The Competition - [16]

They’d all heard the reporters speculating that the killers were bully victims, but getting the kids to give up names of students who might fit that description wasn’t easy. They didn’t like the idea of putting someone on the suspect list just because they’d been targeted by asshole jocks. I didn’t blame them, but we spent precious minutes explaining over and over that we wouldn’t take anyone into custody based solely on that criteria and that we had to start somewhere. It took longer than I would’ve liked, but they eventually gave us some names. By seven o’clock, we’d done more than twenty group interviews and amassed eighteen names of “possibles.”

We still had about forty students waiting, but the kids looked exhausted. It had been a long, draining day. I wouldn’t have minded working all night, but I had to admit that the statements were starting to run together. The fact that they were all so similar didn’t help.

“What do you say we pull the plug?” I said to Bailey as the group left the room.

Bailey yawned. “Yeah.” She rubbed her neck. “They look like they’ve had it. But I hate to make them all come back tomorrow. Think we can squeeze out one more hour?”

I did. We forged ahead. And finally, we hit something that felt like pay dirt.

It was in the group that included Charlotte and her two besties, Marnie and Letha. All three girls wore jeans tucked into UGGs and had long, straight hair streaked with various colors. Like so many of the other girls, they held hands and sat close to one another on the sofa. Letha chewed the fingernails of her free hand, and Marnie, who sat in the middle, squeezed her friends’ hands so tightly I saw them wince. Charlotte seemed the calmest of the trio, but even she nervously pulled at the whiskered threads on the knees of her jeans.

“We were on the far left side, in the middle,” said Charlotte. “I think they just didn’t shoot at the kids sitting at the top of the bleachers where we were-”

“And it was just luck that we wound up there,” said Letha. “It was the only place left where we could all sit together. But Christy…” Slow tears rolled down her face.

“Christy wasn’t sitting with you?” I asked.

“Christy just made the varsity cheerleading squad,” Marnie said. “It was her first pep rally.” Marnie stopped to wipe her tears, and Charlotte bit a trembling lip. “I didn’t see it, b-but we heard she got shot in the back. We still haven’t heard…anything.” Marnie looked at me with fearful eyes. “Do you know…?”

“We’ll find out for you,” Bailey said.

I remembered Harley had asked about her too. Bailey wrote down her last name. I gave them a moment to recover. “Can you describe the suspects?”

“One was definitely shorter, smaller-” Charlotte began.

“And wasn’t he the one with that creepy laugh?” said Marnie.

“Yeah!” said Letha. “It was freaking twisted.”

“Do you know anyone who laughs like that?” Bailey asked.

The girls all shook their heads.

“And the other shooter, what did he look like?” I asked.

“Real tall,” Marnie said. “I’d say over six feet, like six feet five or something.”

“And he seemed skinny to me,” Letha said.

“Yeah,” said Charlotte. “I couldn’t see their bodies or anything. But the way they moved…it’s like, they weren’t fat or anything, you know?”

“Could you see their feet?” Bailey asked. “What kind of shoes they were wearing?”

A smart question. When the shooters put their outfits together, they would’ve thought about coats, gloves, and masks, but it was unlikely they’d worry about their feet. So, whatever boots or shoes they wore might be distinct enough to be identifiable. The only problem was, who’d be looking at feet when gunmen were leveling rifles at their heads?

The girls exchanged glances, then gave us an apologetic look. “We got down on the ground and hid when we saw the guns,” Charlotte said.

“Do either of you know someone as tall as six feet five who has a birthmark or a tattoo on his wrist?”

The girls stared off into the distance. “No,” Charlotte said. “Not that I can think of.” The others shook their heads in agreement.

“Could he maybe have been a little shorter than that?” I asked. It was natural for witnesses to exaggerate unusual characteristics-especially height-and especially when the suspect has a gun. An assault rifle can make even a skinny guy look like the Hulk.

“I don’t know,” Marnie said. “He just seemed really tall to me.”

“Do you know any guys who’ve been bullied by jocks in the past year or so?” I asked.

Another long pause. They all shook their heads. “But we don’t hang with the jocks,” Letha said. “You’d have to ask them.”

“I heard on the news that they’re thinking the shooters might have hung around with the Goths,” Charlotte said.

“You think Goths were involved in this?” Bailey said.

“No way,” Charlotte said. “They’re just emo wimps with eyeliner.”

“Do you know any Goths?” I asked.

“Not really,” Letha said.

“And besides, I don’t know any who’re that tall,” Marnie said.

But since they didn’t know any Goths, and their estimation of height was a bit suspect, the Goth possibility would have to remain in play for now.