The Third Victim (17 page)

“Since I am primary officer, I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Rainie, can I make your day?”

“By all means, give it a whirl.”

“I have a one-thirty appointment with Richard Mann to ask him about Danny O’Grady. Come with me, Rainie. I’ll be good cop, you be bad cop. Together, we’ll ambush him.”

A feral gleam came into Rainie’s eyes. The satisfaction in her face was enough to make him smile. And unfurl something slow and tender in his chest.

“I get to be bad cop?”

“You are the most qualified.”

“SupSpAg, I could kiss you.”

“Promises, promises,” he said lightly, and led his favorite law enforcer from the room.

SEVENTEEN
                                                                                                                                                                                                               

Thursday, May 17, 1:28
P
.
M
.

T
HEY MET RICHARD MANN
in his office at the battered school, which had finally been opened up to staff members. He’d told Quincy he needed to catch up on paperwork, and Rainie’s impression of the young counselor was of someone deeply disheartened. His face was pale, his eyes bruised. He’d made an effort to dress up for the meeting in tan khakis and a sage-colored sweater, but he maintained a certain rumpled air that spoke of sleepless nights and unanswered questions. Did he wonder if he should’ve seen the shooting coming? In the dark hours after midnight, did he think there was more he should’ve done?

Rainie didn’t know much about the man. She’d asked a few parents, all of whom said he seemed very nice. Inexperienced, a few commented, but hardworking in an earnest sort of way. Tuesday, when things had been hairy at the school, he’d certainly stepped up to the plate and done what she’d asked. There was something to be said for that.

But Rainie still wondered about him and Miss Avalon. Even tired, Mann had that clean-cut, all-American look going for him. Trim figure. Short-cropped brown hair. Blue eyes. In a high school he would’ve inspired half a dozen juvenile crushes. And at Bakersville’s K–8?

“Officer Conner,” Mann said with obvious surprise when she showed up in the doorway alongside Quincy. “How nice to see you again.” He smiled at her, clearly not alarmed by her presence, and held out a hand.

“Mr. Mann.” Rainie accepted his handshake. Weak grip, she thought. Definitely young. Then added, unnecessarily, not at all like Quincy.

“Oh, call me Richard. Mr. Mann is my father.”

“I know the feeling.” She and Quincy took seats. Located off the admissions office and next to VanderZanden’s room, Richard Mann’s space was small but tidy. The main attraction was one large window overlooking the side of the school parking lot, which let in lots of sun. The floor was blue Berber, the walls stark white, and the multitude of filing cabinets industrial gray. Except for two plants and one poster of cartoon faces demonstrating different human emotions, there wasn’t much in the way of decorations. Definitely a bachelor’s office, Rainie decided. She’d bet his apartment looked equally utilitarian.

At the moment, empty cardboard boxes and discarded files littered the floor.

“Cleaning house?” Quincy inquired.

“Going through old files,” Mann confessed. He waved his hand apologetically over the pile. “We’re starting to run out of room, and most of these files are from before my time.”

“That’s right. You’re new here.”

“It’s been a whole year. I don’t feel so new anymore.”

“Bakersville is a big change from L.A.,” Rainie observed.

“That’s what I was looking for.”

“Small-town life?”

“Someplace with no drills for drive-by shootings.” He smiled weakly. “Of course, that didn’t work out quite like I had planned.”

“Where were you when the shooting started?” Rainie asked.

“In my office. It was my lunch break.”

“You don’t eat during normal lunch hours?”

“No. I have an open-door policy for the kids. You know, anyone can walk in if there’s something they want to talk about. That sort of thing.”

“We understand Melissa Avalon also left her door open for the kids during lunch.”

“That’s right.” He nodded.

“So you both took lunch at the same time.” Rainie narrowed her eyes suggestively and watched Richard Mann grow confused. He’d been expecting an interview about Danny O’Grady, not his own activities on the day of the shooting.

“Yes, I believe so,” he said with less certainty. On his lap, his hands were already beginning to fidget. This, Rainie decided, was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.

“You two ever do lunch together?”

“Well, we
were
coworkers—”

“We understand Miss Avalon liked to get to know some of her coworkers.”

“I don’t understand . . .”

“She and Principal VanderZanden. Or didn’t you know about that?” Rainie hardened her voice, and Richard Mann squirmed in his seat.

“I thought we were going to talk about Danny.”

“How well did you know Melissa Avalon?”

“We worked together, that’s all.”

“She was very beautiful.”

“I suppose . . .”

“Young, about the same age as yourself?”

“Yes, I guess.”

“Also new to the area. Come on, Mr. Mann, don’t tell me you two didn’t have anything in common.”

“Wait a minute. You think Melissa and I—” Mann made a little gesture with his hand, looked at them with shock, then vigorously shook his head. For the first time since the start of the interview, he visibly relaxed. “I’m sorry, Officer, but if you guys think I was involved with Melissa, then you don’t know much about her.”

“What do you mean?” Quincy asked smoothly.

“Melissa had issues—Freudian issues.”

“You mean with her father?” Rainie demanded sharply.

“I don’t know all the details,” he replied, “but she mentioned once that she was estranged from her family. Her father was a hard man, she said, very demanding and not very forgiving. Then you consider that she took up with VanderZanden in a matter of weeks and the man’s nearly twice her age . . .”

“A substitute father figure,” Quincy filled in.

“That was my analysis, yes,” Mann said, and flashed Quincy a grateful smile. He was obviously pleased to have a chance to show off his own psychological training to a big-shot profiler.

“The father ever visit?” Rainie pressed.

“I don’t know.”

“What about her mom?”

“I don’t know.”

“For someone you worked with for a whole year, you don’t know a lot about her, do you?”

“She was very private about her family!”

“Not with Principal VanderZanden.”

“I was
not
involved with Melissa Avalon,” the counselor said through clenched teeth. “We were coworkers, that’s all. If you people are so concerned about her private life, talk to Steven. Or, better yet, call her father. I’ve heard a rumor he hasn’t even bothered to claim her body yet.”

“We’ll be sure to do that,” Quincy said.

“So what about Danny O’Grady?” Rainie pounced. “We understand you’d been seeing him as a counselor.”

“Only for a few weeks—”

“Oh yeah? And precisely how long does it take to figure out that a boy who trashed his school locker has problems managing rage?”

“His parents are going through a rough time. There was no reason to think Danny’s anger was anything more than an adjustment phase. When marriages turn sour, kids get mad.”

“Where were you again when the shooting happened?”

“In my office!”

“Do you have witnesses?”

“How dare you!” Richard Mann lurched out of his chair, his handsome face beet red and his expression injured. “I did everything I could to help those kids, Officer. Don’t you remember?
I’m
the one who arranged the first-aid center.
I’m
the one who got the parents cleared out of the parking lot so the emergency vehicles could get through. And now
I’m
the one fielding dozens of calls from parents whose children are waking up screaming. So how dare you imply that I had something to do with this? My God, this is breaking my heart!”

“Officer Conner doesn’t mean to imply anything, Mr. Mann,” Quincy said calmly, holding up his hands in a soothing gesture. “It’s simply her job to ask these kinds of questions. Of course we appreciate the help you gave on the day of the shooting.”

Mann turned to Quincy, obviously still unsure. Quincy smiled warmly.

“I just thought we were going to be speaking about Danny,” Mann said after a moment. “I wasn’t expecting this kind of . . . attack.”

“Police interviews can be intense,” Quincy said diplomatically. “Of course, we consider everyone innocent until proven guilty.”

Mann looked pointedly at Rainie. She lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. Pretty boy had no alibi and got really defensive really fast, she thought. Then again, the student he’d been counseling had allegedly murdered three people. It probably didn’t let him sleep well at night.

“Back to Danny O’Grady,” Quincy encouraged.

“I don’t know what I can tell you there,” Mann said sulkily. “Some of it is privileged.”

Quincy beamed at him. He said with a saccharine sweetness that nearly made Rainie roll her eyes, “Of course, I would never ask a psychologist to violate his oath by breaching client confidentiality. Even general information would be helpful.”

Mann had to think about it. He finally sank back down into his seat, steepled his hands in front of him, and regarded the FBI agent more intently. “I honestly don’t know much,” he said at last. “I’d just started talking to Danny a few weeks ago, and the first few sessions were small talk. You know, establishing trust, building a rapport. We hadn’t had a chance to get into things.”

“These things take time.”

“We talked a little bit about Danny’s interest in computers,” Mann offered. “Danny really loved surfing the Net, playing around with programming. He never flat-out admitted it, but I got the impression he might be involved with hacking. The computer was exciting to him, but also a challenge. He might have been pushing the envelope a bit.”

“Maybe going places he wasn’t supposed to?”

“Maybe. I think it’s obvious to everyone that Danny has issues with self-esteem. His father is too hard on him. He berates Danny, tries to force him into doing things he doesn’t want to do. He’s hardly a model of support.”

“He makes Danny feel dumb?”

“Dumb, inferior, weak, helpless. Honestly, I think people should be required to get a parenting license before they’re allowed to have children.”

“Shep may not be the perfect parent,” Rainie interjected with a frown, “but he loves his son and wants the best for him.”

“Fine, but that and a quarter still won’t get Danny a cup of coffee.” Mann waved his hand to silence her next round of protests. He was back on sure footing, and the parents had been right—his earnestness was compelling. “Look, Officer. I’m the one in the trenches, and I can tell you wholeheartedly that intentions don’t matter in parenting. Kids don’t understand what you mean. They understand what you do. And most of the things Shep does make Danny feel powerless and incompetent. Computers, on the other hand, make him feel strong.”

“Did he ever talk about people he might have met on-line? Places he might have gone?” Quincy pressed.

“I can’t comment on that.”

“Hey, Mann—” Rainie began impatiently.

He cut her off primly. “Danny is my patient and I won’t violate privilege.”

“Can you really exercise privilege if you’re only a school counselor?” Rainie asked Quincy.

He gave her a look that clearly told her not to take the bad-cop thing too far. Mann was getting edgy, and they needed to get more information from him.

“You should try the computers,” Mann said abruptly. He leaned forward, saying in almost a whisper, “I want to help, but I can hardly start my career by breaking confidentiality. On the other hand, Danny was using the school computers. Now, I’m not a computer person, but I thought cops had the ability to trace anything these days. . . .”

Quincy and Rainie exchanged glances. Mann had done everything but the wink, wink, nudge, nudge. So they were back to the computers. Okay.

“Is there one person Danny mentioned a lot?” Quincy tried probing. “Maybe a new friend he’d made recently?”

“Everyone knows about him smoking with Charlie Kenyon.”

“But what about someone on-line? Maybe an adult figure from a chat room or e-mail loop. That sort of thing?”

Mann hesitated again. His gaze went from Rainie to Quincy to Rainie again. What the hell. She let her features relax and gave pretty boy a smile.

“It would be helpful, Mr. Mann. Coupled with what you did in the school parking lot on Tuesday, how quickly you helped manage the situation—that would make you something of a hero in this whole affair.”

Hero,
apparently, was the right word.

“There was someone,” Mann confessed. “Danny thought it was another kid, a fellow hacker he’d befriended on-line. I read a few of the e-mails, and the language seemed more sophisticated, though. I was betting it was really an adult male passing himself off as a teenager.”

“And you weren’t concerned by this?” Quincy asked.

“Oh, I was concerned,” Mann told him vehemently. “That’s why I asked Danny to start bringing me the e-mails. I know the things that can happen on-line—child molesters, pornographers, terrorists. The Internet isn’t any safer than a walk through New York City at night. But what Danny showed me was harmless. They were friendly notes, admiring his accomplishments on the computer, sharing information about other programs to try, Web sites to visit. On the other hand . . .” He paused. “I’ve heard rumors that Danny said something right after the shooting. That he was saying over and over again that he was smart.”

Quincy glanced at Rainie. She gave up that information with a nod.

“The notes Danny got, they always ended with this guy telling Danny how smart he was. Stuff like
I can’t wait to see what the whiz kid does next. You’re so smart.
” Mann shrugged helplessly. For the first time, Rainie thought he looked miserable. “That strikes me as coming from this guy. So maybe there were other notes, other things that Danny didn’t tell me. I don’t know . . .”

Mann’s voice faded. Then he said more quietly, more somberly, “I really wanted to help Danny O’Grady. I was concerned about the Internet relationship and concerned about his parents’ marital problems, but I thought I could reach him. Even reading the e-mails, I didn’t see it coming. I thought . . . I thought kids who did this sort of thing were supposed to have a history of violence. Torturing household pets, starting fires, playing violent video games. Danny didn’t do any of those things. To me, he seemed to be a decent boy going through a hard time. I honestly had no idea. I swear, I had no idea. . . .”