The Competition - [26]

I didn’t want to answer that question, not until we had solid evidence of Otis’s involvement. “We’re just following up on all leads. Otis is one of the many we’re looking into.” Not true, but the safest answer for now. “Any information you can give us will be helpful.”

Liam nodded. “I remember being surprised that Otis volunteered for the extra-credit team project. He didn’t really seem all that interested in science.”

But it didn’t surprise me. If Otis was looking for a friend, signing up for a team project gave him a safe way to make one. “And he teamed up with Carson James,” I said. “What can you tell us about him?”

“Carson was kind of a loner, and a rebellious type-sat in the back and never talked in class-but he loved science. And he was good at it. He didn’t want a partner, didn’t want to have to collaborate with anyone, but I told him that was the deal. Otis was happy to let Carson call all the shots, so it was a good fit. And I’m sure Otis also liked the fact that no one messed with Carson.”

“Why?” I asked.

“For one thing, he was over six feet, and he seemed to be in pretty good shape.”

The pieces were starting to fall into place. I didn’t have to look at Bailey to know that her ears had perked up too. “Mind if I show you a photograph?” I pulled out the enhanced cell phone photo of the taller shooter’s wrist. “Do you remember seeing any student with a marking like this on his right arm?”

Liam studied the photograph carefully. “No. Several of my students have tatts, but I don’t recognize this one.”

“Did you ever see any kind of tattoo on Carson’s wrist?” I asked.

Liam paused. “Not that I can recall. Sorry.”

It was a letdown, but not a game ender. He might’ve just missed it. “Do you happen to know any of Carson’s friends?” I didn’t want to go to his parents yet. If he did have the tattoo, they’d jump to the right conclusion. And possibly help him run.

“I don’t. But I can give you the names of the other students in the class. Maybe one of them can help you.”

Someone had to. And soon.

14

Tuesday, late afternoon, October 8

Bailey started the car but let it idle. “I think this Carson dude is exactly what the doctor ordered.”

“Agreed.” I snapped my seat belt into place. “Just because Liam didn’t see the tattoo doesn’t mean it wasn’t there-”

“Or it might be very recent. The kid could’ve even done it the night before the shooting.”

“Yep. I say we put the unis on Carson, find out if he’s shown up anywhere. In the meantime, we can ask around about him while we keep running on Otis Barney. Are Tom and Sonny still hammering Graden?”

“Every five minutes,” Bailey said. “Graden keeps telling them Otis isn’t the only one who’s still MIA, that they’re working twenty-four/seven to account for everyone, but-”

“They know he didn’t have any friends to run to, and he hasn’t turned up in the hospital or the morgue. And they don’t like what that means. But they haven’t gone public yet, right?”

“Not yet.”

“We need to whittle down that list. Is anyone going through juvy cases? Maybe one of our shooters has a record.”

“That would be refreshing,” Bailey said. “And of course we’re checking juvy cases. So far, all they found were some curfew violations and minor drug busts. All those kids are accounted for. The only thing we can do is move fast on the interviews. We’ve already got Liam’s student list, so we may as well start there. I’ll call Dale and get student lists for the rest of Otis’s classes. Start with this year and work our way backward.”

“Shit.” That might mean hundreds of interviews. While two murderers ran the countryside.

“You got a better idea, Sherlock?”

I folded my arms and tried to come up with one while Bailey made the calls.

We managed to line up immediate interviews with four of Liam’s students. One of the moms, Meredith Charnosh, volunteered to let us use her house. “I just think it’d be nice not to traumatize them any further by making them go to a police station,” she said.

I considered telling her it might actually be reassuring for them to see law enforcement at work, but I had the feeling she just didn’t want to let her son out of her sight. I didn’t blame her.

We gathered in the living room, which was overfurnished but oddly comforting. The three boys, Mark, Vincent, and Harrison, took the sofa. The only girl, Paula, perched on the matching ottoman. All of them had that hundred-yard stare usually reserved for battle-scarred soldiers.

“Were you all in the gym when it happened?” I asked. They were. I asked what they’d been able to see of the gunmen.

“Just that they were wearing camo jackets and masks with eyeholes,” Paula said.

The boys agreed. They’d all noticed that one was taller than the other. Estimates of the taller one’s height varied between six feet two and six feet six.

“One of them yelled something about jocks,” Mark said. Vincent and Paula heard that too.

In short, nothing new. Time to move on to Otis and Carson.

I had to be careful not to get too heavy with specific questions about them. If I did, it’d hit the grapevine in seconds and some kids might suddenly “remember” things that were more a product of imagination than reality. Not necessarily to get attention, but just because some people are susceptible to suggestion. Plant the idea and they’ll fill in the blanks. So I started by asking the open-ended questions suggested by our shrinks: did they know anyone who vented frequently about feeling persecuted and hating the world or talked about taking revenge-