The Competition - [11]

“You’re the lawyer so I won’t presume to tell you your job. But I am the pathologist, and I will presume to tell you this: the position of the bodies in that library does not fit with the scenario everyone seems to have accepted.”

Bailey and I shared a look. “You’re saying they didn’t shoot each other?” I asked. “So, what? They shot themselves?”

“I’m saying neither. The angles are way off-for everything. The bodies wouldn’t have fallen in those positions. The handguns wouldn’t have landed where they did. And I thought I saw a faint blood trail on the carpet leading up to the bodies. You’ll need a good tech to test that carpet to make sure-”

“We’ve got one,” I said. “But what-”

Dr. Shoe raised his hand, cutting me off. “Even the balaclavas seem…oddly placed. Too close to the bodies. If you pull off an item like that-especially if your intent is to shuffle off this mortal coil-you toss it away. Those balaclavas were right next to their heads. One body might coincidentally land with the head near the balaclava, but two? No. Everything about this is wrong.”

“Then…what’s your theory?” I asked.

“Just between us, understood?” We nodded. “I need to check lividity, get a better look at the wounds, get the gunshot residue test results, and obviously the luminal results on the carpet. But if that all pans out as I expect, my conclusion will be that a person or persons shot these kids, dragged their bodies into position, and staged it to look like a mutual suicide.”

“Then if you’re right, those bodies in the library-” Bailey said.

“Are not the killers,” I finished.

Dr. Shoe looked up in the direction of the library. “They most certainly are not,” he said.

6

His words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. The killers were still at large. I could feel my breath getting shorter as the implications sank in.

“Thank you, Dr. Shoe,” I said. “And you’re right. We need to keep this theory quiet until we’re absolutely sure. So watch out for those parabolic mics…” I shifted my eyes to the throng of reporters in front of the school. Backup in the form of a flotilla of satellite trucks had now arrived to clog the street. “The sooner we can get final confirmation from you, the better.”

“Obviously. But I won’t be able to do that until I get the bodies on the table, and I’d like to let the crime scene tech do his work before I move them-”

“Her work,” Bailey said, reading her cell phone. “It’s Dorian Struck.”

For the first time, I saw Dr. Shoe smile. “Excellent.”

What’d I say about the perfect match? The doctor strode off to finish his work in the library.

“The killers wore masks-” Bailey said.

“Why bother to hide your face if you’re planning to off yourself?”

Bailey nodded and stood up. “It all fits with Shoe’s theory. The principal is cuing up the surveillance footage for us. He’s got to have it ready by now.”

“Did he say what areas it covered?”

“Front entrance, back doors, cafeteria, the door to the gym, and one upstairs. He wasn’t sure what that one covered.”

“There were no surveillance cameras inside the gym?”

“No.”

It figured. We headed back to the main entrance and found Principal Campbell downstairs standing just inside the doors. His hands were clasped together so tightly I could see the whites of his knuckles from twenty paces. When Bailey asked if he was able to answer some questions, he nodded eagerly, but his ashen color worried me. He looked like a heart attack waiting to happen. Bailey started by asking how many shooters he saw. Now that the murder-suicide theory was effectively nixed, we couldn’t assume anything we’d heard was accurate; every detail had to be reexamined. Principal Campbell believed there were two shooters, but he couldn’t swear to it.

“I was sitting near the door of the gym when the shooting started, so I couldn’t see that much,” he said. “But as soon as I realized what was happening, I led as many students as I could out through the side door next to the cafeteria. It’s the closest exit to the street.”

His breathing quickened; I could practically see his blood pressure rise as he relived the horror of it. He was stuck in the memory and couldn’t get out. Eyes wet, he stammered, “I-I should’ve gone back in sooner. And Angela…my God, if it hadn’t been for her…covering them with her body…she was so brave-” He broke off and blinked back tears. “I-I don’t think she made it. Do you know?”

“I can check,” I said. “But Angela who?”

“The girls’ soccer coach. I heard she was pushing a bunch of kids out of the gym, but I haven’t seen her…”

I shook my head. “It’ll be a while before we know the status of everyone who was wounded, Mr. Campbell-”

“Dale. It’s Dale-”

“Dale. It’s over now. You did all you could. It’s time to take care of yourself. Have you been checked out by the EMTs yet?”

“I…uh-” His gaze dulled. “D-don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I’m okay.”

Obviously, appealing to his sense of self-preservation wasn’t going to cut it. “Look, the only thing we need from you right now is to show us how to view the surveillance footage. We’ll come back to you soon. And when we do, we’ll need you to be in shape because it’s going to be a detailed interview. If you land in the hospital, you’ll slow down the investigation. You wouldn’t want to do that, right?”