The Competition - [31]

Brad Jarvis’s face lifted with surprised relief. “So you’re saying he’s still alive?”

“He might be,” Bailey said. “We don’t know yet.”

He looked from Bailey to me. I saw his expression harden as relief turned to suspicion. “You didn’t answer my question, Detective,” he said. “Where and when was that picture taken?”

There was no avoiding it now. Bailey looked him steadily in the eye. “It was taken during the shooting in the gym.” She waited a moment for that to sink in, then continued. “This is a blowup. The original photograph shows the entire hand. It’s holding an assault rifle. It’s the hand of one of the shooters.”

It felt for a moment as though we were suspended in space, with no gravity, no oxygen. For several long moments, there was dead silence. Then suddenly a shriek broke through the vacuum.

“No!” Bonnie Jarvis jumped to her feet. She stared at us, wide-eyed, then slowly shook her head. “No! It can’t be! You’re wrong! Not my Logan! Not my son!” Tears began to stream down her face. She clutched her husband’s arm. “Tell them, Brad! Tell them!” She dropped her head and sobbed, the hoarse, choked sob of someone who’d already cried herself raw.

Brad Jarvis remained sitting but drew himself up and clutched his knees even more tightly. His face had paled, but his eyes spit fury. “I refuse to listen to this…crap! It can’t be Logan.” He threw a contemptuous glance at the photo. “That picture’s so grainy, you can’t possibly say it’s his tattoo. Hell, you can’t tell who that is! My son could never, never do a thing like this! You’re out of your minds!”

Bailey let the air clear. When she spoke, her voice was low and calm. “Mr. Jarvis, I do not for one moment believe we have enough evidence to charge your son with anything right now. We’re following leads. That’s our job, and that’s all we’re doing.”

Bonnie Jarvis slowly sat up and dried her tears on her sleeve. I hoped she might be able to listen to reason. I leaned toward her. “Mrs. Jarvis, it’s just as important that we clear the innocent as convict the guilty. We need to search Logan’s room because given what we know so far, it’s the next logical step in this investigation. It may yield evidence that clears him. If he isn’t involved, we need to know that as soon as possible so we can move on. I’ll be honest with you, I think we have enough to get a search warrant. So you can delay the search but you can’t stop it. The problem is, the longer we wait, the more time the killers have to get away.” I paused for a moment to let her process what I’d said. “And I’m sure you, as a parent, want us to do everything in our power to catch them.”

Bonnie Jarvis drew several ragged breaths, then looked at her husband through eyes that were now nearly swollen shut. “Brad, I think we have to-”

Her husband folded his arms and shot daggers at her. “No, we don’t, Bonnie. They’re on a witch hunt, can’t you see? They just need to put someone in jail to get the public off their back. I refuse to help them frame my son!”

“We only need one of you to consent,” I said. Then clamped my mouth shut. Fighting with Brad Jarvis would only force Bonnie to defend her husband. Bonnie looked at her husband imploringly, but he stomped out of the room. She wrapped her arms around her waist and watched him go as tears rolled down her face. Finally, she spoke.

“I’ll show you his room.”

18

Bailey had a search team on round-the-clock standby and she called them in now as we followed Bonnie Jarvis down the hall to Logan’s room. The first thing I noticed was that it had a sliding glass door to the patio and pool area. More important, a gate on the far right side led out to the street. That kind of setup meant Logan could get up to just about anything without his parents knowing. If he were so inclined.

The mother looked around the room distractedly, her eyes darting from one end to the next, as though afraid to land on any single spot.

“Mrs. Jarvis, can you give me a list of Logan’s friends?” I asked.

“Bonnie. It’s Bonnie,” she said absently. Tears continued to leak from the edges of her eyes. She didn’t seem to notice them. “There never were very many. Logan’s been friends with Caleb Samuelson for years, though I haven’t seen him around here lately. There was a boy…Kenny…Epstein. They were good friends back in junior high, but I don’t know how close they are now.” Her mouth trembled, and she bit down hard on her bottom lip. “Evan Cutter, I remember meeting him a few months back. I’m not sure how close they are, though.”

“What about a boy named Otis Barney?” Bailey asked. “Did you ever see him here? Or did Logan ever mention him?”

“I-I’m not…” Bonnie closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Wait, yes. Now I remember. Last year. I remember because he stayed for dinner.”

“And that’s unusual?” I asked.

Bonnie nodded. “Brad and I own a temp agency. It doesn’t leave us a lot of time for family dinners.”

“Was that the only time Otis was here?” I asked.

“As far as I know, but…”

“He might’ve been here when you weren’t around?” Bonnie nodded, her expression troubled. “You had some misgivings about him?” I asked.