The Competition

7

Dorian continued to root around in the Dumpster for a while longer before determining there was nothing else of value. She stayed outside to work on the area between the cafeteria door and the parking lot, and I headed back to the library. Dr. Shoe was stripping off his gloves as the bodies were being loaded into bags and readied for the two nearby gurneys.

Bailey motioned me over. “He found entry wounds just under the jawline on one and behind the ear on the other.”

“So they were already dead when the suspects shot their faces off.”

“Right. It’s another page out of the Columbine playbook.”

Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold had committed suicide in the school library. Our shooters had played on that scenario so we’d jump to the conclusion that they’d done the same, which would buy them some precious time. It killed me to admit that it had worked. Any doubt I’d had that our shooters had studied the Columbine case was gone. There were too many similarities to be coincidental: the full-on style of the attack, the way they stormed through the halls, the final act in the library. And I had a feeling Graden was right: the body count was no accident either. They’d set out to “beat” the Columbine killers in every way: top their death toll and escape.

“But in the meantime, we need to figure out who those kids in the library are,” Bailey said. “Hopefully their prints are on file somewhere. But if not…”

I took stock of where we stood. Surveillance cameras hadn’t panned out, the bodies on the floor weren’t the killers, the camouflage jackets might-or might not-tell us who the killers were, but it would take days before we knew one way or the other. And even if we did manage to get usable DNA from the coats or the balaclavas, since the killers were high school students, we probably wouldn’t find them in the criminal DNA database. That meant we’d have to get parents’ DNA and do a paternity match-a crazy amount of work. We’d need to narrow down the suspect list considerably before the crime lab could even start.

“Time to talk to the kids,” I said. “We’ve got to get to them while it’s all fresh.”

Bailey gave me a grim nod. Talking to victims of a violent crime is always hard. But this would be worse by a factor of about a hundred. These kids had been through a massacre that would’ve made battle-hardened soldiers weep.

“Best to do it in their homes, where they feel safer,” Bailey said. “I’ll get some unis to help. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

And we had to cover it fast.

“I’ll call Graden,” Bailey said. “Guess you better hurry up and call Vanderhorn.”

William Vanderhorn, known on the inside as Vanderputz and by the outside world as the district attorney of Los Angeles County, was everything I detested in a manager or politician-which was like saying he epitomized the worst of the slimiest ooze that inhabits the blackest of lagoons. Politicians and managers-to me they’re cut from the same useless, unproductive, endlessly self-promoting, ass-covering, you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours cloth. Vanderputz’s sole talent lies in currying favor with the people who can get him elected. He couldn’t handle a trial if his life depended on it. The only thing he could do was look good standing at the podium with the flag behind him. I’d call him an empty vessel, but it would be an insult to empty vessels. And he’s just as fond of me as I am of him. Ours is a relationship in perfect balance, steeped in a deep, abiding mutual loathing.

It satisfied Bailey’s sadistic streak to watch me squirm whenever I had to meet with him. But this time she wouldn’t get her wish. For now, I figured I could dodge that bullet and report to my immediate boss, Eric Northrup, head deputy of the Special Trials Unit. Eric was everything Vanderputz was not. Smart, experienced, savvy, and unflappable, he was a lawyer’s lawyer, and that unique person who could try lawsuits and be a good manager. As a result, he was beloved by all-no easy feat in an office full of big egos and power players.

I called Eric and got Melia, his secretary. Though generally unmotivated, Melia had shown a whole other-downright efficient-side when I picked up the Antonovich case. Prosecuting a Hollywood big shot had made me a weird kind of celebrity, and Melia, an unrepentant celebrity junkie, instantly became my devoted fan. Suddenly, I got my messages on time, I got through to Eric faster than anyone else, and she personally escorted witnesses to my office. I knew my shine wouldn’t last forever, so I intended to enjoy the ride for as long as I could.

“Hey, Melia. Is Eric around? It’s pretty urgent. Oh, and it’s Rachel.”

“Rachel, come on, I know your voice.” There was a warm smile in hers. Ah, the perks of fame. “I’ll get him right away. Hold on.” Toni would turn green if she could see the Melia-love I was getting.

Eric got on the line and I brought him up to speed.

“Just a bit of advice,” he said. “Get the students’ cell phones and watch any footage they got before you do the interviews. The kids will probably still be a mess, so you’ll need to know what makes sense and what doesn’t.”

“Right. And I’ll tell the crime lab to put a rush on everything.”

“You won’t have any problem with that,” he said. “The press is already all over it. When they find out the killers are at large-”

“It’ll be completely batshit. So what are they saying about the shooting so far?”

“That the shooters were a couple of fringe-type losers who’d been victims of bullying by the jocks-”

“But they fired at random-”

“But they targeted a pep rally, and specifically called out the jocks,” Eric said. “I’m not saying you rule anyone out based on that. As far as we’re concerned, everyone who isn’t accounted for has to be considered a possible suspect. All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t hurt to start there. Get a list of kids who fit the profile.”

I ended the call and went to find Bailey. I had to get the cell phones and start the interviews ASAP. With traumatized kids running all over the place and being treated at who knew how many hospitals, just figuring out who hadn’t been accounted for was going to be a daunting task.

And that was only the beginning.