The Third Victim (25 page)

“Oh.” Mann appeared surprised again. “I guess I heard wrong. Isn’t Melissa an only child? How horrible for her parents.”

Rainie nodded, but her attention was already beginning to drift. Richard Mann knew as little as she’d suspected in the beginning. No doubt he’d thought to make up for his guilt—or, hell, make up for his youth—by appearing to be some kind of expert. But in the end he was simply one more overwhelmed public servant caught with his pants down. Basically, he was like her.

“We have reason to believe someone else was involved in the shootings,” Quincy said abruptly.

“Really?” Mann’s brows shot up, just as Rainie gave Quincy the evil eye. She didn’t see the need for him to be giving up this kind of information.

“So I was right! Danny wouldn’t do such a thing. But who, then? Another student? I don’t remember Danny talking about anyone in particular. He didn’t have many friends in school. You know, though, there’s still this Volcano person from on-line. Internet relationships can be very powerful.”

“We think the contact might have been more than over the Internet, Mr. Mann. We think Danny might have also met No Lava in person. Would you know anything about that?”

Rainie nearly stepped on Quincy’s foot to shut him up. What the hell was he doing? But Quincy’s gaze was still boring into Richard Mann’s. He looked like a hound dog on a scent.

“Oh no,” the school counselor said quickly, his gaze dropping. “I never heard mention of that.”

“Really? That’s odd,” Quincy mused out loud, “Here you are seeing this child twice a week. You know he’s getting e-mails from someone, but he never mentions seeing him in person? And you never pried?”

Richard Mann began to squirm.

“Do you own a gun?” Rainie piped up, finally catching on. “How tall are you, Richard? Five-ten, five-eleven? Yep, that would fit.”

“That would fit? What?”

Rainie turned casually to Quincy. “Didn’t he say he’s from L.A.? Chances are, he knows more about guns than you and I put together.”

“I don’t know
anything
about guns! Frankly, all L.A. taught me was to be wary of loud noises. Why are you two looking at me like that? What is this about?”

“Someone else shot Miss Avalon,” Rainie said flatly. “We have hard evidence she was killed by someone who’s at least five-foot-six. Where were you again Tuesday afternoon? And what was the exact nature of your relationship with Melissa?”

“You think I—”

“I thought you’d be happy. You said it broke your heart to think of one of your students committing murder. Well, now you can rest easy.” Rainie’s voice went hard. “Tuesday afternoon. Where were you, Richard?”

“In my office, like I said. This is nuts! Every time I try to help—”

“Did Danny ever mention meeting someone in person?” Quincy continued relentlessly. “A new friend. Someone from out of town.”

“I don’t remember—”

“No Lava, Mr. Mann. You knew Danny was getting e-mails. And you suspected more, didn’t you? Danny said something that made you wonder, but you never told anyone. You never told anyone and now you’re afraid. You messed up. You were his counselor and you failed him.”

Richard Mann had started panting. Beads of sweat covered his upper lip. “I . . . I . . .”

Quincy leaned forward. He was firmly in control, and now he said with a trace of steel, “You’re standing one hundred feet from the graves of two murdered children, Mr. Mann. You helped bury them today. You said prayers for them today. Help us solve their murders. Finally tell us the truth.”

The school counselor shuddered. His gaze darted all around them, looking for escape, but there was none. There was just him and two law-enforcement officers and the secret truth Quincy had finally ferreted out from the dark corners of Mann’s conscience. Richard Mann looked up. He was clearly ashamed.

“He didn’t say enough for me to do anything with it,” he murmured. “I swear, if I’d known what was going to happen—”

“Spit it out,” Rainie ordered.

“I asked Danny once what he really knew about No Lava. I told him my concerns about him befriending someone who was only an e-mail address. What if he was really a six-year-old boy or a dirty old man—though I didn’t put it quite that bluntly.”

“What did he
say,
Richard?”

“He said
she
wasn’t anything like that. And when I tried to explain to him that was exactly my point, she might not even be a she but a he, Danny got this funny look on his face. He blew me off. At the time I thought it was attitude. But after Tuesday I started to wonder. What if it wasn’t attitude? What if he was simply positive that he knew the truth—for example, if he’d met No Lava in person, so he’d seen for himself that she was female?”

“Why the
hell
didn’t you tell us this earlier?”

“It was just a theory!” Mann protested.

“You told us all your other theories.”

“No Lava isn’t a theory—I saw the e-mails! And I was honestly saying what I’d heard about Melissa and her father. How was I to know it was a rumor?”

Rainie blew out an exasperated puff of air. Leave it to an amateur head shrink to fuck up a critical investigation. She gave him a remorseless stare. He bowed his head.

“Anything else you’d like to tell us, Richard?”

“No,” he said meekly. “That would be all.”

“Do you know when Danny might have met this person? Or when they started talking?”

He shook his head emphatically, still not daring to make eye contact.

“Are you on-line, Richard? Have you ever received an e-mail from Miss Avalon?”

“I just bought my first personal computer. I’m pretty good with some of the software, but I’m not that comfortable on the Web yet. In fact, I was thinking that maybe one afternoon I’d have Danny show me the ropes. It could be a way of bonding.”

“You never received an e-mail from Miss Avalon?” Rainie repeated.

“No. Why would I?”

“That’s all. We’re done with you.” Rainie gave a little shoo-shoo motion with her hands. Richard Mann nodded gratefully, hesitated one more moment as if he thought she might change her mind, then made a beeline back to his companions. No doubt he’d tell them he’d just been an invaluable source of help to the police investigation into this hideous crime. No doubt they’d smooth pretty boy’s ruffled feathers and puff him back up to the image of the man he wanted to be. Personally, Rainie was fed up with his incompetence.

She turned back to Quincy. She rubbed her temples, where she was starting to get one hell of a head-ache. “Female, huh? Female influence, using Melissa Avalon’s own e-mail address to contact Danny. We’re not thinking Miss Avalon helped plan her own death with an unmarked bullet, are we?”

“No. We’re thinking e-mail addresses are a very easy thing to hijack, and what better way to impress a budding young hacker like Danny.”

“Oh good. I’d hoped that’s what we were thinking. Now, just out of curiosity, who do we think did it?”

“We don’t have a clue.”

“But he might be a she? I don’t know. The kids reported a mysterious
man
in black, not a woman, and even seven-year-olds ought to know the difference.”

“Unless she dressed up as a he.” Quincy had a strange smile on his face. “Cross-dressing psychopaths aren’t as uncommon as you would think.”

“Great, more ambiguity. That’s just what this case needs. VanderZanden next? Maybe Mrs. VanderZanden?”

“By all means. Lead the way.”

Rainie had no sooner turned back toward the crowd than she ran into a man. She had just started to apologize when she looked up and realized who he was. George Walker stood before her. His beefy face was flushed red. His cheeks were covered in moisture. He raised his hand to point at Rainie, and she was struck by how hard his massive body was trembling.

Rainie’s throat went dry. She tried to swallow, muster a coherent greeting. She was pinned by the ravaged look in George Walker’s eyes.

“What—have you—
done
—for my—
daughter
?” he bit out.

“We’re . . . We’re working very hard, sir.”

“You fucked up all the evidence!”
George Walker roared. People glanced their way at the sudden noise. His wife saw them, went ashen, and hurried over.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Walker. I know this is very difficult—”

“That little bastard killed my daughter and you’re not even trying to put him away. You think I don’t know? You think we haven’t heard? He killed our little girls and you’re protecting him. He butchered our little girls and you’re trying to clear
his name
.”

“George, George.” His wife had arrived. She put her tiny hand on his arm as if she could hold him back. She gave Rainie a pleading look.

“I’m sorry,” Rainie whispered.

“Sorry! You haven’t even come to our house. Our children were murdered in cold blood and you didn’t even pay your respects!”

“George, your heart. George—”

“Mr. Walker,” Quincy tried.

“
How many times have you been to the O’Gradys’ house?
How many times to visit that murdering little bastard? My girl, my girl. My little, little girl. He killed her and you don’t care.”

“We’re working . . . so hard, Mr. Walker—”

“You sympathize with him, don’t you, Rainie Conner? You’re nothing but a murderer too!”

“George!” Mrs. Walker appeared genuinely stricken.

Rainie just stood there and took it. She didn’t have a good reply anymore. And she didn’t have the strength to move.

“I’m going to sue your ass,” George Walker railed. “I’m going to sue you and the school and Shep O’Grady. You harbored a murderer in your midst, and it’s gone on long enough. Bakersville deserves justice! My little girl deserves justice! Sally and Alice and Miss Avalon. Sally and Alice and Miss Avalon. Sally and Alice and Miss Avalon—” His voice broke off. His shoulders started to heave. He turned back to his wife, wrapped his giant arms around her frail shoulders, and wept.

And Rainie just stood there and took it.

She was aware of everyone staring at them now. Hundreds of people devouring a scandalous scene, searching for each nuance, already thinking how they’d repeat the story to their neighbors later. And she was aware of Quincy watching her as well. His gaze was kind, understanding. Somehow it hurt her the most.

“You need to go,” he murmured.

“I can’t.”

“Rainie, you aren’t doing him any favors.”

Rainie nodded slowly. George Walker still sobbed in his wife’s arms. Jean Walker looked directly at Rainie, trying to second Quincy’s motion with her gaze.
Go, get out of here, before you make things worse.

Rainie turned away and walked down the hill with Quincy at her side. People were still staring. For the first time in her life, she didn’t return their gazes.

She kept walking, and for reasons she couldn’t talk about, she was ashamed.

TWENTY-FIVE
                                                                                                                                                                                                               

Friday, May 18, 5:04
P
.
M
.

R
AINIE, LUKE HAYES
, Sanders, and Quincy assembled in the attic of city hall for the task-force meeting. Rainie had already been in the headquarters for the past thirty minutes, gathering paperwork and breaking any #2 pencil she could find. The hardwood floor was now covered with slivers of yellow debris, earning concerned looks from both Sanders and Quincy. Luke, on the other hand, barely registered the mess. He had been working with Rainie for years.

Rainie took a seat behind her sawhorse desk and briskly shuffled together her notes.

“Ready?”

The three men unfolded their metal seats and nodded.

“Let’s start with updates on the suspects first, since I know we have progress there. Next we’ll move on to evidence, then revisit our theories of the case. Got it?”

Everyone nodded. Rainie began:

“At our last meeting I was assigned Charlie Kenyon and Richard Mann as possible suspects. Charlie’s a bust. He was out of town on Tuesday, visiting his girlfriend in Portland, which was corroborated by the girl’s parents. As you’ll see in my notes”—she handed out three copies of her handwritten interview with Charlie—“he hung out with Danny O’Grady on occasion, but I’m willing to believe he didn’t know anything about plans to attack the school. Mostly because we have Charlie arraigned on possession charges right now, and if he did know anything specific, he’d be dealing that information to save his hide.”

“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie,” Luke murmured.

“Exactly. So count Charlie out. That leaves us with Richard Mann. I’ve run a basic background report.” Rainie passed around more copies. “Mann has no record of criminal activity and no handguns registered in his name in Oregon or California. I called the L.A. school where he worked as a student teacher last year, and they rave about the guy. They’re sending me a copy of his personnel file, but I’m not sure it’s gonna lead anywhere. Finally, the school’s secretary, Marge, confirms his alibi: She saw him go into his office with a sandwich at the beginning of the period. And she was there, right outside his and Principal VanderZanden’s offices, until shots were fired. She also said that to the best of the rumor mill’s knowledge, there wasn’t anything one way or another between the school counselor and Miss Avalon.”

“Does that seem odd?” Sanders spoke up. “They’re both young, both new in town. Seems like if anything they’d be friends.”

“Sure, why not?” Rainie agreed. “Or maybe VanderZanden entered the picture right away, and after that Avalon wasn’t interested in expanding her social circle. Don’t know. I’ll keep asking around, I’m just not optimistic. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the son of a bitch we’re going to lock up for life, I give Richard Mann a three, but it’s a weasel factor three, based more on the fact that he’s held out information on us than anything concrete.” Rainie shrugged. She’d tried, but at the moment her suspects looked no good. “What about Principal VanderZanden? Sanders?”

“Still inconclusive,” Sanders reported, opening a color-coded file and also dispensing copies. Rainie noticed that his notes were typed—and he had chosen a nice font. “VanderZanden’s alibi for the shooting is also the school secretary, Marge. She said she saw VanderZanden go into his office and shut the door at the end of lunch. Minutes later, when the shots were fired, he came running out of his office and joined her in the hall.”

“Sounds like an alibi to me,” Luke said.

Sanders shook his head. “Yes and no. When I checked out the offices”—Sanders gave Rainie a pointed glance—“
I
happened to notice that both Richard Mann’s and Principal VanderZanden’s offices have windows big enough for a grown man to exit. That raises the possibility of either man departing his office through the window, reentering the school through the side door, and surprising Miss Avalon in her classroom. In theory, he could’ve used Danny to create a large diversion by continuing the gunfire while he ran back out of the school and reentered his office through the window.

“The good news with this scenario is it would explain why some children thought they saw a man in black but none of the neighbors saw anyone flee through their yards. The bad news is that the office windows overlook the school parking lot. What are the chances of a grown man climbing in and out of that window without anyone noticing?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Luke said with a shrug, but no one jumped on that bandwagon. The chances were pretty slim.

“For the sake of argument,” Sanders continued, “we do have motive. According to Avalon’s diary, she was starting to have doubts about being involved with VanderZanden. In her last entry she talks about wanting to find a therapist. You know, to resolve her father-figure issues.”

“Had she told VanderZanden this?” Quincy asked.

“Don’t know. We haven’t found any correspondence between them. Plus, I can’t find any close friends or confidantes to tell us more about Avalon’s state of mind. According to her coworkers, she was nice but kept to herself. Her phone bills are a bust. I can’t even find records of her calling VanderZanden, so they either communicated strictly in person or she did it all by computer. Of course, the computers are wiped clean.”

“So we have one possible scenario,” Rainie summarized. “Avalon wanted to end things with Vander-Zanden. He retaliated by arranging her murder, disguised as a school shooting. Which involved intimidating Danny into being his cover, wiping all lab computers clean to cover his tracks, and sneaking in and out of his office to do the actual crime.” She frowned. “It’s elaborate, but not impossible.”

“Give him a six,” Sanders said. “He has motive and opportunity. The VanderZandens only have a .22 rifle registered in their name, but it’s not impossible to get your hands on an unregistered gun. I mean, as long as you’re climbing out your office window, why not stop at the street corner for a black-market semiauto?”

“Point taken,” Rainie observed dryly. She was about to turn to Luke when Quincy interrupted.

“What about Mrs. VanderZanden?”

“What about her?” Sanders asked.

“Any evidence that she knew about the affair? Neighbors report any tension in the marriage?”

“Umm . . .” For once the superefficient detective was caught off guard. “I’d have to get back to you on that.”

Rainie was impressed. So Sanders wasn’t all-knowing, after all. Who would’ve thought.

She returned to their rundown of current suspects. “Luke, bring Sanders up to date on Daniel and Angelina Avalon.”

Luke turned to Sanders. He didn’t have notes or handouts, and his expression made it clear he thought Sanders’s color-coded binders were a deep-seated cry for help. “Angelina Avalon is Melissa’s stepmom,” Luke reported off the top of his head. “Her real mom died during childbirth. Daniel waited thirteen years to remarry, and Quincy thinks he was having ‘inappropriate relations’ with his daughter.”

“Incest?” Sanders asked incredulously.

“Bingo,” Luke said. “Daniel Avalon gets a weasel factor of fifteen, if you ask me. Unfortunately, he currently has an alibi.”

“What kind of alibi?”

“Important business meeting. Two clients vouching for his time. One possibility is maybe he hired someone to do it, but I don’t know. Mr. Avalon has a hunting cabin in the area, and for the record, the Avalons have five guns registered in their names, though none of them is a .22.” Luke recited easily: “Smith & Wesson .357, a Glock .40, a Beretta 9-millimeter, and two Mossberg 12-gauge shotguns.”

“Holy shit, what are they preparing for?”

“Y2K. The guns were purchased in the fall of ’99. Mrs. Avalon probably feared for her china. Or maybe she’s afraid of all those clowns in Melissa Avalon’s room.” Luke shuddered again.

“In other words, we can’t count out the Avalons yet,” Rainie concluded. “You’ll push harder on it, Luke?”

“First thing tomorrow morning I’m paying a visit to the hunting cabin, then heading back to Portland and seeing if I can’t finagle some bank records.”

Rainie nodded. Luke planned on spending the rest of the evening guarding Shep’s house. He didn’t take his friendships lightly.

“That brings us to you, Quincy. Where are we with No Lava and Shep?”

“What?” Luke sat up tensely. He’d been absent during their last discussion, when Shep’s actions had been questioned.

“It’s okay,” Quincy said, raising a calming hand. “Nothing came of it—”

“Damn right!” Luke spat out.

“According to the school staff,” Quincy continued evenly, “no one saw Shep enter the building before the shooting. Plus, his patrol log puts him at Hank’s hardware store a little after one, which Hank confirmed. At that point, it’s questionable whether he had the time to drive to the school and commit murder before one-thirty.”

“You examined his patrol log?” Luke was still offended.

Quincy ignored him. “So we can count Shep out. That brings me to the person writing e-mails to Danny from No [email protected]. I did learn a few things there. One, according to Sandy O’Grady, the No Lava address was actually Melissa Avalon’s account.”

“Melissa Avalon was the one writing Danny e-mails?” Sanders interrupted.

Quincy shook his head. “I don’t think so. Melissa saw Danny every day, so there wouldn’t be a need for her to be sending him lots of mail. Plus, I tried checking AOL’s member directory on Thursday to see if I could find a record of a No Lava and nothing came up. This afternoon I followed up with an AOL technician. According to service logs, No Lava was listed in their directory until Monday at six
P
.
M
., when the account was canceled and the caller ordered all traces of the member name removed. I’m willing to bet that our shooter made that call at the same time that she was purging the hard drives of the school’s computers.”

“She?” Luke questioned.

Quincy pursed his lips. “According to Richard Mann, Danny had implied that his pen pal was female. It’s an interesting possibility. I just don’t like Mann as the sole source of information. On the other hand, that might explain a few things. We’ve certainly looked at a lot of suspects without coming up with any strong candidates. Maybe we are looking at the wrong gender. God knows Danny gravitates more toward women—both his mother and Melissa Avalon. In many ways, he’d be more vulnerable to a manipulative female than a male.”

“Maybe Mrs. VanderZanden found out what her husband was doing,” Sanders said slowly, finally understanding Quincy’s earlier line of questioning.

“And maybe Angelina finally caught on to her real role in her husband’s life,” Luke filled in. “Can’t be fun to figure out you’re nothing but a place holder for a too-old daughter.”

They all turned and stared at Rainie.

“What? Because I got double-X chromosomes I magically know what drives women to kill?”

Luke appeared abashed. Sanders, on the other hand, nodded matter-of-factly.

Rainie rolled her eyes. She said briskly, “Let’s bring this all together. Fact one, someone else was involved in the shootings on Tuesday.”

Everyone nodded.

“This person is at least five-foot-six, proficient with computers, and also gun savvy.”

“And how.” Sanders flipped to a gray-colored tab. Gray for guns? Christ, these state boys had too much time on their hands. “Got an update on the ballistics info. You’ll like this—at least, the ballistics department is very pleased with themselves. They want to write this up as a case study. Okay, so the ME identifies one .22-caliber slug with no evidence of rifling but containing a polymer residue. Also found, one .38-caliber casing with faint traces of polymer residue. Finally, also discovered—once the crime-scene technicians were told to look for it in the debris bags—three tiny pieces of plastic, which fit together to form a single unit about the size and shape of a pen cap. Anyone, anyone? What do we have?”

“I hate riddles,” Rainie said flatly.

But Luke Hayes breathed, with near reverence, “A sabot.”

“Nice work, Officer.”

“What the hell is a sabot doing in a school shooting?” Luke said with a frown.

“What the hell is a sabot?” Rainie asked.

Sanders looked at Luke, who did the honors. “I’ve heard of them for hunting. Basically you take something like plastic and wrap it around a smaller-caliber slug so it will fit in a larger-caliber gun. Then a big gun can fire smaller bullets with greater velocity and mushrooming capacity. You know, for large-game hunting.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Rainie looked at them all as if they’d gone mad. “You mean to tell me that someone is applying techniques for large-game hunting to
school grounds
?”

“We don’t think this has anything to do with hunting techniques,” Sanders supplied. “The ME is the one who first thought of the possibility, and that’s because she’d read about it once before—in a mob shooting in New Jersey. The other advantage of making a sabot, you see, is that it makes the slug hard to trace. No rifling marks, no matching with a murder weapon. Also, this answers Rainie’s question about why only one shot to the forehead—hardly a sure kill with a .22. Well, the slug was fired by a bigger gun, meaning greater velocity, more force. Whoever we’re looking for isn’t dumb.”

Rainie turned this over in her mind, trying to see how it was done. She spared a glance at Quincy, who had a curious look on his face, as if many things were becoming magically clear. She was happy for him. Personally, between the little scene with George Walker and now this, her temples were pounding and her hand had a tremor she hoped no one would notice.

“How do you make a sabot?” she asked Sanders.

“It’s involved. In this case, ballistics has determined that the .22-caliber slug recovered from Avalon’s body was actually fired from a .38-caliber gun.”

“Danny’s .38 revolver.”

“No. Rifling doesn’t match. Give me a minute, we’ll get to it. Okay, so we have someone, Quincy’s UNSUB, who wants to cover his tracks. He hits upon a great idea. He’ll shoot a .22-caliber slug from a .38 revolver. Given the entry wound and weight of the recovered projectile, everyone will be looking for a .22 semiauto. He’ll never get tied to the crime.