The Competition - [13]

I pointed to the side of the school where Principal Campbell had ushered the students out. “The cafeteria door. I’m guessing the killers chose the exit that was least visible,” I said. Which, if I was right, meant they’d waltzed out right under the principal’s nose.

“Why wouldn’t that be the back door?” Dorian said.

“Because it’s locked during school hours,” Bailey said. “So the kids who ran that way had to redirect to either the front or the side door. The front door is more exposed.”

“And from the killers’ perspective this exit has another benefit.” I pointed to the Dumpster ten feet away.

Dorian looked up at me and nodded. “Pretty impressive.”

“Thanks.” A compliment from Dorian. That never happens. I admit it: it felt good.

“Impressive how you think like a deranged teenage boy.” She gloved up and opened her kit. Bailey smirked openly.

I ignored her. As Dorian climbed into the Dumpster, I pictured the scene in the library again. “Did you get a look at those balaclavas near the bodies?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dorian said. “If you’re going to ask whether I’ll rush the analysis, don’t.”

“I wasn’t.” Because I knew better than to do it in person. I’d take the coward’s way out and do it on the phone. “I was actually thinking they looked pretty new.”

Dorian gave me an incredulous look. “You’re thinking these kids were smart enough to bring extras to throw down so they wouldn’t leave me anything?”

“Maybe.” With all the crime shows on television that featured so much trick shit-some real, some fictional-it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that a mask worn over the face and head could have hairs, fibers, or DNA.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Ten minutes later, my hunch about the Dumpster paid off. Dorian pulled out two camouflage jackets. “Hand me a couple of those paper bags.”

I gave her the bags and whispered to Bailey, “I’d say this clinches it. They took off their coats and blended in with the crowd.”

“Yeah, but I’d still wait for Shoe’s final answer before we go public with it. He won’t take long. Besides, they’re just kids. We’ll catch up with them pretty quick.”

I looked at my watch. “Except those ‘kids’ have already cost us two hours. They could be almost anywhere by now-especially if they have fake IDs.”

Dorian’s low, rasping voice came out of the Dumpster. “Vegetable matter, all kinds of junk in here,” she groused. “Probably ate up any DNA.”

Bailey sighed and whispered, “I’ll go in and check on Dr. Shoe. You stay here with Mary Sunshine.”

I gave her a look that would’ve made her weep. That is, if she hadn’t turned and walked off.

I answered Dorian. “But the coats haven’t been in there long,” I said. “And if you get hair, it’ll probably still be testable, right?”

“Probably. And then I guess we can just assume the hair we find is the killer’s…not the salesclerk’s…or the packer’s…or the sewing machine operator’s…or the-”

“Yeah, I get it, Dorian. Can you tell if there’s anything in the pockets?”

“Like a driver’s license? Maybe a student ID?” Dorian asked. “Maybe while I’m at it I can look for a signed confession.”

I wondered what my horoscope for today said. Probably “Stay away from women in law enforcement.” Dorian humored me and carefully parted the pockets.

“Nada,” she said. “But if I was you, I’d take the information off the labels and see who sells ’em.”

“That’s what I was planning to do.”

Dorian gave me a “yeah, sure” look. She was never a walk in the park, but she was unusually caustic today. She’d be the last to admit it, but I had a strong feeling this case had gotten to her in a big way.

She had lots of company.

7

Dorian continued to root around in the Dumpster for a while longer before determining there was nothing else of value. She stayed outside to work on the area between the cafeteria door and the parking lot, and I headed back to the library. Dr. Shoe was stripping off his gloves as the bodies were being loaded into bags and readied for the two nearby gurneys.

Bailey motioned me over. “He found entry wounds just under the jawline on one and behind the ear on the other.”

“So they were already dead when the suspects shot their faces off.”

“Right. It’s another page out of the Columbine playbook.”

Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold had committed suicide in the school library. Our shooters had played on that scenario so we’d jump to the conclusion that they’d done the same, which would buy them some precious time. It killed me to admit that it had worked. Any doubt I’d had that our shooters had studied the Columbine case was gone. There were too many similarities to be coincidental: the full-on style of the attack, the way they stormed through the halls, the final act in the library. And I had a feeling Graden was right: the body count was no accident either. They’d set out to “beat” the Columbine killers in every way: top their death toll and escape.

“But in the meantime, we need to figure out who those kids in the library are,” Bailey said. “Hopefully their prints are on file somewhere. But if not…”

I took stock of where we stood. Surveillance cameras hadn’t panned out, the bodies on the floor weren’t the killers, the camouflage jackets might-or might not-tell us who the killers were, but it would take days before we knew one way or the other. And even if we did manage to get usable DNA from the coats or the balaclavas, since the killers were high school students, we probably wouldn’t find them in the criminal DNA database. That meant we’d have to get parents’ DNA and do a paternity match-a crazy amount of work. We’d need to narrow down the suspect list considerably before the crime lab could even start.