The Competition - [71]

It felt like a knife was twisting in my stomach. I wrapped my arms around my torso and tried to catch my breath. We should have given Evan protection. If we’d had a car posted in his driveway, this would never have happened. I should’ve insisted on it. This was my fault, all my fault.

Bailey grabbed my arm. “I told you to stop it. We had no way of knowing Evan would pull a stunt like this-”

“The shrinks warned us he was unstable. Hell, all these kids are off-kilter right now. We should’ve had someone sit on his house.”

“We were trying, remember? Besides, it wouldn’t have helped. Evan’s window faced the backyard. The cop wouldn’t have seen a thing.” Bailey sighed. “There’s only so much we can do.”

I could hear the logic in what Bailey said. It just didn’t change the way I felt. But I also knew I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in my guilt. We had two killers out there bent on committing an atrocity that might well eclipse Oklahoma City. Finding Evan was a job for the Valley Division, who knew the territory best. Evan couldn’t have gotten far. Not on foot. Besides, the biggest threat to Evan was Logan. Capturing him was the best protection we could give Evan right now.

I forced myself to focus on the matter at hand. Even if we were right about Shane being the second shooter, we hadn’t had any tips worth diddly-squat regarding his whereabouts. Same for Logan.

“What drives me nuts is, I think we’re right about them still being close by.” I folded my arms and stared out the window. “With their faces all over the news, and all our manpower, how come no one has seen them?”

Bailey sighed. “I know.”

Logan’s parents had been questioned ad nauseam about where he might be hiding. Nothing had panned out. Bailey and I tossed ideas back and forth till we were nearly downtown, but the maddening truth was that with no leads of any substance, we were just churning.

I pulled out my cell phone. “I’m going to set up a meeting with the shrinks to give them the update.” Though by the time we saw them, they’d undoubtedly already have heard about it on the news. “Maybe they’ll have some bright ideas.”

“See if we can meet at Jenny’s,” Bailey said.

The Bradbury Building where Jenny had her office was an iconic landmark. With its old-fashioned cage lift, art deco decor, and zigzagging wooden staircases, it had the kind of historic charm that sadly was rare in Los Angeles. But more important, it was a quieter, more private place to meet.

I made the calls and found both doctors ready and willing to meet there in half an hour.

45

Twenty-five minutes later we were climbing the first flight of stairs. We didn’t want to wait for the elevator. The second floor was occupied by Internal Affairs, and Bailey glowered at the door as we walked past it and headed for the stairway to the fourth floor. I was tired after having been yanked out of bed at six a.m., but we’d been cooped up in the car for so long that the climb felt good. The door to Jenny’s office stood open, so we walked in.

Jenny had wisely carried through the art deco motif with a mahogany reception desk, a large fern in the corner, and an Oriental rug. She even had a wood ceiling fan. A nice touch. Michael was already there, sitting in one of the comfy-looking overstuffed chairs that surrounded a circular table a few feet away from Jenny’s desk. Jenny sat across from him. They both held steaming mugs of coffee. The classic leather couch, complete with headrest pillow and blankets folded at the foot, occupied the wall to our right. “So you guys still use those?” I nodded toward the couch.

“Some patients prefer it, believe it or not,” Jenny said. She gestured to a burr-grinding Cuisinart in the bookcase near the table. “Can I interest you…?”

We gratefully accepted, and I thanked them for coming in on a Saturday.

Michael held up a hand. “Please. I think we both knew our nights and weekends would be kaput on this case.”

When we were all settled in, Bailey asked if they’d heard about Evan running away. They had.

Michael frowned. “It does and doesn’t surprise me. We’ve spoken about how destabilizing this trauma has been for all the students. But Evan has the unique burdens of guilt and fear that we’ve discussed before. Given all of his stressors, that Evan would run away is not that surprising-”

“Or if he’d become completely reclusive it wouldn’t have shocked me either,” Jenny said. “But this does increase the pressure to find Logan. I agree, Evan’s flight could give Logan exactly the kind of free shot he might’ve hoped for.”

“But Logan and his buddy might be too busy with their next hit to worry about tracking Evan down,” I said.

“Their next hit?” Michael said. “You have some evidence of future plans?”

Bailey told Michael about the letter. His eyes widened. “My God.” He set down his mug and rubbed his face. But when he lowered his hands, his face was still pale. “I’ve never heard of a thing like this before. It’s…incredible.” He stared into his coffee mug. After a few moments, he looked up. “These shooters-or at least your writer-obviously wants recognition. He wants to be famous. But if their identity is revealed, they’ll be caught. And as you said, they’re not done yet. So since he can’t get public recognition for himself, he gets it vicariously by attaching to you through this letter. I’d expect that until these shooters are ready to stop, you’ll get more such letters. You agree, Jenny?”