The Competition - [34]

“Nope,” he said. “I was hoping we’d at least see some names we could track down. But so far, nada.”

The detective had opened the notebook to the last page in order to start with the most recent writings. I read as he moved backward through the journal. “I’m the lowest most useless worm on the planet. I’m a blight on humanity. Why am I even here?” Page after page of self-hatred. Then, suddenly, the sun would break through the clouds: “Everywhere I look I see the miracle that is life, and I want to tell everyone that they’re beautiful.” A few pages later, Logan’s sky would darken again and he’d reflect on his “worthlessness and the pain of drawing breath and having to exist on this miserable sphere.” But there was nothing about any real plans to even commit suicide, let alone a mass murder. Finally, I gave up and joined Bailey in the hallway.

“Ready to go?” she asked. “We’ve got another warrant to get to.”

Otis Barney’s house. I didn’t think we had enough yet, but I didn’t want to get into it with Bailey here, in front of everyone. I followed her down the hall and into the living room. The Jarvises sat side by side on the sofa, looking shell-shocked. The uni we’d left there had relaxed enough to move his hand away from the butt of his gun.

“I probably don’t need to tell you that if you hear from Logan, you should tell him to turn himself in,” Bailey said. “And call us immediately.”

Bonnie Jarvis nodded vacantly. Brad stared at the floor.

“Did either of you know a girl named Amanda?” I asked.

It took a few moments for my words to break through. Bonnie Jarvis shook her head. Brad said nothing.

“Brad?” I said. I repeated the question.

He didn’t look up, but he finally answered. “No. I-I don’t recall hearing Logan mention that name.”

We told them we’d be in touch and said good-bye. We’d have to talk to them again, probably many more times. But there was nothing to be gained by it now. They clearly knew nothing about his involvement in the shooting. The only information they might have for us would be coincidental, and only useful at trial: a stray remark, an unusual behavior-something fairly subtle that wouldn’t have meant much to them at the time. But their minds were too frozen to be able to access those memories.

Bailey and I headed for her car. Just as we reached the sidewalk, a young woman in heels came clattering toward us. “Detective Keller! Ms. Knight! What can you tell me about this latest development? Did Logan Jarvis have something to do with the shootings?” A cameraman behind her pointed his black lens at us as the woman pushed a microphone into our faces.

“No comment,” I said. Bailey and I kept walking. I barely restrained the impulse to swat the microphone out of the woman’s hand.

Another news van roared up the street and disgorged yet another reporter, who tried to head us off before we reached the car, but we jumped in before he could get to us. He was still running behind our car as we pulled away.

“And that’ll be our lives until we put this one to bed,” I said. I pulled down the visor so I could use the mirror to check out the street behind us. We hadn’t even reached the corner before another news van arrived.

Bailey looked grim. “I’m going to ask for a detail on Logan’s house. Once the chief pegs him as a person of interest, those parents won’t be able to burp without someone getting it on tape.”

“Someone better warn them. This might be a good time for them to get out of Dodge.”

“I’ll call the search team,” Bailey said. She turned right on Ventura, heading toward the Barney house. “So, you ready to work up a warrant for Otis’s place?”

“It’s still a pretty close call.” We had a connection between Otis and Logan now, thanks to Carson James’s statement, and we had more confirmation that the shorter suspect’s weird laugh sounded like his. But the fact that he was of the same general height and weight as the smaller shooter was a wash. There were probably a thousand boys in the school who fit that description. The neo-Nazi-looking posters on his bedroom wall were ugly, but there was no indication the shootings were racially motivated. Bottom line: getting a judge to approve a warrant was far from a slam dunk. “Did any of the unis get statements about him being into guns? Or making threats of any kind in the past couple of years?”

Bailey shook her head.

“Can we get someone to dig into Logan’s computer right now? If Otis is our guy, he should be in there somewhere.”

Bailey nodded but didn’t look happy about the prospect. “I wanted Dorian to get a shot at lifting prints before we did anything.”

“Why not ask her to take a look and see if there’s even anything liftable?” If not, then there was no reason we couldn’t get into the laptop right away.

“Yeah, good idea.” Bailey gave me a small grin. “And since it was your idea…”

Dorian hated to be rushed. But I couldn’t back down now. “Fine.” I pulled out my phone and made the call.

“Struck here,” she answered. From the sounds in the background, Dorian was out in the field. Probably still at the school.