The Competition - [18]

Otis lived five miles away, in a small Spanish-style house adorned with colorful tiles just under the roofline. Bailey and I approached the house quietly, listening for any sounds coming from inside. When we reached the front door I heard a woman’s voice, shrill with tension, then the deeper tones of a male voice. Bailey and I exchanged a look.

With one hand on the holster of her gun, she knocked. The voices abruptly stopped. After a few seconds the male voice responded, “Who’s there?”

Bailey identified us. “We’re here to ask you about your son, Otis.”

The door opened, and a man in socks and corduroys stared at us for a moment before asking to see our IDs. As I held out my badge, I saw a petite woman with short, dark hair peeking out from behind him. She was holding a Kleenex to her nose, and her eyes were wet and red. Tom and Sonny Barney.

The man stood back to let us in and gestured to the couch against the wall. Before we even sat down, the woman asked, “Have you found our boy? Do you know where he is?”

“No, ma’am,” Bailey said. “We were hoping you’d heard from him.”

At this, the woman squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as tears leaked out and ran down her cheeks. There was a framed photograph on the side table next to the couch that showed Otis standing between his parents. He could definitely be described as medium height and build-for what it was worth.

“We’re so sorry we don’t have better news,” I said. “You’ve heard nothing all day?”

Tom Barney shook his head. “We’ve been at the rec center-just came home to change clothes. And we’ve called all over the place, but no one seems to know anything.”

Bailey and I exchanged a look.

“We can tell you that his name has not shown up on the list of injured or…deceased,” Bailey said. “But he doesn’t seem to have been in school today either. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“Not in school?” Sonny asked, her tone incredulous. “That’s impossible. I dropped him off myself this morning.”

“Did you see him go inside?” I asked.

“N-no. There was a line of cars behind me. I had to move. But he doesn’t ditch. He might play sick, try to stay home, but…”

“Do you remember what he was wearing?”

“His usual: hoodie and jeans,” Sonny said.

“Have you checked with his friends?” Bailey asked. “Asked whether they’ve seen him?”

Sonny dropped her head slightly. “He really doesn’t have many.”

Tom frowned. “I’ve been trying to remember the name of that kid he did that science project with. Jason…something. He came over here a couple of times, didn’t he?”

“That was last year, Tom. He hasn’t come around since.” Sonny looked at us, her eyes filled with pain. “Otis is a very sweet boy, but not much of a socializer. I-I’m afraid I don’t know of any friends he’d skip school with.”

“Do you mind if we take a look at his room?” Bailey asked.

Sonny stopped, looked at Bailey, then at me for a long moment. “Wait a minute…what’s going on?”

“Now, Sonny.” Tom put a hand on her shoulder. “They’re probably just checking on all the students who’re still missing.” Tom Barney looked from me to Bailey. “Right?”

Bailey and I were silent.

Sonny’s breathing quickened. “No. They’re not.” Her eyes flashed, her voice was low and raw. “You think he’s one of them! Don’t you? Well, I’m telling you right now, that’s impossible! I know my son! He had nothing to do with this! Do you hear me? Nothing!”

“Mrs. Barney, we’re not accusing your son of anything,” I said. “But we have to follow up on all leads. We have reason to believe someone involved in the shooting may still be at large,” I said. We hadn’t released the fact that the killers had escaped, so I had to keep it vague. “If you won’t cooperate, we’ll just have to get a search warrant. It’ll cost us precious time, but…”

I was bluffing. I didn’t have enough to get a warrant. We might be able to justify a quick search right now as hot pursuit of a fleeing felon. But getting consent would be a lot safer. I waited and tried to act confident.

Sonny’s gaze dropped to the floor. Her body began to shake, whether from rage or fear or grief-or all three-I couldn’t tell. Tom put his arms around her, his expression tortured. After a few moments, he spoke. His voice was raw, angry. “Sonny’s right. Whatever kind of ‘leads’ you got that pointed to Otis are wrong. But we have nothing to hide. Look all you want.” Tom led us down a short hallway, to a room with navy-blue walls covered with posters of bands I didn’t recognize. Bloodstained Boots, Crew XXX, and Der Fuehrer. They all showed white guys with shaved heads, most sporting swastika tattoos.

“Mind if we look around?” Bailey asked.

Tom made a sweeping gesture. “Have at it.”

We went through everything-his chest of drawers, the bedding, the closet-searching for guns, ammunition, any mention of a weapons supplier, any notes or photos that might relate to the school shooting. Nothing. I glanced up at the posters on Otis’s wall again.

Sonny saw me. “I know how it looks. We hate them too, but Otis isn’t…he’s not that guy. It’s just a…phase he’s been going through. We think it probably makes him feel powerful, tough. But he’s a good kid. Really.”