The Competition

2

I glanced at the clock on the courtroom wall for the fiftieth time. It was seventeen minutes past eleven, which meant I’d been waiting exactly twenty-seven minutes for my case to be called. I hate waiting. Especially in a noisy courtroom where I can’t get anything else done. Usually I could stay in my office until the prosecutor assigned to the courtroom called me with a five-minute warning-it was all I needed, since my office was just upstairs-but this particular home-court deputy district attorney wasn’t exactly a fan of mine. We’d locked horns a couple of years ago when he screwed up the murder of a homeless man. Deputy DA Brandon Averill was just too big a hotshot to be bothered with low-rent, pedestrian crimes like that. I’d grabbed the case away from him in front of a packed courtroom and wound up proving he’d had the wrong guy in custody. My bestie, fellow Special Trials prosecutor Toni LaCollier, says Brandon’s a dangerous enemy. I say Brandon’s a tool. We’re probably both right.

I could’ve asked the court clerk to give me the five-minute heads-up, but that’s a risky proposition. Even if they’re willing to help, clerks are busy people. And some might even “forget” to call just for the pleasure of seeing a judge ream you. But I knew Sophie wasn’t like that. And besides, I’d run out of patience. I headed for her desk, but at that moment Judge J. D. Morgan glared down at the packed courtroom and made an announcement. “Since I can’t seem to find a single case where both sides are up to speed, we’ll be in recess.” He banged his gavel. “Get it together, people. I expect a better showing when we reconvene at one thirty.”

Damn. Now I’d have to come back for the afternoon session. I refused to get stuck down here for another hour. Better to take my chances with the clerk. I moved toward the line of attorneys queuing up at Sophie’s desk, but the judge gestured for me to approach. He leaned over the bench and covered his mic. “Rachel, where’s your worthy adversary?”

“My worthy…you’re kidding, right?” I nodded toward the back of the courtroom, where defense counsel Sweeny was schmoozing the defendant’s family. He’d put the case on calendar so he could postpone the trial for another month. Said he needed more time “to prepare”-i.e., squeeze the family for more cash. I’d told the clerk I wanted a full hearing on Sweeny’s reasons for delaying the trial. Again.

The judge sighed. “Look, I’m giving him the continuance this one last time. So agree on a drop-dead date for trial and stop busting my chops.”

I gave him a sour look, but I nodded. He was right. The endless delays pissed me off, but another month wouldn’t matter. The case was basically all physical evidence, and my experts were local. My cell phone vibrated in my purse. I reached in and sneaked a look. The screen said “Bailey Keller.” My other bestie, who also happened to be a top-notch detective in the elite Robbery-Homicide Division of LAPD. Her call might mean she was free for lunch-a welcome distraction from the irritating morning I’d had so far. I turned back to the judge. “Okay if I have someone stand in for me if I get His Nibs to agree on a date?”

“Sure.” The judge started to head off the bench, then turned back. “Hey, by the way, you and Graden still on for dinner Saturday?”

Graden and I-Graden, the lieutenant of Robbery-Homicide-had been dating for over a year now. And Judge J. D. Morgan had been dating Toni for the past two years. It’s a cozy, some would say quasi-​incestuous, group. But we work seventy-hour weeks-at least. Where else are we going to meet someone? The parking lot?

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Now go make nice to Sweeny and pick a date.”

J.D. trotted down off the bench and headed for his chambers. I did my lawyerly duty with Sweeny, then called Bailey back.

“Hey, Rachel,” Bailey answered, her voice tense. “You get pulled in on that school shooting yet?”

I had just pushed my way into a packed elevator. “What school sh-?” I managed to close my mouth before saying “school shooting” out loud.

“Just happened.”

“Oh my God. How bad?”

“We still don’t have a body count. I’m putting a team together.”

Body count. We used the term all the time, but about children? Never.

“Rachel? You still there?”

“Yeah, I just…give me a sec.” I had to push away from the horror of it all and make myself think. If the case was already big enough to justify bringing in the Robbery-Homicide Division, then District Attorney William Vanderhorn, affectionately known by me as the Dipshit, would insist that we have a presence in the investigation. It gave him a chance to show up at the scene and get free publicity. And if Bailey had anything to say about it, that presence would be Yours Truly. “You on your way out there now?” I asked.

“Yeah. You may as well let me pick you up. Odds are you’ll wind up getting sent out anyway.”

Bailey was right. Vanderhorn’s obnoxious press grab aside, it is SOP for the Special Trials Unit to show up at the crime scene, because we usually get our cases the day the body is found. That means we’re involved in the investigation. And that makes for a lot more work-normally prosecutors don’t even get the file until they start picking a jury-but it lets us put together a much tighter case. It’s an honor to be chosen for Special Trials, but it’s not a job for anyone who wants normal working hours. Free evenings? Free weekends? Fuggetaboutit.

The elevator bounced to a stop at the eighteenth floor of the Criminal Courts Building, one of the two floors occupied by the district attorney’s office. It’s a long-standing, not-so-funny joke that the contract for the elevators went to the lowest bidder. They operate like one of those cheapo traveling carnival rides. “Okay.” My voice was as leaden as my heart. I didn’t even want to imagine what I was about to see.

“We think we’ve already identified the shooters.”

I punched in the security code on the door that led to my wing and headed for my office. “Then why…?” If they already had the shooters, there wouldn’t be much for me to do. I unlocked the door to my office and dropped the case file on my desk.

Bailey sighed. “Yeah, now that I think about it, Rache, maybe you don’t need to come. This one’s gonna be…really bad.”

I couldn’t remember ever wanting to take a pass on a crime scene before, but I did now. Though homicides are always grim, nothing compares to the tragedy of a child victim. Let alone a mass murder involving children. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to know about it. I didn’t want it to be true. But it was. And I had to do something about it. Even if it was too late.