The Competition

by Marcia Clark

  “Not a problem.”

  Bailey and I followed him down the hall. “Evan has an older sister in grad school back East, doesn’t he? Does she come home much?”

  “No. Once she moved out to college, it was just Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

  “So it’s been, what? Five years since she lived here?” Bailey asked.

  “About that, yes.”

  We’d let local police back East check with her about Shane, but it was probably a dead end. There were two doors at the end of the hall. A thumping bass was vibrating behind the door to our left. Cutter rapped his knuckles sharply on that door, and a faint voice replied, “Yeah?”

  “The detective and deputy district attorney are here to see you, Evan. Open up.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at the door with impatient eyes.

  The music got softer right away, but it took a few long moments before the door opened. Evan looked like he’d had a bad night. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face looked drawn and pinched.

  “Hey, Evan,” I said. “We’ve just got a few questions for you. It won’t take much time, I promise.”

  He nodded, dipped his head, and stood aside to let us enter. I turned to Mr. Cutter. “Thank you. We’ll just be a couple minutes.”

  Cutter wanted to listen in. I could tell he was fighting the urge to say that it was his house and he’d damn well be in any room he wanted. But his better instincts won out. He nodded and left us. We stepped inside and closed the door. Evan leaned against his desk.

  “How’re you doing?” Bailey asked.

  Evan shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  I guessed otherwise but knew better than to call him on it. “It’s a tough time for you, I know. We won’t take long. Just a few questions, okay?”

  Evan gave a resigned nod.

  “Do you know someone named Shane Dolan?” I asked.

  He frowned, then shook his head. “No.”

  Bailey pulled up Shane’s photo on her cell and showed it to him. “Do you recognize this person?”

  Evan studied the photo. “No.” A worried look crossed his face. “Who is that?”

  “We think he might be a friend of Logan’s,” I said. “Did Logan ever talk about someone named Shane?”

  “No, not that I remember.” Evan’s eyes strayed back to the photo. “And I know I never saw that guy with him.” He was trying to act cool. But as he said it, he gripped the edge of the desk he’d been leaning against.

  “Evan, we’re looking out for you,” I said. “I don’t want you to worry about…anything.”

  He looked at me briefly, then lowered his head. “I’m okay.”

  “Did Logan ever talk to you about a guy who had access to guns?” Bailey asked.

  “No.”

  He stared at the floor. His expression was tortured. But it was also tight and unyielding. It didn’t matter how much I tried to reassure him. He was scared, and hearing about this Shane character had only made matters worse. We wouldn’t get anything more out of him. At least, not now.

  I noticed his laptop on the desk near the window. It was closed. But I’d bet it hadn’t been before he opened the door. “Evan, I’d like to take your computer for just a few days, if you don’t mind.”

  That snapped his head up. “What? Why?”

  “Because Logan must have sent you emails. There might be something in them that gives us a clue as to where he might be. And he may even try to reach out to you.”

  “You don’t have to agree, Evan,” Bailey said. “But I’m about a hundred percent certain we can get a search warrant for it. ’Course, if we do that, it might take forever to get it back to you because it’ll be considered evidence. That means we’ll have to hang on to it until the case is all over. Could take years.” Bailey turned to go. “But, you know, your call.” It wasn’t technically accurate that we’d have to hold it ad infinitum, but she was definitely right that we’d be able to get a warrant.

  “If I let you take it now, do you promise to give it back in a week or so?”

  “No promises,” Bailey said. “But it’ll sure be a lot sooner than if we take it with a warrant.”

  Evan unplugged the laptop and handed it over, looking glum. I felt sorry for him. And increasingly worried. Not so much about his safety—the local cops were keeping an eye on him, and I didn’t believe Logan was really a threat. It was his mental state that worried me. “Look, the cops are watching the house, and if you want, we can try and get you extra security, okay?”

  “I’m good, really,” Evan said. “You don’t need to get me any more security.”

  “You’re sure?” I said.

  “Yeah, save the manpower for the real problems. I’ll be fine.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. But I was sure that was the answer his father would’ve liked. We walked out of the room and called out to John Cutter that we were leaving.

  Oddly, Cutter seemed more upset at our taking the laptop than Evan. “Why on earth do you need his computer?” Bailey explained that it might have information on Logan Jarvis. He put his hands on his hips. “What’s he supposed to use for school?”

  “We won’t keep it that long,” Bailey said. “But I’ll check with our Computer Crimes Unit and see if they can line up a loaner for you.” She tucked the laptop under her arm and reached out to shake his hand. He frowned and reluctantly gave Bailey’s hand a firm single pump. It looked to me like his grip had a little something extra in it, so I decided not to risk it.

  “Were you in the Marines, Mr. Cutter?” I asked.

  “Seventeen years. How did you know?”

  “Just a guess.”

  38

  It was after seven p.m. by the time we got back downtown, and we were both starving. Threat of mass destruction or not, we still needed to eat. I reminded Bailey of Graden’s earlier offer to buy us dinner at the PDC. “If he’s still up for it, we can eat and keep working.”

  Bailey nodded. “You make the call. Tell him we’ll meet him there. I’ll drop the laptop off with Nick.”

  The sooner Nick got into Evan’s computer, the better. “How about if I ask Twan to join us?” Short for Antoinette, aka Toni. “We could use a little outside perspective.”

  “That’d be great.” Bailey pulled into the parking lot at the PAB. While she went to hand off the laptop to Nick, I called Toni and Graden. Both were on board for dinner. Bailey and I got there first and lucked out with a booth in the Club Car. We’d just ordered Bloody Marys for the table when Toni showed up.

  “I’d ask how you are, but why pretend? You all look like hell.” She slid in next to Bailey.

  “You, on the other hand, look disgustingly gorgeous,” I said.

  “I love that suit,” Bailey said.

  “Girl, everyone likes this suit,” Toni said. “It’s Armani. I scored it at a sample sale.”

  Toni had fashion sense to spare. I’d never known anyone who managed to look as good as her—and I’m talking twenty-four/seven. She tells me I could do it too. Trust me, I can’t.

  She held up her tall glass. “To both of you getting some sleep before you keel over.” We clinked and took healthy sips of our drinks. “Now catch me up.”

  We brought her up to speed on the latest developments, ending with the letter. I knew Graden wouldn’t mind us telling Toni about the letter. She was family. We’d just finished describing our last interview with Evan when Graden showed up. He slid in next to me, gave me a warm hug, and smiled at Bailey. “How are you Toni? Anything new?”

  “You mean other than some fool in the parking lot telling me she loved my last concert?”

  “Your last…what?” he asked.

  Bailey and I rolled our eyes. We didn’t have to hear the story to know what she was about to say—this wasn’t the first time.

  “Apparently, Beyoncé and I could be twins.” Graden tried to hold back his laugh, but a short bark leaked out anyway. Toni shook her head with disgust. Other than being black, there was no resemblance whatsoev
er. “She also told me my hair looked better this way, so I guess the answer is, me and my hair are ‘good.’”

  The waiter came and took our orders. We all got the steak and lobster and decided to share two orders of their fabulous steamed asparagus. And, of course, another round of Bloody Marys. We talked about Toni’s case—she was in trial on a kidnap-murder—until the waiter brought our drinks.

  We toasted to nailing all of our killers, and then Graden turned to Toni. “I assume they told you?”

  Toni nodded, somber. “This case gets crazier by the second.”

  Graden rubbed the side of his face. One of his tells when he’s upset. He took a sip of his drink. “Nick called just as I was leaving. He got into Evan’s computer with no problem.”

  “Anything?” Bailey asked.

  “Not so far.”

  Toni jammed the straw into her drink, now mostly ice. “What do your shrinks have to say about all this—the letter, Shane?”

  I interrupted. “We haven’t confirmed that Shane’s the second shooter—”

  “Whoever. You need to figure out where they’re planning to strike next. Your shrinks might have some ideas. And it looks to me like Logan is the mastermind. This started with a school shooting. That’s all about his motive, not this Shane dude’s. Unless Shane went to Fairmont High—”

  “No,” Bailey said. “And I agree. Logan’s got to be the lead sled dog. The letter even sounded like a high school kid.”

  “We do need to get with our shrinks,” I said. “But I don’t need them to tell me that Shane’s photo got Evan pretty rattled.”

  “Yeah,” Bailey said. “But do you blame him? Shane’s a sketchy-looking character.”

  “Can I see?” Toni asked. Bailey pulled up Shane’s photo and handed her the phone. Toni raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sketchy. But hot.”

  Graden took Bailey’s phone, looked at the photo, then shook his head. “You call this hot?” He sighed. “Some things I’ll never understand.”

  Bailey suppressed a smile. “I’ll call the shrinks first thing in the morning.”

  “Let me know what they say,” Graden said. “And you’ll have the unis ask the rest of Logan’s buddies about Shane?”

  Bailey nodded. “Already being done. We’ll talk to Caleb and Kenny ourselves, let the unis handle the outer circle.”

  “We’ve got to get out ahead of this,” Graden said. “God knows where they’re planning to hit next.”

  “We do know one thing,” I said. “It’ll be big.”

  On that grim note, the waiter brought our dinners. For which we now had zero appetite.

  39

  Friday, October 11

  I woke up the next morning with an aching head and a gnawing emptiness in my stomach. I’d barely managed to choke down three bites of my steak, so the Bloody Marys had hit pretty hard. On the bright side, my pants were looser. Hell of a thing, this Mass Murderer Diet.

  A pale, gray morning light poured through the gap between the drape and the window. I burrowed deeper under the covers to enjoy the warmth for just a minute more. It was almost as cold in the early mornings as it was at night. Keeping the covers tight around me, I snaked out a hand and called in my breakfast order: two eggs over medium, bacon, and toast with a large pot of coffee. Then I threw back the covers and forced myself out of bed.

  After I’d showered, dressed, put on my face, and finished breakfast, I decided to drop in at the office. Bailey had said she’d call when she had our interviews set up. Since I hadn’t heard from her yet, I figured I had a little time to go in and talk to Eric. I hadn’t spoken to him in a while, and I wanted to get his take on our latest developments.

  The sky was heavy with dark clouds that looked ready to open up and pour any minute—which they did, just as I got to the back entrance of the courthouse. I stopped by my office to check my in-box and found it blissfully empty. Maybe I was about to have a good day. Lord knew, I was due.

  I went over to the window and looked out at the city. Even on a gloomy, wet day like this, the view lifted my spirits. I stretched my arms up and leaned from side to side to work out the kinks that had built up from too many nights of fitful sleep and too few days at the gym. As I brought my arms down, the sleeve of my sweater caught on my earring and pulled it out. I felt my shoulder, but it wasn’t there. I looked down at my feet, but it wasn’t there either. Damn, it must have fallen under the table.

  I got down on my knees to look, but it was too dark to see anything, so I got my phone and turned on the flashlight app. I saw a metallic sparkle against the wall—as far out of reach as possible. Groaning, I crawled under the table, but as I put my hand out to grab the earring, I noticed something stuck in the corner of the wall. At first, I thought it might be a cockroach or a water bug. I snatched my hand back. But then I noticed it wasn’t moving. And it looked too square. I shined the flashlight on it. Definitely not a beetle. It was a small, black rectangular box, no more than an inch long.

  I pulled at it and it came away from the wall with a ripping sound. It had been attached with Velcro. I clutched it in my hand and backed out from under the table. I turned it over and saw a tiny red LED light and what looked like a USB port on the end. What the…? A bug? It had to be. My heart gave a dull thud in my chest. Who’d planted it? And when? I stood there staring at the object in my hand, trying to figure it out.

  I knew it hadn’t been there before. My office had been swept regularly during my last trial, and it was clean then. Could it be the press? This school shooting was definitely big enough to make it worth their while. Tabloids were used to spending big bucks to get the “scoop,” but this case was hot enough to make even the mainstream press dig into their pockets. I thought about who else would want to keep tabs on me. Vanderhorn? This case could give him a real shot at the governor’s mansion—or doom him to a life of obscurity in a midlevel law firm. And what about sociopathic Lilah Bayer? She had plenty of reasons to want to keep an ear trained to find out if we were closing in on her. The list of possible suspects was daunting. The thought of someone sneaking into my office and planting that bug—and eavesdropping on me for who knew how long, made my skin crawl. I left the bug on my desk and quickly walked out of my office and down the hall to the fire escape. I stepped out and let the heavy metal door slam shut behind me. Then I pulled out my cell phone. The street side of the fire escape was enclosed by metal bars that let in all of the traffic noise, which was considerable at this time of the morning. Graden answered on the first ring.

  “Rachel? Are you okay?”

  I almost never called him during the day. If there was business to handle with him, Bailey usually took care of it. “Yeah. Well, no. Not exactly.” I told him what I’d found in my office and listed the possible suspects. “Vanderhorn might be a stretch, though—”

  “Maybe not, actually. Like you said, his political future depends on this case. Your list of possible suspects sounds right on.” Graden was silent for a moment. “Where are you right now?” I told him. “And where’s the bug?” I told him. “Just leave it there for now and obviously don’t say anything you wouldn’t want everyone to hear. I’m sending someone over there to check it out. For now, I don’t want whoever planted that thing to know we’re onto them. I’m going to assign a detective.”

  “Then you want me to do what? Nothing?”

  “As impossible as that is for you. Our planter has to be someone with access to your office, so you can’t even talk about this over there. Not to anyone.”

  “Even Eric?”

  “Even Eric. For now, the fewer people who know about this, the better. Just let me handle this, okay?” I was silent. Doing nothing really didn’t work for me. “Rachel? I’m not kidding. Any move you make could screw things up.”

  I sighed. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

  I ended the call and stared out through the bars at the traffic. My world was a study in insanity. Two murderers on the loose and now someone was bugging my office. What was next? A
lien invasion?

  There was only one thing to do. Go back to work. I had planned to get Eric’s input on the case, but there was so much I couldn’t share, I didn’t feel comfortable talking to him now. I took the back hallway to avoid passing his office and ran to catch an elevator. I’d just stepped inside when my cell phone rang. It was Bailey. “What’s up?”

  Bailey huffed. A sign she was righteously pissed. “You won’t friggin’ believe this—”

  “Hang on, let me get to a safe place.”

  I could’ve told her to hold off till I got to the station, but her tone unnerved me. I didn’t want to wait.

  40

  When the elevator bounced to a stop at the ground floor, I snaked my way through the crowd, out to the stairway behind the courthouse. “Okay, go.”

  “You won’t believe that little punk Evan. He’s been tweeting that we’ve been harassing him—”

  “What? Are you kidding me?”

  “According to him, he keeps telling us he doesn’t know anything and we just keep pressuring him. And the best part? The press just got wind of it.”

  Damn. Just what we needed—bad press. “Stand by for the four o’clock news. You guys doing another presser today?”

  “Yeah. And we’re putting out that Shane Dolan is a ‘person of interest.’ That’s a bigger deal, so maybe Evan’s little hissy fit will fly under the radar. Either way, it’s going to be crazy here. Mind if I come over there?”

  “No. You stay put. I’m on my way over.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  I could tell she knew something was up. I hurried over to the station and found Bailey at her desk. “Mind if we use the interview room?”

  She looked puzzled, but led me to the nearest room and closed the door. “What’s going on?”

  I told her about the bug.

  She slammed her hand down on the table. “Are you friggin’ kidding me? What’s next?”

  “No. Do not ask that question, okay?” I rubbed my aching neck. “But there’s nothing we can do. Graden’s on it and we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Speaking of which, what’s the deal with Evan? I get that he might be upset, but why on earth would he tweet that crap?”