The Competition

25

Logan didn’t have a big crew, but he was a social butterfly compared to Otis. Interestingly, whereas Logan’s fans had all been male, the only two kids who claimed to know Otis were girls.

Chloe had a head full of curls and a round, rosy face. Given that look, I expected a high-pitched Kewpie doll of a voice, but I was surprised to find it was rich and mellow. I bet she could sing. We made our introductions, and Chloe sat down in the chair and put her fringed purse on the floor. The desk didn’t leave much room, but she somehow managed to cross her jean-covered legs and tuck her hands between her knees.

“I’ve known Otis since our freshman year. He was so sweet.”

“Was?” I asked. “He changed?”

Chloe nodded, making her curls bounce. “When we started at Fairmont, we were all a little scared. You know, big school, we were freshmen, and we’d all heard the stories about what they did to freshmen…” Chloe had a wistful smile. “Otis was in my homeroom, and on our first day, he admitted he was scared. We sort of bonded over that, you know? So we got to be friends. Not, you know, hangout friends or anything, just school friends. But he could make me laugh about almost anything.” The wistful smile grew bigger with the memory. “The teachers, the other kids. He got me through my freshman year.”

“Did he make you laugh about the jocks?” I asked.

“All the time.” Chole’s smile suddenly faded. It made the room seem darker. “I guess they must’ve found out somehow, because one of them, this asshole-” Her eyes grew wide, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

I waved her off. “I believe in calling an asshole an asshole. What’s his other name?”

A glimmer of a smile from Chloe, and then she sobered again. “Bryan…something. He threw Otis’s books in the toilet. And I heard he knocked Otis down a couple of times too.”

“But you never saw it?” I asked. Chloe shook her head. “Did Otis tell you about it?”

“Never. I think he was ashamed to. When I heard what had happened, I tried to get him to report it, but he wouldn’t even talk about it. He’d just change the subject.” Chloe’s sad eyes got to me.

“Did you and Otis stay friends after your freshman year?” I asked.

“Not as much, but somewhat. Yeah.”

“Did he talk to you about the jocks this year?” I asked.

“No. So maybe they weren’t hassling him anymore.”

“Do you know Logan Jarvis?” I asked.

“No.” Chloe frowned. “I mean, I’ve seen him around, but I don’t actually, like, know him.”

“Did you ever see Otis with Logan?”

“No.” She looked from me to Bailey. “But I heard you think Logan might be one of…them.” I nodded. “Are you thinking Otis is the other one?” I didn’t answer right away. “Because I can tell you he isn’t. Otis couldn’t hurt anybody. Ever.”

“Did you see him the day of the shooting?”

Chloe turned her head to the side and stared at the wall for a few moments. “I think I did. I think I saw him coming up the front steps that morning because we said hey.” She paused, then continued. “Yeah, I’m almost sure of it.”

“Was that the last time you saw him?” I asked.

Chloe’s eyes dropped down to her lap. She nodded.

“Chloe, did Otis ever talk about getting revenge against anyone?” I asked.

“No!” Chloe leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Otis was the most nonviolent person I’ve ever met. I know people told you he’s kinda weird, and he is. But if anyone’s telling you he could’ve done something like this, they’re full of it! Believe me, I knew him for real. There’s no way!”

And the next girl-Suzanne Eckman-echoed virtually all the same sentiments about Otis.

We went through our list of shrink questions with both of them. They had no recollection of anyone who fit the profile.

Our last interview was with another of the friends mentioned by Logan’s mother.

Evan Cutter had a military-style buzz cut and the kind of lean frame and ropy muscling you usually see on wrestlers. But he had none of the swagger that usually goes with the type. He shuffled in with slumped shoulders and barely met our eyes. I introduced myself and put out my hand. He held it loosely for the barest of seconds, dipped his head, and plunked down in the chair.

We asked the usual preliminary questions about how long he’d known Logan and how they’d met: one year, in gym class. It was a perfect segue.

“Did the jocks ever give Logan a hard time?” I asked.

“Not that I ever saw.”

“If they had, do you think he would’ve told you?” I asked.

Evan shrugged. “I’d hope so.”

“You wrestle?” I asked.

“I used to. But I got bored after a while. Plus, I needed the time to study. I’m not a brainiac like…Logan.” At the mention of his friend’s name, his face tightened, and I thought he was about to cry. But he swallowed hard and cleared his throat. Crisis averted.

“Do you know Otis Barney?”

Evan’s lips twisted. “Yeah, he’s a loser. He tried to buddy up to Logan this year. Kept hanging around, trying to get Logan to do stuff with him.”

“Did it work?” I asked.

“Kinda, yeah. Logan said they hung out a couple of times. Probably my fault. I don’t have as much free time as I used to. I got a job over the summer. Pizza delivery for New York’s Finest.”

So he blamed Otis for pushing Logan down the wrong path. And himself for not having time for Logan anymore. “Then you and Logan were pretty tight-at least at one time?”

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t say ‘best’ friends, but we hung out.”

“Did you ever know Logan to be violent?” I asked. “Or have a temper?”

“He didn’t used to. But more and more he seemed kind of…I don’t know, edgy? Everything seemed to bug him.” He paused, his expression troubled. “And, yeah, he lost his temper a couple of times.”

“What would set him off?” I asked.

Evan shook his head. “That’s what was so weird. Nothing big. An A minus in calculus, a stain on his shirt. Stupid stuff.”

“Did you ever hear him threaten anyone?” Bailey asked.

“Not specifically. He’d just hate on everything. Probably why I didn’t take it seriously. I mean, he wasn’t going to try and take out the whole world, right?” I said nothing. Evan huffed. “Come on. Seriously? He was just venting. Look, I heard the press conference, so I know what you think, but there’s no way he did this.”

“Did he ever talk about guns?” I asked.

“Not that I ever knew.”

“What about Otis Barney?” I asked. “Did he ever mention wanting to get guns, or being able to get them?”

“Specifically, did he say he was going to buy a gun? No. But that kid, I’d put money on it. Isn’t he the typical kind of loser jerk who needs to have a gun to feel tough?”

“You tell me,” I said. “Is he?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t be surprised if that kid had a whole arsenal stashed somewhere.”

I was getting the distinct impression Evan was not an Otis fan.

“Where were you when the shooting happened?” Bailey asked.

“In the gym.”

We asked what he’d seen and heard, but like many others, he’d ducked under a bench when the first shots were fired. He couldn’t tell us anything we hadn’t heard at least fifty times before.

“Did you see Otis or Logan the day of the shooting?” I asked.

“No. I wish I had.”

“Because you would’ve stopped it?”

“I would’ve tried.” Evan’s knee began to bounce. “And I’m not saying I believe Logan’s involved. I don’t. I’m just saying…I…whatever.” He stared at the floor.

“Let me go back to something you mentioned before,” I said. “You said Logan had more free time than you. That maybe that was why he got friendly with Otis.” Evan nodded. “According to Logan’s mother, he had a job too,” I said. “And he was working lots of hours.”

“But not all the time, at least not from what I remember.”

“What about in the past few weeks?”

Evan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been pretty busy myself.”

Logan’s job at the mall was on the to-do list we’d given the unis. It’d be easy enough to check out.

We wrapped up with the usual shrink questions. And got the usual answers. We let Evan go. He shuffled out looking fairly miserable.

I was feeling the same way. “How come the only guy anyone remembers talking shit like the shrinkers described is the guy who’s hooked up to an IV in the hospital?” I asked.

“To be fair, they warned us these shooter types come in all shapes and sizes.”

“True.”

“Our next interview’s waiting for us in the main office.” She pulled out her notepad. “Otis’s English teacher. Arthur Windemere.”