The Competition - [49]

I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. I willed them back and tried to swallow the lump in my throat so I could offer words of comfort, but the words wouldn’t come.

Finally, Sonny lifted her head. She spoke with a tear-choked voice. “But then Otis couldn’t have been involved, could he? We told you! We told you!” She lapsed into sobs again, as she wrapped her arms around her torso and rocked back and forth.

Tom, picking up on our silence, looked from me to Bailey. “You can’t still believe…”

I took a deep breath. I’d almost dreaded this more than the death notification. “We don’t know. It’s still possible he was involved. But I promise you, Mr. Barney, if we can clear him, we will.”

Tom clenched his jaw. I watched his face as anger battled with grief. Grief lost. His voice was harsh and low. “It was crazy to call Otis a suspect in the first place, but now? It’s not just wrong, it’s downright cruel. I’m calling the DA! And the chief! You’re incompetent…you-you monsters!” He stood up and pointed to the door. “Now get out! Get the hell out of my house!”

When we reached Bailey’s car, I saw that her face looked drawn. I was sure mine looked no better, but I offered anyway, “Hey, how about you let me drive for a change?” If she said yes, it’d be a first.

“I feel like shit, but I don’t have a death wish, Knight.”

So she wasn’t completely wrecked. But I felt pretty lousy too. I knew there was only one thing that would make us feel better. “What’s the story with Luke Jarvis? Is he in pocket?”

“Yep. He’s at work. Gets off at six.”

“If we launch from here we can make it to Oxnard in an hour.”

“Let’s hit it.”

Work: the great healer. Well, the great distraction.

30

We pulled up just after six o’clock. Night had already squeezed all but a sliver of sunlight from the sky. I don’t know why I had the idea Luke worked at an ordinary gas station. It was actually a high-end auto-repair shop. The kind of place Jay Leno would go to have his Maseratis or Model Ts fixed. At the counter in the tiny office at the end of the repair bays sat a completely bald man whose coveralls looked like they’d been handed down by his much bigger father. The name Alfred Bedigian was stitched above the pocket on his left chest. A magazine lay open on his lap. I got a glimpse of a pouty, large-breasted blonde before he slapped it closed and stuffed it under the counter.

Bailey flashed her badge. “Mr. Bedigian?”

His eyes got big when he saw the badge, and he jumped up out of his chair. “Yes?”

I could see a smile twitching at Bailey’s lips. “We’re here to see Luke Jarvis.”

“I already gave his time card to those other cops. They told me it was just routine. Was that wrong? Is Luke in trouble?”

We’d had Luke checked out the moment Logan was identified as one of the shooters. Luke had been at work-confirmed not only by his time card but also by a couple of customers who’d come in on the day of the shooting.

“Not at all,” Bailey said. “We just want to talk to him about someone he knows.”

“Because if he is, I need to know about it,” he said. “He’s a great mechanic, but we don’t run that kind of place. He’s got problems, he’s out of here.”

“Really, Mr. Bedigian,” I said, “he’s done nothing wrong.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “Better not,” he muttered. “Come.”

Bedigian trotted around the counter and gestured for us to follow, the dirty rag stuffed into his back pocket wagging like a tail with every step. He stopped abruptly at the last bay, where a midnight-blue Porsche sat three feet up on the lift. Unless Luke was hiding in the trunk, there was no one there.

“Could he have left for the day?” I asked.

“Not without telling me.” Bedigian said. He took the rag out of his pocket and nervously wiped his hands.

A tallish man with short dirty-blonde hair walked into the bay, pulling on a fleece-lined denim jacket.

“Luke Jarvis?” Bailey asked.

“That’s me,” he said. He favored us with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He looked like a younger version of Treat Williams-handsome in a regular-guy kind of way.

Instead of badging him, Bailey put out her hand. “I’m Detective Bailey Keller and this is Deputy District Attorney Rachel Knight. We need to talk to you.”

Luke’s smile fell away. “Right.”

“Do you have a place we can go to talk?” Bailey asked.

Luke glanced around the bay. “Uh…”

Bedigian interrupted. “Use the office. It’s time to close up anyway.” He cast a glance across the three of us that was still mildly suspicious and told Luke, “Lock the door when you leave.” Luke nodded, and Bedigian trotted out.

Five minutes later, we sat down in the small waiting area in the office. Bailey took the lead. “I guess you’ve heard Logan’s been named as a person of interest in the Fairmont High shooting.”

Luke nodded, and looked from me to Bailey anxiously. “Have you found him?”

“No,” Bailey said. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Logan’s not just a person of interest. We’re fairly certain he was involved in the shooting.”

Luke sat back as though he’d been punched in the chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but for a few seconds nothing came out. “What-how do you know?”