The Third Victim (9 page)

Wordlessly, they moved down the hall to the shattered doors. Quincy stopped at the door across from the computer room.

“Danny came out of this classroom?”

“Yes. He was backing Shep through the door at gunpoint.”

“Holding both the .22 and the .38?”

“Yes.”

“How did he seem?”

“Agitated. Wired.” Rainie’s brow furrowed as she contemplated his question further. “He seemed hostile toward his father.”

“Holding him at gunpoint would appear hostile.”

Rainie shook her head. “There was more to it than that. Shep was telling him that everything would be all right, then he was trying to tell him not to speak to me. But everything kept coming out as a command, and that made Danny withdraw even more. I think he has a big chip on his shoulder regarding his father. Shep rides him hard.”

“How so?”

“Shep was a big football star in his high school days. Superjock. Danny . . .” Rainie shrugged. “He’s small for his age, not good at sports. I think Shep believes he just needs to try harder, and I think Danny wishes his father would leave him alone.”

“Have you ever heard Shep call his son stupid?”

Rainie shook her head. “You’re talking about the interview tape, aren’t you? Danny’s obsession with being smart. That’s the oddest thing. See, Shep’s not the kind of father to worry that much about grades. Bad day on the football field, yes. Bad day on the report card, hey, these things happen. I don’t know where that was coming from.”

“Does Danny have any close friends?”

“We’re still working on that.”

“We’ll want a complete list of all students absent yesterday, plus notes on whether they knew Danny O’Grady and can account for their time.”

“Alibis for children,” Rainie muttered, and rolled her eyes. “Why the ones who were absent?”

“Because no one says the shooter had to be in attendance that day. Plus, they still might be involved. In several of the shootings, other students played a role, either encouraging the main suspect’s actions or enjoying the show.”

“What?”

“Bethel, Alaska,” Quincy said. “Evan Ramsey did the shooting, but two fourteen-year-olds encouraged him. One went so far as to teach him how to use the shotgun. Both assembled some of their other friends to join them in the cafeteria for a ‘show.’”

“Wonderful.”

“Luke Woodham also appears to have been influenced by other kids,” Quincy reported. “In this case, I’m wondering if that’s where Danny’s obsession with ‘I’m smart’ is coming from. It sounds rehearsed and overly vehement. Either it’s a phrase he’s using to compensate for genuine doubts about his intelligence, or it’s a cover for something else. Something that’s still too frightening or overwhelming for him to say. How did he seem after the shooting?”

“Distant. Withdrawn. He sobbed a little when he heard his mother’s voice. Then he fell asleep like a baby in the back of the patrol car.”

Quincy nodded, not surprised by her description. “He’s dissociating, keeping himself distanced from the events until he’s able to deal with them. That’s a normal reaction to any kind of trauma. The question becomes, how long will the dissociation last, and how will he react when his mind does start to process what happened.”

“He’s on suicide watch,” Rainie volunteered. “I understand that’s standard procedure for a case like his.”

“It’s not a bad idea. Unfortunately, Danny is probably suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and now will go through its various symptoms. One day he might talk about everything very matter-of-factly, then collapse, weeping, the next day. He might sound cold at times as he repeats the day’s events over and over again. He will probably refuse to call victims by name. All of this can be interpreted one way or another by well-meaning people. And none of it means he’s guilty. It simply means he’s experienced a trauma, whether as a perpetrator or a witness, and his mind is struggling to cope. That fact, however, can get quickly lost.”

Rainie sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe we’re making this too complicated. On the one hand, some things don’t make sense about the shooting. On the other hand, what shooting makes sense? And who else could’ve done it? All the students present that day were in class when the shots were fired, so they’re accounted for. The only two students with time lapses are Danny and Becky, and neither choice is appealing. Maybe in the end it’s just too hard to believe a child did it, so I focus on the question because it’s easier than the answer.”

“It’s good to focus on questions,” Quincy said. “It’s your job.”

“Well, it’s not a good job today, Agent. Maybe tomorrow it will be, but I’m not particularly enjoying it today.”

She headed for the side doors, obviously disturbed again. Quincy wasn’t surprised when she stopped by the broken windows and gazed out on the rolling green hills and afternoon sun. Recharge, he thought. Sometimes he had to do that himself.

He bent down and inspected the shooting area more closely. He noted the way the bodies had laid and tried to picture in what direction they’d fallen. Then he explored the door frame around Melissa Avalon’s computer lab for telltale holes.

Ten minutes later he was done making notes. Now he had many questions for the medical examiner.

He turned back to Rainie, who was still standing by the broken doors. She was no longer looking outside, however, but staring at the outline of Melissa Avalon’s body. Her gray eyes were impossible to read, her features stilled.

Quincy wondered how few hours of sleep Rainie Conner had gotten last night. And for just one moment, he was tempted to ask her. To step over the line and into her space, because once upon a time he’d been the inexperienced agent with a homicide and he understood how some images stayed in your head long after you turned out the lights.

Some nights he did wake up screaming.

But that was neither here nor there.

He said, “I’m done now.”

Rainie led him from the building.

TEN
                                                                                                                                                                                                               

Wednesday, May 16, 12:52
P
.
M
.

O
UTSIDE, RAINIE AND
QUINCY
encountered Principal Steven VanderZanden. A slightly built man with an expressive face and twinkling eyes, he now appeared subdued as he surveyed bloodred roses piled against the chain-link fence. The wind ruffled his dark, thinning hair and pressed his gray suit against his frame. He didn’t seem to notice. He walked the fence line, adjusting arrangements so that names showed more clearly, then pushed back two teddy bears to reveal a framed portrait of Melissa Avalon.

Rainie and Quincy walked up to him quietly. Principal VanderZanden and his wife were relatively new to Bakersville, having moved into the area three years earlier when VanderZanden accepted the job at the K–8. Not having kids, Rainie had never met him until last summer, when they’d rubbed shoulders at a town function. VanderZanden had impressed her then with his enthusiasm for his students and his rapport with their parents. No project was too big in his eyes, no student too small for his attention. He had been giggling like a schoolgirl over having secured the federal grant for Bakersville’s first computer lab and could barely wait to surf the Web himself.

He also seemed a little bit flirtatious, but he had a few glasses of wine under his belt when she’d run into him, and, frankly, the whole crowd was pretty loose by then.

“Principal VanderZanden.” Rainie shook his hand. She could tell he was preoccupied. Yesterday evening he’d returned to the school to survey the damage and inquire as to when he might have the building back. With only one month to go before school was out for the summer, no one knew what to do about classes. They could bus the kids to neighboring Cabot, but that town was nearly forty minutes away, and after everything that had happened, parents wanted to keep their kids close to home.

“How are you, sir?” Rainie made the introduction between VanderZanden and Quincy. She still wasn’t sure what she thought of the federal agent’s presence, but so far he was proving less annoying than the state detective. There was something to be said for that.

“Are you an expert?” VanderZanden homed in on Quincy’s credentials. “Can you tell me what happened in my school?”

“I don’t think there’s any such thing as an expert when it comes to these crimes.”

“Maybe we should’ve gone with metal detectors.” VanderZanden turned back toward the building. “After the Springfield shooting, Oregon educators were warned. But even then I thought of it as an issue for the high schools to address. We have kindergarten students here. I didn’t want them starting their educational experience passing through giant security stations and being patted down by armed guards. What kind of message would that send?”

“Personally, I don’t believe in metal detectors,” Quincy said, but added before the principal could be too encouraged, “They would simply make the students better targets by creating long lines in front of the building.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” VanderZanden shook his head and expelled a gust of pure frustration. “I’ve been up all night with calls from frantic parents, wanting to know what to do. The teachers are frightened, the school board overwhelmed. On top of all that, Alice’s parents asked me to give the eulogy at her funeral. Of course I’ll do it, I’m honored. But still . . . You go into education, you fantasize about watching your students grow up, maybe even attending their wedding or admiring their firstborn child. You certainly don’t expect to give the eulogy at their funeral. Did you know that Sally’s and Alice’s parents are going to pay the burial expenses with money from their college funds?”

VanderZanden obviously didn’t expect an answer. He turned away to adjust another bouquet. Quincy and Rainie exchanged looks. They would just let the man talk. Apparently, he had a few things to say.

“The flowers started arriving first thing this morning,” VanderZanden added after a moment. “I’ve seen pictures of the flowers sent to the other schools, so I expected something like this. Still, to see it. Notes and cards from all over the country. Teddy bears and balloons from hundreds of strangers.” He turned to them, sounding angry again. “I received calls from two other principals who’ve been through this and half a dozen child experts who are experienced in this area. It’s like we joined some club. I don’t want to be part of a club! I wish we were alone. I wish we were the only place this had ever happened. Instead, we’re what? The eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth school to go through this? Dammit, we should’ve known better!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly trying to pull himself together and not having much luck. His gaze returned to the picture of Melissa Avalon. He pinched his nose harder.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long twenty-four hours.”

“It’s okay,” Rainie said. “Take your time.”

“I needed time last night. Now I need a vacation. Well, that’s neither here nor there. I’m sure you have more questions, though I already told Detective Sanders the little I know about things.”

“Detective Sanders?” Rainie inquired sharply. Warn-ing lights went off in her head. She didn’t ignore them. “What did you tell Detective Sanders?”

“Not much.” VanderZanden shrugged, obviously caught off guard by her tone. “I was in my office when I heard the shots. I came out to the main entranceway to see what was going on and heard someone scream. The next thing I knew, the fire alarms went off and everyone began running for the door. At the time I figured it was something minor. A student had fired a cap gun in the halls and the smoke had triggered the alarms. Or someone had lit a few firecrackers as a prank. These things happen.

“The first time I realized it was serious was when I saw the face of Mrs. McLain, the sixth-grade teacher. She was white as a sheet; her hands were shaking. I told her to calm down, it was just a drill, and then she
looked
at me. She looked at me and she said, ‘I think some students have been shot. I think someone just shot at us. I think he’s still there.’ Even then it wasn’t until I saw Will’s bloody leg in the parking lot that I realized she’d been right—someone had opened fire in our school.”

“Did you hear anyone say Danny’s name?” Quincy asked.

VanderZanden shook his head. “I heard Dorie screaming about a man in black coming to get her. Of course, Dorie is only seven years old, and we’ve had problems with her imagination before. Once she had the entire second-grade class convinced they couldn’t go to the bathroom because little trolls hid inside the toilets to snatch children for lunch. You have no idea how messy it can be when twenty-one seven-year-olds won’t use the rest rooms. I had parents calling me for weeks.”

“Were a lot of children around when she was going on about the ‘man in black’?” Rainie asked.

“Everyone was around. We’d evacuated the whole school into the front parking lot, as specified in our fire-drill manual.”

Rainie blew out an exasperated breath. “Well, that explains that batch of interview answers,” she muttered to Quincy. “One hysterical girl, two hundred and fifty impressionable minds.” She returned to Principal VanderZanden. “Are you sure none of the teachers saw anything? What about Mrs. McLain? I can’t believe someone was shooting a gun in the hallway and no one noticed.”

“I don’t think the shooter was standing in the hallway. One of the teachers said that it sounded like the shots were coming from a room at the end of the west wing. Maybe the computer lab. I know that from where I was standing in the main entranceway, I couldn’t see a thing.”

Rainie glanced at Quincy. He nodded faintly, sharing her thought. The killer started with Miss Avalon, then turned to see Sally and Alice. Shot them as well, then ducked into the now-empty computer room as all hell broke loose. It would explain the lack of witnesses as well as the random firing pattern.

“What can you tell us about Danny O’Grady?” Quincy asked VanderZanden. “Was he a good student? Did he get along well with others?”

“Danny’s a fine student. He’s made the honor roll several times. He was hardly ever sent to my office with discipline issues. Melissa—Miss Avalon was just telling me the other day that she’d never seen anyone so good with computers. He has a natural talent for it.”

“What about enemies?” Quincy pressed gently. “Was Danny picked on by other students? Was he considered popular by his classmates—or was he often a target of their unwanted attention?”

Rainie nodded her head at this question. She should’ve thought to ask it herself last night. Rightly or wrongly, most school shooters felt painfully persecuted by their peers. Rainie had even read somewhere that these homicides weren’t that different from teen suicide—the less popular kid felt an unbearable amount of pain and decided to do something about it. In the case of a school shooting, however, the kid didn’t just plan to end his own life but to take some of the offending parties’ lives with him. That’s the thing with teenagers—they came up with sentences that didn’t always fit the crime.

VanderZanden seemed to be struggling with Quincy’s question. He finally shook his head. “I wasn’t aware of anything,” he said, then added more reluctantly, “I’m an adult, however, and an authority figure. In other words, while I try to be in touch with my students, I’m still probably not the best judge of what really goes on among twenty adolescents during a thirty-minute recess.”

“What about close friends of Danny’s who might be able to tell us more?”

“I don’t think Danny has close friends. He’s quiet, keeps to himself.” A thought seemed to strike Vander-Zanden all at once. “You know, there was this incident, not too long ago . . .”

Quincy and Rainie perked up.

“There’s this older boy, Charlie Kenyon. Do you know him?”

“Oh, sure.” Rainie supplied for Quincy: “Charlie’s the son of our former mayor. Nineteen now, a bit too much money, way too much free time. He was sent off to military school back east four years ago, but he returned last spring no worse for the wear. Now he fancies himself some kind of minor hood. Hangs out where he’s not wanted, drives under the influence every other weekend. We’ve brought him in half a dozen times, but it’s always misdemeanor stuff and his father’s quick with bail money and high-priced lawyers. I don’t get the impression Charlie’s feeling a need to reform anytime soon.”

VanderZanden nodded his head with real emotion. “That’s Charlie. About two months ago he started hanging around our school after hours. Teachers would see him lounging outside the fence, talking to kids on the playground. As long as he was on the street side of the fence, however, there was nothing we could do. Then one day Mrs. Lund saw Charlie hand Danny a cigarette through the fence. She immediately took the cigarette away from Danny and wrote him up, but there was nothing she could do about Charlie. He told the boy not to sweat it. ‘Detention is when all the fun stuff happens,’ or something like that. We sent a note home to Danny’s parents, and we never caught him smoking again, but we’d still see Charlie around. I don’t know why he insisted on bothering us at the K-through-eight. You’d think he’d be more interested in the high school.”

“Did Charlie know Miss Avalon?” Quincy asked.

“I don’t think so. She moved to town just last year, when we got the federal grant. Then again . . .” Principal VanderZanden flushed. He looked at Rainie with something akin to embarrassment.

“She was very pretty,” Rainie filled in for the tongue-tied principal. “Very,
very
pretty.”

“She’s a very good teacher,” VanderZanden added immediately, but his dark eyes appeared wistful. Melissa Avalon had been beautiful.

“How old was she?” Rainie inquired.

“Twenty-eight.”

“Young enough and pretty enough to attract a nineteen-year-old,” Rainie concluded, and looked at Quincy. He appeared deep in thought.

“Miss Avalon moved to Bakersville recently?”

“Last summer. We hired her in August. Frankly, we’d given up on getting the grant, and then boom. You know the feds. Obviously.”

“Where did Miss Avalon come from?”

“She’d just gotten her master’s from Portland State University.”

“Was this her first job?”

“Her first full-time teaching position. She subbed in Beaverton’s school district before that. That’s one of the reasons we hired her.” VanderZanden gave them the apologetic look of a veteran civil servant. “We have a very tight budget here, and new teachers are cheaper than experienced ones.”

“Do you know anything about her private life?” Rainie asked. “Where her family lives, anything?”

VanderZanden hesitated. He looked self-conscious again and wouldn’t meet Rainie’s gaze. “I believe she has parents in the Portland area.”

“What about past relationships? Maybe an old boyfriend she left behind? A current beau who wanted more of her time?”

“I think . . . I think you should ask her parents about that sort of thing. It’s not appropriate for me to be commenting on the private lives of my staff.”

“Principal VanderZanden, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Phone calls are fast, Officer,” he said firmly. “It’s the advantage of modern life.”

Rainie frowned, not liking the principal’s sudden lack of cooperation, but before she could push harder, Quincy pissed her off by taking over the interview.

“What about Danny’s relationship with Miss Avalon? Did they get along well? Did he have any problems in her class?”

“Oh no,” VanderZanden said emphatically. “That’s the crazy thing about yesterday. I would’ve sworn Miss Avalon was Danny’s favorite teacher. Certainly he loved being in the computer lab and was one of our most adept students on the Internet. Before school, during lunch, after school. It seemed he was always in the lab. Sometimes Miss Avalon even stayed late just for him.”

“On the Internet?” Rainie jumped in. “Do you know what he’d do on the Web, where he’d go?”