The Competition

13

Tuesday afternoon, October 8

We promised to keep the doctors up to speed on the investigation, and they promised to review any “interesting” writings we found on the Internet or at school. After they left, Bailey glanced at the clock on the wall, which was slightly crooked. It had bugged the hell out of me through the whole interview. Maybe I lacked focus too.

“It’s lunchtime,” Bailey said. “You feel like eating?”

“Not really.”

She picked up the manila envelope with the photo of the shooter’s tattoo. “Then we may as well go see Charlotte and company.”

The traffic wasn’t bad. We made it to Woodland Hills in just under forty minutes. This time I had the chance to take in the neighborhood. It was pretty uniformly middle- to upper-middle class. Mature pepper and weeping willow trees and ’50s-style ranch homes showed that it wasn’t a new development. But it had always been a fairly nice one. Nothing flashy, but nice. Families had moved here, at least in part, to get away from the crime and violence of the inner city. The bitter irony was that at least two of those families had spawned the most vicious predators of all.

We found Charlotte, her mother, and Charlotte’s friends Letha and Marnie sitting over steaming cups of tea in a bright-yellow breakfast nook. The flowered curtains were parted to let in the pale sunlight. Bailey and I joined them at the table. I declined their offer of coffee. I’d had three cups in my room and a fourth at the station. Any more than that and I wouldn’t sleep till next year.

I took a moment to look at the girls. It had only been one day, but their haggard faces and haunted eyes showed the enormity of the trauma they’d suffered. I wished we could leave them alone to grieve privately and regain their balance. The whole world probably felt like a precarious high-wire act for them. On the other hand, maybe talking to us would give them a sense of control over the situation. In any case, we had no choice.

Bailey pulled out the photograph of the taller shooter’s wrist.

“Do any of you recognize this?” I asked.

Each girl examined the photograph, shook her head, and passed it on.

“What is it?” Charlotte said.

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” I said. Charlotte shrugged. “I heard Otis had a friend named Jason. They did a science project together a year or so ago. Does that ring a bell?”

They frowned in unison. “Jason…the only Jason I know graduated last year,” Letha said.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t our tall shooter. “What did he look like?”

Marnie made a face. “An Ewok. Real short and really hairy.”

So much for Jason. Or at least that Jason. Maybe there were others. “Do you happen to remember the names of the science teachers for last year-which would’ve been what, your junior year?”

“Yeah,” Charlotte said. “I had Mr. Forster.”

“Who’d you guys have?” I asked Marnie and Letha.

Letha pulled her long hair forward over her right shoulder and began to stroke it. “Marnie and I had Ms. Sherman.” Her mouth turned downward. “We got sent to the principal’s office because we wouldn’t dissect a frog-”

“How can they kill animals just so high school kids can cut them up?” Marnie said. “It was so…brutal.” She hadn’t meant it to be ironic, but it landed hard anyway. On all of them.

We wrapped it up shortly after that and walked out to Bailey’s car. I stopped at the passenger door and spoke to her over the hood. “Is Principal Campbell back in act-”

“Dale, and yes, he’s reachable.”

We got into the car and Bailey called Dale, who got us the numbers for the evil Ms. Sherman and Mr. Forster. Both answered on the first ring and offered to meet us anytime, anywhere. It was a grim upside to a case of this magnitude: no one thought they had anything more important to do. We told them for now, we only needed a few minutes on the phone.

Ms. Sherman, who sounded more like Betty Crocker than Cruella De Vil, was a model of efficiency. She kept records for the past four years on her computer.

“I didn’t have any student named Otis Barney,” she said. “I did have a Jason a couple of years ago, but I think he would have graduated by now.”

Jason the Ewok, I guessed. We thanked her and moved on to Mr. Forster.

“Otis Barney? That name sounds familiar,” he said. “Hang on, let me go get my laptop.” A few minutes later, he was back. “Let’s see, this was last year, you say?” I confirmed it. “Okay, yes, I did have Otis Barney. No Jason though.”

Damn. “Who was Otis teamed up with, then?” I asked.

“Carson. Carson James. Why?”

Bailey and I exchanged a look. Carson…Jason. Close enough. A parent could easily misremember. “Mr. Forster, would you mind if we stopped by for a few minutes?”

The science teacher lived on the outer edges of the neighborhood that fed Fairmont High, where the homes and the lots they sat on were a good deal smaller. A teacher’s pay doesn’t go far. But no worries, the universe provides balance. Britney Spears has mansions in at least three states.

When Mr. Forster opened the door I was momentarily speechless. Why do I expect teachers to be old? I guess because way back when I was a student, they all looked old to me. The fact that Mr. Forster not only looked young, but hot-in a science nerd kind of way-was upsetting for so many reasons.

He wore a gray waffle shirt and jeans. His black, curly hair was charmingly messy and complemented by heavy-framed black glasses. His welcoming smile seemed to stretch a little farther than he’d planned when he saw us. That helped assuage my “I’m so old” blues a little.

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Mr. Forster,” I said.

“Uh, it’s Liam, okay? I get enough ‘Mr. Forster’ at school.” Liam ushered us into a small living room that was furnished in Early Bachelor. Ikea couch, coffee table, two chairs, a television. No flowers, no paintings, no knickknacks. There were a few framed photographs of people who looked like family on the mantel over the fireplace. “Would you like coffee or tea? It’s the extent of my culinary skills, but I do those pretty reliably.”

We declined, and Liam sat down in one of the chairs across from the couch. I started by asking him whether he’d been in the gym at the time.

He shook his head. “I stayed in the classroom so I could set up for our weather experiment.” He’d eventually heard the gunfire, but his classroom was on the second floor, at the opposite end of the hall from the library. He hadn’t seen anything.

“Can you tell us what you remember about Otis Barney?” I asked after Bailey and I had settled into the couch.

“I figured you’d ask that so I’ve been thinking about him. He was pretty quiet, intense, you know? He seemed like a sensitive kid who was trying not to be, if that makes any sense.”

It did. But it was probably true of half the school. “Was he a problem in class?”

“Not really. He was never disruptive. But there was something…anxious about him. It felt like he was trying very hard to fit in, be one of the guys. I kind of got the impression he was getting picked on.” Liam sighed. “He never told me, and I never saw anyone attack him in any way, so I couldn’t do anything about it. And maybe I’m wrong about that. It was just a feeling. But no, he never caused me any problems. Why? Are you thinking…?”

I didn’t want to answer that question, not until we had solid evidence of Otis’s involvement. “We’re just following up on all leads. Otis is one of the many we’re looking into.” Not true, but the safest answer for now. “Any information you can give us will be helpful.”

Liam nodded. “I remember being surprised that Otis volunteered for the extra-credit team project. He didn’t really seem all that interested in science.”

But it didn’t surprise me. If Otis was looking for a friend, signing up for a team project gave him a safe way to make one. “And he teamed up with Carson James,” I said. “What can you tell us about him?”

“Carson was kind of a loner, and a rebellious type-sat in the back and never talked in class-but he loved science. And he was good at it. He didn’t want a partner, didn’t want to have to collaborate with anyone, but I told him that was the deal. Otis was happy to let Carson call all the shots, so it was a good fit. And I’m sure Otis also liked the fact that no one messed with Carson.”

“Why?” I asked.

“For one thing, he was over six feet, and he seemed to be in pretty good shape.”

The pieces were starting to fall into place. I didn’t have to look at Bailey to know that her ears had perked up too. “Mind if I show you a photograph?” I pulled out the enhanced cell phone photo of the taller shooter’s wrist. “Do you remember seeing any student with a marking like this on his right arm?”

Liam studied the photograph carefully. “No. Several of my students have tatts, but I don’t recognize this one.”

“Did you ever see any kind of tattoo on Carson’s wrist?” I asked.

Liam paused. “Not that I can recall. Sorry.”

It was a letdown, but not a game ender. He might’ve just missed it. “Do you happen to know any of Carson’s friends?” I didn’t want to go to his parents yet. If he did have the tattoo, they’d jump to the right conclusion. And possibly help him run.

“I don’t. But I can give you the names of the other students in the class. Maybe one of them can help you.”

Someone had to. And soon.