by Lisa Gardner
“Did you talk to Charlie Kenyon?” Mann asked curiously. “Was Charlie involved?”
“We talked to him.” Rainie regarded him coolly. The more she tried to study the counselor, the less she knew what to think. “I’m afraid that’s a dead end, though, Mr. Mann. Charlie doesn’t appear to be involved.”
“Really? I was so sure. . . .” Mann’s face fell. He sighed heavily, then rubbed his face. That quickly, he looked haggard, and Rainie was shocked to realize that he was much more upset than she’d realized. “I’m having real issues with this,” he said abruptly.
“What kind of issues, Mr. Mann?” Quincy inquired.
“I’ve been turning things over and over in my mind, and I just can’t see Danny instigating a murder. And not just because I’m his counselor and I feel guilty. It’s more. . . . Yes, Danny had rage issues.” The counselor made a groping motion with his hands, as if searching for better words. “But physical action just isn’t his style. Danny’s a computer geek, not a schoolyard bully. If he was angry with the school or even authority figures in general, I could see him doing something sophisticated. Maybe hacking into the school’s databases and giving everyone straight As. Or working his way into the DMV computers and revoking Principal VanderZanden’s license. Something clever. I just . . . I just can’t see him resorting to murder.”
“Danny was raised with guns,” Rainie said. “He’s as comfortable with them as he is with computers.”
“I guess.” Mann, however, didn’t look convinced. “What about Mr. Avalon?”
“He claimed the body,” Rainie said. “It appears he’s planning services for his daughter.”
“Oh.” Mann appeared surprised again. “I guess I heard wrong. Isn’t Melissa an only child? How horrible for her parents.”
Rainie nodded, but her attention was already beginning to drift. Richard Mann knew as little as she’d suspected in the beginning. No doubt he’d thought to make up for his guilt—or, hell, make up for his youth—by appearing to be some kind of expert. But in the end he was simply one more overwhelmed public servant caught with his pants down. Basically, he was like her.
“We have reason to believe someone else was involved in the shootings,” Quincy said abruptly.
“Really?” Mann’s brows shot up, just as Rainie gave Quincy the evil eye. She didn’t see the need for him to be giving up this kind of information.
“So I was right! Danny wouldn’t do such a thing. But who, then? Another student? I don’t remember Danny talking about anyone in particular. He didn’t have many friends in school. You know, though, there’s still this Volcano person from on-line. Internet relationships can be very powerful.”
“We think the contact might have been more than over the Internet, Mr. Mann. We think Danny might have also met No Lava in person. Would you know anything about that?”
Rainie nearly stepped on Quincy’s foot to shut him up. What the hell was he doing? But Quincy’s gaze was still boring into Richard Mann’s. He looked like a hound dog on a scent.
“Oh no,” the school counselor said quickly, his gaze dropping. “I never heard mention of that.”
“Really? That’s odd,” Quincy mused out loud, “Here you are seeing this child twice a week. You know he’s getting e-mails from someone, but he never mentions seeing him in person? And you never pried?”
Richard Mann began to squirm.
“Do you own a gun?” Rainie piped up, finally catching on. “How tall are you, Richard? Five-ten, five-eleven? Yep, that would fit.”
“That would fit? What?”
Rainie turned casually to Quincy. “Didn’t he say he’s from L.A.? Chances are, he knows more about guns than you and I put together.”
“I don’t know anything about guns! Frankly, all L.A. taught me was to be wary of loud noises. Why are you two looking at me like that? What is this about?”
“Someone else shot Miss Avalon,” Rainie said flatly. “We have hard evidence she was killed by someone who’s at least five-foot-six. Where were you again Tuesday afternoon? And what was the exact nature of your relationship with Melissa?”
“You think I—”
“I thought you’d be happy. You said it broke your heart to think of one of your students committing murder. Well, now you can rest easy.” Rainie’s voice went hard. “Tuesday afternoon. Where were you, Richard?”
“In my office, like I said. This is nuts! Every time I try to help—”
“Did Danny ever mention meeting someone in person?” Quincy continued relentlessly. “A new friend. Someone from out of town.”
“I don’t remember—”
“No Lava, Mr. Mann. You knew Danny was getting e-mails. And you suspected more, didn’t you? Danny said something that made you wonder, but you never told anyone. You never told anyone and now you’re afraid. You messed up. You were his counselor and you failed him.”
Richard Mann had started panting. Beads of sweat covered his upper lip. “I . . . I . . .”
Quincy leaned forward. He was firmly in control, and now he said with a trace of steel, “You’re standing one hundred feet from the graves of two murdered children, Mr. Mann. You helped bury them today. You said prayers for them today. Help us solve their murders. Finally tell us the truth.”
The school counselor shuddered. His gaze darted all around them, looking for escape, but there was none. There was just him and two law-enforcement officers and the secret truth Quincy had finally ferreted out from the dark corners of Mann’s conscience. Richard Mann looked up. He was clearly ashamed.
“He didn’t say enough for me to do anything with it,” he murmured. “I swear, if I’d known what was going to happen—”
“Spit it out,” Rainie ordered.
“I asked Danny once what he really knew about No Lava. I told him my concerns about him befriending someone who was only an e-mail address. What if he was really a six-year-old boy or a dirty old man—though I didn’t put it quite that bluntly.”
“What did he say, Richard?”
“He said she wasn’t anything like that. And when I tried to explain to him that was exactly my point, she might not even be a she but a he, Danny got this funny look on his face. He blew me off. At the time I thought it was attitude. But after Tuesday I started to wonder. What if it wasn’t attitude? What if he was simply positive that he knew the truth—for example, if he’d met No Lava in person, so he’d seen for himself that she was female?”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell us this earlier?”
“It was just a theory!” Mann protested.
“You told us all your other theories.”
“No Lava isn’t a theory—I saw the e-mails! And I was honestly saying what I’d heard about Melissa and her father. How was I to know it was a rumor?”
Rainie blew out an exasperated puff of air. Leave it to an amateur head shrink to fuck up a critical investigation. She gave him a remorseless stare. He bowed his head.
“Anything else you’d like to tell us, Richard?”
“No,” he said meekly. “That would be all.”
“Do you know when Danny might have met this person? Or when they started talking?”
He shook his head emphatically, still not daring to make eye contact.
“Are you on-line, Richard? Have you ever received an e-mail from Miss Avalon?”
“I just bought my first personal computer. I’m pretty good with some of the software, but I’m not that comfortable on the Web yet. In fact, I was thinking that maybe one afternoon I’d have Danny show me the ropes. It could be a way of bonding.”
“You never received an e-mail from Miss Avalon?” Rainie repeated.
“No. Why would I?”
“That’s all. We’re done with you.” Rainie gave a little shoo-shoo motion with her hands. Richard Mann nodded gratefully, hesitated one more moment as if he thought she might change her mind, then made a beeline back to his companions. No doubt he’d tell them he’d just been an invaluable source of help to the
police investigation into this hideous crime. No doubt they’d smooth pretty boy’s ruffled feathers and puff him back up to the image of the man he wanted to be. Personally, Rainie was fed up with his incompetence.
She turned back to Quincy. She rubbed her temples, where she was starting to get one hell of a head-ache. “Female, huh? Female influence, using Melissa Avalon’s own e-mail address to contact Danny. We’re not thinking Miss Avalon helped plan her own death with an unmarked bullet, are we?”
“No. We’re thinking e-mail addresses are a very easy thing to hijack, and what better way to impress a budding young hacker like Danny.”
“Oh good. I’d hoped that’s what we were thinking. Now, just out of curiosity, who do we think did it?”
“We don’t have a clue.”
“But he might be a she? I don’t know. The kids reported a mysterious man in black, not a woman, and even seven-year-olds ought to know the difference.”
“Unless she dressed up as a he.” Quincy had a strange smile on his face. “Cross-dressing psychopaths aren’t as uncommon as you would think.”
“Great, more ambiguity. That’s just what this case needs. VanderZanden next? Maybe Mrs. VanderZanden?”
“By all means. Lead the way.”
Rainie had no sooner turned back toward the crowd than she ran into a man. She had just started to apologize when she looked up and realized who he was. George Walker stood before her. His beefy face was flushed red. His cheeks were covered in moisture. He raised his hand to point at Rainie, and she was struck by how hard his massive body was trembling.
Rainie’s throat went dry. She tried to swallow, muster a coherent greeting. She was pinned by the ravaged look in George Walker’s eyes.
“What—have you—done—for my—daughter?” he bit out.
“We’re . . . We’re working very hard, sir.”
“You fucked up all the evidence!” George Walker roared. People glanced their way at the sudden noise. His wife saw them, went ashen, and hurried over.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Walker. I know this is very difficult—”
“That little bastard killed my daughter and you’re not even trying to put him away. You think I don’t know? You think we haven’t heard? He killed our little girls and you’re protecting him. He butchered our little girls and you’re trying to clear his name.”
“George, George.” His wife had arrived. She put her tiny hand on his arm as if she could hold him back. She gave Rainie a pleading look.
“I’m sorry,” Rainie whispered.
“Sorry! You haven’t even come to our house. Our children were murdered in cold blood and you didn’t even pay your respects!”
“George, your heart. George—”
“Mr. Walker,” Quincy tried.
“How many times have you been to the O’Gradys’ house? How many times to visit that murdering little bastard? My girl, my girl. My little, little girl. He killed her and you don’t care.”
“We’re working . . . so hard, Mr. Walker—”
“You sympathize with him, don’t you, Rainie Conner? You’re nothing but a murderer too!”
“George!” Mrs. Walker appeared genuinely stricken.
Rainie just stood there and took it. She didn’t have a good reply anymore. And she didn’t have the strength to move.
“I’m going to sue your ass,” George Walker railed. “I’m going to sue you and the school and Shep O’Grady. You harbored a murderer in your midst, and it’s gone on long enough. Bakersville deserves justice! My little girl deserves justice! Sally and Alice and Miss Avalon. Sally and Alice and Miss Avalon. Sally and Alice and Miss Avalon—” His voice broke off. His shoulders started to heave. He turned back to his wife, wrapped his giant arms around her frail shoulders, and wept.
And Rainie just stood there and took it.
She was aware of everyone staring at them now. Hundreds of people devouring a scandalous scene, searching for each nuance, already thinking how they’d repeat the story to their neighbors later. And she was aware of Quincy watching her as well. His gaze was kind, understanding. Somehow it hurt her the most.
“You need to go,” he murmured.
“I can’t.”
“Rainie, you aren’t doing him any favors.”
Rainie nodded slowly. George Walker still sobbed in his wife’s arms. Jean Walker looked directly at Rainie, trying to second Quincy’s motion with her gaze. Go, get out of here, before you make things worse.
Rainie turned away and walked down the hill with Quincy at her side. People were still staring. For the first time in her life, she didn’t return their gazes.
She kept walking, and for reasons she couldn’t talk about, she was ashamed.
TWENTY-FIVE
Friday, May 18, 5:04 P.M.
RAINIE, LUKE HAYES, Sanders, and Quincy assembled in the attic of city hall for the task-force meeting. Rainie had already been in the headquarters for the past thirty minutes, gathering paperwork and breaking any #2 pencil she could find. The hardwood floor was now covered with slivers of yellow debris, earning concerned looks from both Sanders and Quincy. Luke, on the other hand, barely registered the mess. He had been working with Rainie for years.
Rainie took a seat behind her sawhorse desk and briskly shuffled together her notes.
“Ready?”
The three men unfolded their metal seats and nodded.
“Let’s start with updates on the suspects first, since I know we have progress there. Next we’ll move on to evidence, then revisit our theories of the case. Got it?”
Everyone nodded. Rainie began:
“At our last meeting I was assigned Charlie Kenyon and Richard Mann as possible suspects. Charlie’s a bust. He was out of town on Tuesday, visiting his girlfriend in Portland, which was corroborated by the girl’s parents. As you’ll see in my notes”—she handed out three copies of her handwritten interview with Charlie—“he hung out with Danny O’Grady on occasion, but I’m willing to believe he didn’t know anything about plans to attack the school. Mostly because we have Charlie arraigned on possession charges right now, and if he did know anything specific, he’d be dealing that information to save his hide.”
“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie,” Luke murmured.
“Exactly. So count Charlie out. That leaves us with Richard Mann. I’ve run a basic background report.” Rainie passed around more copies. “Mann has no record of criminal activity and no handguns registered in his name in Oregon or California. I called the L.A. school where he worked as a student teacher last year, and they rave about the guy. They’re sending me a copy of his personnel file, but I’m not sure it’s gonna lead anywhere. Finally, the school’s secretary, Marge, confirms his alibi: She saw him go into his office with a sandwich at the beginning of the period. And she was there, right outside his and Principal VanderZanden’s offices, until shots were fired. She also said that to the best of the rumor mill’s knowledge, there wasn’t anything one way or another between the school counselor and Miss Avalon.”
“Does that seem odd?” Sanders spoke up. “They’re both young, both new in town. Seems like if anything they’d be friends.”
“Sure, why not?” Rainie agreed. “Or maybe VanderZanden entered the picture right away, and after that Avalon wasn’t interested in expanding her social circle. Don’t know. I’ll keep asking around, I’m just not optimistic. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the son of a bitch we’re going to lock up for life, I give Richard Mann a three, but it’s a weasel factor three, based more on the fact that he’s held out information on us than anything concrete.” Rainie shrugged. She’d tried, but at the moment her suspects looked no good. “What about Principal VanderZanden? Sanders?”
“Still inconclusive,” Sanders reported, opening a color-coded file and also dispensing copies. Rainie noticed that his notes were typed—and he had chosen a nice font. “VanderZanden’s alibi for the shooting is also the school secretary, Marge. She said she saw VanderZanden go into his office and shut th
e door at the end of lunch. Minutes later, when the shots were fired, he came running out of his office and joined her in the hall.”
“Sounds like an alibi to me,” Luke said.
Sanders shook his head. “Yes and no. When I checked out the offices”—Sanders gave Rainie a pointed glance—“I happened to notice that both Richard Mann’s and Principal VanderZanden’s offices have windows big enough for a grown man to exit. That raises the possibility of either man departing his office through the window, reentering the school through the side door, and surprising Miss Avalon in her classroom. In theory, he could’ve used Danny to create a large diversion by continuing the gunfire while he ran back out of the school and reentered his office through the window.
“The good news with this scenario is it would explain why some children thought they saw a man in black but none of the neighbors saw anyone flee through their yards. The bad news is that the office windows overlook the school parking lot. What are the chances of a grown man climbing in and out of that window without anyone noticing?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Luke said with a shrug, but no one jumped on that bandwagon. The chances were pretty slim.
“For the sake of argument,” Sanders continued, “we do have motive. According to Avalon’s diary, she was starting to have doubts about being involved with VanderZanden. In her last entry she talks about wanting to find a therapist. You know, to resolve her father-figure issues.”
“Had she told VanderZanden this?” Quincy asked.
“Don’t know. We haven’t found any correspondence between them. Plus, I can’t find any close friends or confidantes to tell us more about Avalon’s state of mind. According to her coworkers, she was nice but kept to herself. Her phone bills are a bust. I can’t even find records of her calling VanderZanden, so they either communicated strictly in person or she did it all by computer. Of course, the computers are wiped clean.”
“So we have one possible scenario,” Rainie summarized. “Avalon wanted to end things with Vander-Zanden. He retaliated by arranging her murder, disguised as a school shooting. Which involved intimidating Danny into being his cover, wiping all lab computers clean to cover his tracks, and sneaking in and out of his office to do the actual crime.” She frowned. “It’s elaborate, but not impossible.”
