed back to the photo. “And I know I never saw that guy with him.” He was trying to act cool. But as he said it, he gripped the edge of the desk he’d been leaning against.

“Evan, we’re looking out for you,” I said. “I don’t want you to worry about…anything.”

He looked at me briefly, then lowered his head. “I’m okay.”

“Did Logan ever talk to you about a guy who had access to guns?” Bailey asked.

“No.”

He stared at the floor. His expression was tortured. But it was also tight and unyielding. It didn’t matter how much I tried to reassure him. He was scared, and hearing about this Shane character had only made matters worse. We wouldn’t get anything more out of him. At least, not now.

I noticed his laptop on the desk near the window. It was closed. But I’d bet it hadn’t been before he opened the door. “Evan, I’d like to take your computer for just a few days, if you don’t mind.”

That snapped his head up. “What? Why?”

“Because Logan must have sent you emails. There might be something in them that gives us a clue as to where he might be. And he may even try to reach out to you.”

“You don’t have to agree, Evan,” Bailey said. “But I’m about a hundred percent certain we can get a search warrant for it. ’Course, if we do that, it might take forever to get it back to you because it’ll be considered evidence. That means we’ll have to hang on to it until the case is all over. Could take years.” Bailey turned to go. “But, you know, your call.” It wasn’t technically accurate that we’d have to hold it ad infinitum, but she was definitely right that we’d be able to get a warrant.

“If I let you take it now, do you promise to give it back in a week or so?”

“No promises,” Bailey said. “But it’ll sure be a lot sooner than if we take it with a warrant.”

Evan unplugged the laptop and handed it over, looking glum. I felt sorry for him. And increasingly worried. Not so much about his safety—the local cops were keeping an eye on him, and I didn’t believe Logan was really a threat. It was his mental state that worried me. “Look, the cops are watching the house, and if you want, we can try and get you extra security, okay?”

“I’m good, really,” Evan said. “You don’t need to get me any more security.”

“You’re sure?” I said.

“Yeah, save the manpower for the real problems. I’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. But I was sure that was the answer his father would’ve liked. We walked out of the room and called out to John Cutter that we were leaving.

Oddly, Cutter seemed more upset at our taking the laptop than Evan. “Why on earth do you need his computer?” Bailey explained that it might have information on Logan Jarvis. He put his hands on his hips. “What’s he supposed to use for school?”

“We won’t keep it that long,” Bailey said. “But I’ll check with our Computer Crimes Unit and see if they can line up a loaner for you.” She tucked the laptop under her arm and reached out to shake his hand. He frowned and reluctantly gave Bailey’s hand a firm single pump. It looked to me like his grip had a little something extra in it, so I decided not to risk it.

“Were you in the Marines, Mr. Cutter?” I asked.

“Seventeen years. How did you know?”

“Just a guess.”