The Competition

21

Sonny Barney answered the door this time. She looked even worse than before, hollow-cheeked, deathly pale, her hair like straw-she’d aged ten years in just one day. And her eyes were filled with so much pain it sent a stab of guilt through my heart. Bailey asked if we could take a few minutes of her time. Given the way our last meeting had ended I wasn’t sure how Sonny would react, but she wordlessly stepped back from the door to let us in. We gathered in the living room again. I was glad to see that Tom didn’t appear to be home.

“Tom’s at the rec center,” Sonny said. “I just came home to get us a change of clothes. She drew in a long breath through her nose and let it out. Then, looking from Bailey to me, she asked, “Do you have any…information about Otis?” Her eyes filled with tears as his name left her lips.

“We haven’t found him,” Bailey said. “But we have come across some information about a friend of his, Logan Jarvis.”

Sonny pulled a tissue from a box on the side table, swiped at her eyes, and frowned. “Logan Jarvis?”

“Yes. You don’t know the name?” Bailey asked.

“No.”

Bailey looked Sonny in the eye, and I saw the effort it took to maintain that eye contact as she spoke the next words. “We have reason to believe they may have been fairly close. It’s very important that you try to remember any contact your son may have had with Logan, anything he might have said about him.”

Sonny’s mouth worked silently for a few seconds, like a television that had been left on mute. “Wh-why would that be import-?” Her eyes widened. “You think Logan is one of the…and that he and Otis…” Sonny grabbed her throat. “No! Please, you’ve got to believe me! Otis is a good boy, he’s never been in trouble! We’d have known if he was…having…problems like that!”

I pitied Sonny. I knew what she was in for, this seemingly decent, loving mother. The world would judge her and Tom, and the Jarvises as well. Maybe, eventually, I would too. But right now, all I felt was profound sympathy. Sonny put a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. Listen to me. That’s what those parents said, isn’t it? The ones at Columbine.” She looked from my face to Bailey’s. Our silence was answer enough. She bent forward, her arms wrapped around her torso.

Bailey stepped in gently. “We may be wrong, Sonny. Otis may not be involved. But we can’t rule him out unless we get more information.” Bailey waited. When Sonny looked up, Bailey continued. “If he was close to Logan, there should be some communication between them-and it would probably show up on his computer.”

Sonny slowly straightened up, a defiant look on her swollen face. “Yes, that’s right. There should be. Go ahead, check his computer. That’ll prove you’re wrong! Check his whole room again if you want. We’ve got nothing to hide.” She led us to Otis’s room, opened the bottom drawer of his desk, and pulled out a laptop with a red skull sticker on the back. “I can give you the password for his email.”

That was significant. And surprising. But if Otis was sure she’d never snoop on him, he might not worry about what was on his computer. There was no time to call in Dorian or even Herrera to check for prints. If there was information that might lead us to Otis and Logan, we had to get it now. I pulled a pair of latex gloves out of my purse and went over to the laptop. Touching only the edges, I opened it and waited while it booted up. Sonny directed me to Otis’s account and dictated the password. The most recent emails were from commercial websites selling computer gadgets, jeans, and logo T-shirts. About halfway down the list I found a message from a sender named LJ314. I opened it. There was no text, but there was an attachment.

It was a photo. And it had been sent the night before the shooting. A smiling Logan Jarvis posed with an assault rifle. One that looked a lot like the gun he’d dropped just outside the gym.