The Competition - [83]

It was almost midnight by the time Bailey dropped me off at the Biltmore, and we were both wrung out. “I’m going to check in at the office in the morning unless something pops between now and then.”

Bailey nodded wearily. “I’ll let you know.”

I started to get out, then paused. “Have you been getting hassled by the press at all?”

“No. I pushed all my calls to our media liaison, and so far no one’s tried to get past him. Plus, the chief’s been doing pressers every day.”

“They haven’t gone after me either, other than bombarding me with messages asking for information. But those poor families…” Since the day of the shooting, there’d been nonstop pieces on the news showing the grieving friends and relatives of the victims.

The funerals had begun as early as Tuesday. There’d been eleven, which still left another twenty-two to go. So far, none of the families had allowed the press to cover them. Bailey and I usually make it a point to go to victims’ funerals, but we couldn’t this time. There were too many.

I got out and patted the roof. Bailey took off.

Being involved in an investigation can block the big picture, the human side of things. We follow clues and focus on the minutiae, nose to the ground. And we don’t look up until someone’s in custody. But the next morning, as I was getting out of the shower, the disastrous enormity of the case hit me like a sledgehammer. The body count. Shooters still at large. Their bizarre motivations. And their unpredictability, the impossibility of knowing where they’d strike next. Evan somewhere out there, maybe dead already. Or close to it. As the thoughts flooded my brain, I struggled to catch my breath.

I walked out to the balcony. The sun was shining and the sky was a rich brilliant blue. The air was surprisingly warm, but I didn’t trust it. I went back inside and pulled out a turtleneck sweater and slacks. I had an idea about an alternate plan of action, and I mulled it over as I dressed. Then I called Bailey. It was Sunday, and she usually spent at least part of the day with her family, but I knew that ritual would be on hold until this case was solved. “Did the chief approve shutting Platt down already?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because I’ve been thinking. That school is our only lead right now. If Logan and Shane see that it’s empty, they’ll just look for another target-”

“It’s not going to be empty. I’ve set up cops to pose as teachers. A few as students too, which for a middle school wasn’t easy. Believe me.”

That was exactly what I’d been about to suggest. Bailey didn’t sound happy about it, and I didn’t blame her. It was about as dangerous a duty as it gets. Plus it was a big expense, and there was no guarantee Logan would choose Platt as the next target. But I’d rather be overprepared and wrong than unprepared and right. Besides, this gave us a fighting chance. The only one we’d had since this whole ordeal began. “And I’d like to talk to our shrinks, see what they think about last night.”

“It’s Sunday, Knight. They might have lives.”

“It can’t hurt to try.”

One hour later we were seated around the table in Jenny’s office with steaming mugs of coffee. It was really good. “What is this? I’ve never had anything like it before.”

“It’s my own special blend. And no, I won’t share the secret, but I will mix up a bag for you.”

“The shooting last night,” Michael said. “You’re sure it was them?”

Bailey nodded. “Has to be.”

I told them about the letter we’d gotten that afternoon and filled them in on details of the shooting. “So who do you think picked the Cinemark? Shane or Logan?”

Michael set down his cup. “We think it may have been Shane’s choice-”

“Not that Logan wasn’t happy to go along with it,” Jenny said.

“Because the Cinemark was their chance to beat out the Aurora shooter, right?” I said.

“Yes, there’s no question about that,” Michael said. “But they failed, so I was thinking that their next target might be another theater.”

I told them about our belief that Logan’s junior high school was a likely target, and why.

“That’s a fair guess too,” Jenny said. “Certainly theater owners will be taking extra precautions now, so a theater would be a more jeopardous choice. Plus, the school would be a crossover target. There was a somewhat famous shooting at a middle school in Arkansas. Johnson and Golden set off a fire alarm and then hid in the woods and picked off the students as they came out. They killed five and wounded ten. And they had planned to get away. The car they used was loaded with supplies.”

“I remember that. Back in the nineties, right?” I said.

“Right,” Jenny said. “Nineteen ninety-eight. They weren’t nearly as sophisticated as your killers. The police caught them before they could even get back to the car. So your middle school theory is a sound one from both perspectives: it’s a personal target for Logan, and it’s a place where they can ‘best’ another set of famous killers.”

Bailey’s cell rang. She looked at the number, then quickly stood up. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” She walked out to the anteroom, closing the office door behind her.