The Competition

48

“I’m almost relieved,” I said, as Bailey and I headed out to the parking lot. “Finally, something fits.”

“Yeah, but would you ever have thought that would add up to mass murder?”

The point we’d circled so many times before. “No. But I think this is what the shrinks were talking about. Maybe we should set up surveillance at the school. It’s a long shot but-”

“No chances taken, not with these assholes.” Bailey drove down Ventura Boulevard until she spotted a gas station with a pay phone.

We had to be very careful about what we said on our cell phones, especially about something like this. It was just a theory that Logan might hit his middle school next, but if it got out that we were putting up extra security it would cause a major panic.

When Bailey got back into the car, I shared something that had occurred to me during our interview with Cherry. “Does this story about Hot Rod make you think Logan really was targeting jocks at Fairmont?”

Bailey started the engine. “Nah. I still don’t buy it.”

I pulled on my seat belt. “Why? I mean, I’m not saying it was the only thing on his mind, but it might’ve been one of them.”

“I guess. But if jocks really mattered, they could’ve staged their attack at a basketball game.”

“Maybe. Then again, a game isn’t as controlled an environment. People move in and out-”

“True. But I’m just not feeling this whole jock angle. It feels like bullshit.”

Bailey’s intuition was worth a lot. And I’d played devil’s advocate, but I agreed with her. Logan had a bad experience with Hot Rod in junior high, but there was no indication anything like that had happened since then. It stretched the bands of credibility to the breaking point to believe that some idiots calling him Sir Pantsalot had provoked him to stockpile an arsenal and go on a killing spree years later. No, the notion that Logan was a bullied kid who finally “snapped” and decided to go after his tormentors fit a nice media picture. But it sure as hell didn’t fit the evidence. Not from what we’d seen so far.

Westlake Village was only twenty minutes north of Platt Junior High, and we made it to the home of Logan’s elementary school teacher by four thirty. Vera Littlefield, a petite brunette with sensibly bobbed hair, had just come home from the grocery store and was about to start dinner. She led us into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry to bring you in here instead of the living room, but if I don’t get this dinner rolling we won’t eat until nine o’clock.”

“What are you making?” I asked. Dinner sounded good. I couldn’t remember when I’d last eaten.

“Fried chicken and mashed potatoes. It’s Kevin’s favorite. Mine too, actually.”

And mine too. Just the words made my mouth water.

The principal had done our intros for us, so we got right down to business and asked Vera what she remembered of Logan.

Vera stood at the sink and washed the chicken pieces. “Such a sweet boy. Very, very smart. Always the tallest boy in his class. For a shy guy like him that was probably a bit of a problem. I believe he has an IQ at genius level.”

“He does,” I said. “Do you remember having any disciplinary problems with him?”

She put the chicken pieces on paper towels and began drying them. “I’ve been thinking about that, and no. None. He was a pretty quiet kid. That’s why it’s so hard to imagine that he was involved in something…like this.” A mixture of fear and sadness crossed Vera’s face as she washed her hands and moved to the refrigerator. I got the feeling that she was glad to help us, but she’d be just as glad to put this interview behind her.

“Did you ever see him act out in a violent manner with any of the other kids?” Bailey asked. “Or see him get unusually…upset?”

Vera took eggs out of the refrigerator and put them into a bowl. “Violent? No. I never worried that he was a danger to others.” She put the bowl on the counter and pulled out a whisk, then gave us a wry half-smile. “And I never saw him start fires or be cruel to animals.” The sociopathic checklist. “But what I do remember is that he was a perfectionist. Even at that early age.”

“What age exactly?” I asked.

“Ten. I taught fifth grade. It isn’t that uncommon to see kids be perfectionists at that age, but Logan took it to an extreme. If every single thing he did wasn’t absolutely flawless, he’d have a fit, and I mean that literally. He’d shred the work, clench his fists, and shake. Sometimes even scream and call himself names, like ‘stupid idiot’ and ‘loser.’”

“What did you do?” I asked.

Vera cracked the eggs into the bowl. “I’d try to calm him down as best I could, and eventually, it would pass. But I knew it was a sign that there was a problem, so I told his parents about it and recommended a child psychologist.” Vera began to beat the eggs.

“How did they take it?” Some parents didn’t appreciate it when teachers suggested their children needed professional help.

“Very well, actually. They started therapy right away. At least that’s what they told me.” Vera put the chicken pieces into the bowl and coated them.

Bailey and I exchanged a look. “Did Logan seem to get better?” I asked.

“He did. He definitely stopped having those fits.”

We fished around for a little while longer to make sure there was nothing else of consequence, then thanked Vera for her time and let ourselves out. The spatter of chicken hitting hot grease crackled behind us as we headed out the door.

When we got into the car, Bailey pulled out her cell. “Someone should check this shrink business out with the Jarvises. See if they put Logan on some kind of medication.”

If we got to trial, any possible chemical influences would offer big support to a mental defense. “Damn. I’d like to hear this for myself. What if we got Nick to go with us? Think that would help?” Nick had the kind of laid-back attitude that might soften the parents’ feelings toward us. Although he’d been at the Jarvis house during the search, he’d stayed in the background. It was possible the parents never even noticed him.

Bailey chewed the inside of her cheek. “Bonnie’ll be less hostile than Brad. I’ll have Nick call and see who’s home. If it’s just her, and Nick’s available, we can give it a try, see if she’ll talk. But if she gets the least bit hinky, we’re outta there. Harrellson can handle it.”

“Of course.” Logan’s parents didn’t have a right to refuse to talk to us. And, fortunately, they hadn’t lawyered up yet. But if they’d be more cooperative with another officer, there was no sense insisting on doing the interview ourselves. I could only hope that Nick’s charm would work its magic. Because I wanted to hear for myself what Bonnie had to say about all this. And why she hadn’t given us this information before.