The Competition

by Marcia Clark

  “In part, yes,” Michael said. “He was suicidal in general, so he might’ve killed himself eventually no matter what. But Logan was not psychopathic, so it’s highly unlikely he derived the pleasure from killing that Evan did. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if Logan suffered terribly in the aftermath of the Fairmont shooting.”

  “And what about the reverse?” Bailey asked. “Would Evan still have done these shootings if he hadn’t met Logan?”

  “In light of the fact that he did carry on after Logan killed himself, I’d say probably yes, he would have,” Michael said. “Now would he have done the Fairmont shooting if he hadn’t met Logan? That I can’t say. But I can say that connecting with Logan made Fairmont a more likely target.”

  I had a question that’d been in the forefront of my mind since our meeting with the Cutters. “Sorry for the dogleg, but I’ve been meaning to ask you, how come none of the parents—not the Jarvises or the Cutters—saw anything wrong, nothing out of the norm, before the shooting? The parents seem like responsible people. The type who pay attention. These guys were planning the Fairmont murders for almost a year. How can it be that they didn’t notice anything was wrong?”

  “The only thing the parents said was that the boys weren’t around much in the last month,” Bailey said.

  Jenny nodded. “Of course, they were busy getting ready. Or they might’ve been keeping themselves away to make sure no one could see any difference in their behavior. But that wouldn’t register with any parent as ‘something wrong.’ As for Evan, I wouldn’t expect to see any gross manifestations of unusual conduct by the time he was planning the shootings. He had no moral compunctions about it, so there was no reservoir of guilt to trip him up. These shootings were something he eagerly anticipated. He would’ve made sure not to do anything that might raise concerns.”

  “Logan would have been the one more likely to show visible signs of something amiss in the last few weeks,” Michael said. “He had a conscience.”

  “But even if Logan wavered, or started to act out, Evan was there to keep the lid on,” Jenny said.

  “Right,” Michael said. “And it’s even likely that Logan was in a bit better mood than usual in the last month. Once a suicidal person has made the decision to end his life, he feels a sense of relief, even euphoria. Logan knew the killing spree couldn’t last forever. So for him, the shooting marked the light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “Bottom line, by the time their plans were under way, it was way too late,” Jenny said. “They were old enough to manage their behavior. The time to catch signs of homicidal pathology like Evan’s was much earlier, in childhood.”

  “And what would those have been?” I asked.

  “The early signs of psychopathology are varied. There was a study that showed infants who turned out to be psychopathic have a pronounced tendency to stare at objects out of their reach. They theorized that the infants stared in an effort to exert control; that the space between the infant and the object was a threat to the baby’s control—”

  Michael shook his head. “I’m not sure how much stock I put in that one—”

  “It may be a bit far out,” Jenny said. “But generally, psychopaths show a greater attachment to objects than to people from a very early age. Some believe that may be caused by mothers who have difficulty bonding with their babies. Personally, I think the child has to already have a tendency toward psychopathology for maternal detachment to have that kind of impact. My own mother suffered severe postpartum depression for a solid year after I was born. Refused to even touch me. She eventually recovered—enough to go back to work, anyway. But she never became anything close to a ‘loving’ mother.”

  “How did it affect you?” I asked.

  “From about the age of six I knew I wanted to help children—”

  “So it had a positive effect?” Bailey asked.

  “Well…I also vowed never to have any children of my own. But it certainly didn’t make me a sociopath. And, diagnostically speaking, that’s the problem we face. Family trauma or even abuse is not a predictor. As I’m sure you’ve seen, there are plenty of kids who suffer devastating abuse who have no violent tendencies whatsoever.”

  I nodded. I’d been assigned to juvenile court for a year. It was sadly common to find that the kids had been abused, but most were charged with drug crimes or theft. The few who were in for violent crimes were usually involved in gangs.

  “Anyway, as for the early signs of psychopathology, you’ve heard of the classic ones: cruel, sadistic behaviors towards animals or smaller children—”

  “And younger siblings are often targets,” Michael said. “But in this case, neither Logan nor Evan had them.”

  “And not all children will behave in such obvious ways,” Jenny said. “While they lack empathy and do not have normal attachments to family and friends, their behavior may not initially be overtly abnormal. A child may merely appear to be less demonstrative than others or a little less empathic. But if the child is a fast learner, he’ll pick up on the appropriate social cues at a young enough age to avert detection. Destructive behavior is common. Such children often have a penchant for setting fires. Deceptive behaviors, lying, cheating, stealing. For them, the ends always justify the means, and no value is placed on honesty—”

  “Which is why they can be very glib,” Michael said. “They have no regard for rules or for the truth. Evan had that juvenile arrest for car burglary?” I nodded. “I’d bet he was the ringleader. And I’m sure there were other such instances for which he never got caught. I’d also imagine Evan committed noncriminal acts as a child that showed a cruel, sadistic side, but weren’t big enough to force the parents to put two and two together.”

  “How on earth could a parent see any kind of sadistic behavior and not know that there’s something seriously wrong?” I asked.

  “A combination of denial—we don’t see what we don’t want to see—and a failure to grasp the significance of what they’re seeing,” Jenny said. “It’s not uncommon for parents to view each incident as an isolated event and explain each one away, rather than see the whole picture. And if the behavior surfaces during adolescence, well…even the most normal teenagers can be unlovely.” Jenny gave a brief smile.

  Memories of our interviews with Evan flashed through my mind. “I just can’t believe Evan gamed us so well,” I said.

  Jenny nodded. “I understand. It is upsetting. But remember, your contacts with him were relatively limited. And even trained professionals have been deceived by psychopaths. They can be excellent actors. After all, they’ve been studying normal behavior practically since birth.”

  “Where does it come from?” I asked. “Psychopaths are born, not made, right?”

  Jenny nodded. “Biology plays a part, of course. There are studies of monozygotic twins that show psychopathology has a genetic component.”

  “But environment, upbringing, they matter too,” Michael said. “Though, as this case has shown you, socioeconomic factors really don’t matter. You can find psychopaths in Beverly Hills or on skid row.”

  “And to complicate matters further,” Jenny said, “this pathology is not a black-and-white issue. On one end of the spectrum you have narcissists, who are most certainly empathy-challenged and self-absorbed, but not usually physically dangerous. And on the other end of the spectrum, you have the most severe psychopaths—who are extremely dangerous in every way.”

  “Like Evan,” Bailey said.

  “Yes,” Michael said. “And you have everything in between those two extremes.”

  “But studies do show that psychopathology is on the rise,” Jenny said. “I’m not sure whether that’s because we’re better at spotting the disorder or the incidence has truly increased.”

  “If it really has increased, wouldn’t that explain why there seem to be more of these mass shootings?” I asked.

  “It might,” Jenny said. “But remember, not all of these shooters are psychopaths. Logan is a
prime example. His pathology might never have resulted in harm to another person had he not met up with Evan.”

  “You mentioned these killers live through their writings,” I said. “Then why did Evan give his writings to Amanda?”

  “For posterity,” Jenny said. “Remember, he doesn’t have any illusions about his longevity on this planet, and in addition to satisfying his homicidal desires, he wants recognition, fame. By secreting those notebooks with Amanda, he was ensuring that they would survive him. He plans to die in a spectacular way, and once he does—”

  “Amanda would bring out the notebooks, and everyone and his brother would want to see them,” I said. It was disgusting, but true. “You also said they loved to write about their killing plans, but there aren’t any in these journals. Is it possible he did write out his plans but didn’t want to risk leaving them with Amanda?”

  Michael sat forward. “Yes, that’s what we believe. He took a big risk even leaving those journals with her.”

  Jenny nodded. “We think he’s keeping his plans close at hand, wherever he is.”

  “Now if we just knew where that was,” Bailey said. “The problem is, he could be anywhere. Sleeping in his car, camping out under a bridge—”

  “Even staying in a motel if he has a fake ID,” I said.

  “But now that we put his picture out there, he’s going to have a much harder time with that option,” Bailey said.

  “You have an alert out for his car?” Jenny asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “And we still have one out for Logan’s car too.”

  “Those cars have got to be where they stashed their weapons,” Bailey said. “If they’d been anyplace else, we’d have found them by now.”

  I nodded and took a sip of coffee, though my stomach surely didn’t need the acid. “Do you think Evan will write me another letter?”

  “No,” Michael said. “Tweaking you was fun. And it was a release in a sense. He could sublimate his need for recognition by savoring his access to a famous prosecutor. But now he is known. He doesn’t need that release.”

  “Do you have any new ideas about what his next target might be?” I asked.

  “I’d say keep looking at the big venues—but ones he’d be very familiar with,” Jenny said. “At this point he knows that his next target will likely be his last. So what he wants now is a sure thing. A place where he feels most in control.”

  “And I think that means somewhere in the San Fernando Valley,” Michael said. “He can’t risk traveling, and he was here for the Cinemark shooting. So I’d guess he’s still local.”

  Jenny sighed. “I know that’s still a huge amount of territory to cover—”

  “It is,” Bailey said. “But we’re trying.”

  We wrapped up our meeting, and as we walked to the parking lot, it started to pour. Naturally, I’d left my umbrella at the station, so by the time I got to the car, I was soaking wet. Bailey handed me some paper towels she kept in the middle console.

  I wiped my face and neck, then rubbed my hair dry. “The thing is, he could’ve been preparing for his next target for the last six months—or even a year. I’d been thinking he’d need to score another AK or AR. But he doesn’t necessarily have to use guns—”

  “No. Matter of fact, I’d be surprised if he hadn’t set himself up with Molotovs, pipe bombs, the kind of thing he can build himself. And you’re right, he’s had plenty of time.”

  “He’d need a place to store it all.”

  “Yeah. But a car would do.” Bailey pulled out of the parking lot.

  I stared out the window. “Jenny’s right. He’s not far.”

  “I agree.”

  Which only made the question of Evan’s whereabouts more aggravating. Worse still was the possibility that we wouldn’t have the answer until it was too late.

  76

  When we got back to the station, we checked in with Graden to find out if there’d been any tips worth hearing about.

  “Evan’s been sighted everywhere from Eureka to Tijuana, and they’re not even a quarter of the way through them all. We’re running down every one that’s even marginally close, but none of them look good so far.”

  I looked at the television in Graden’s office that was perpetually tuned to the local news. “I have to believe he’ll try to disguise himself.”

  Bailey nodded. “Yeah, a wig—or even just a hat and a pair of shades would probably be enough to do the trick.”

  “But at least now people will be looking,” I said. “And we’re going to show Jax our photo of Evan and see if he can make some kind of ID.”

  Graden looked hopeful. “He saw Evan close up?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not all that confident. He said the guy was wearing a baseball cap and shades. All he could give us was a general height and weight—”

  Bailey moved toward the door. “Which fits Evan and about ten million other guys.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Graden said. “We know we’ve got the right guy. Evidence will pile up fast when we catch him. And you’ve got a nice start with those letters he had Amanda send you.”

  “Is she…?” I asked.

  “Just fine,” Graden said. “And she hasn’t heard a thing from our Bachelor of the Year.”

  We headed to Bailey’s desk. “Mind if I use your computer?” I was desperate for ideas about where Evan might strike, and I thought it could help to check out the stories of the other mass killers—juveniles in particular. I’d just finished looking at the entries for the two middle school shooters when Bailey got an urgent message on her cell.

  “Yeah?” Bailey listened for a few moments, then quickly pulled out her notepad. “Give that to me one more time.” She made some notes, then said, “I’m leaving now,” and ended the call. She stood up and handed me my purse. “Let’s go.”

  I ran to keep up as we headed for her car. She peeled out of the parking lot so fast I had to hold on to the dashboard to keep from being thrown against the door. I waited until she’d steered us through the Harbor Freeway and onto the 101 northbound. “Okay, Mario Andretti, want to tell me why we’re setting a land-speed record?”

  “They spotted the car—”

  It took me a moment to catch on. “You mean Logan’s car?”

  “Yep. It was parked in front of a Chipotle on Topanga Canyon Boulevard.”

  I waited for her to give me the rest of the story, but she fell silent. “And? Was Evan in it?”

  “No one’s in it right now. They’ve staked it out and they’re waiting.”

  “You still have an extra vest in your trunk?”

  “Of course.”

  I tried to tamp down the hope that was rising in my chest. I’d had too many letdowns in this case. Still, this looked good. The fact that no one had spotted Logan’s car all this time was some indication that it had been hidden. And who else besides Evan would’ve had access to it? He was probably living in that car. After all, he didn’t have much money, and this wasn’t a killer with any long-term plans for survival.

  In less than half an hour we pulled onto the side street where the stakeout was being coordinated. A patrol officer started to wave us along, but when Bailey held up her badge, he pointed her to a parking spot nearby. A legal parking spot. She looked peeved as she pulled into the space. “You could ask him if there’s a fire hydrant around here,” I suggested.

  “Shut up.”

  We found the officer in charge, which turned out to be a lieutenant. A lot of firepower for a stakeout. Then again, this was no ordinary stakeout. Lieutenant Scott Braverman, whose buzz-cut blonde hair and muscled torso looked like a poster for a fitness video, was sitting in the driver’s seat of a patrol car with the door open.

  Bailey held out her badge again and identified us. He scanned the two of us. “So now you Robbery-Homicide dicks carry around your own personal DAs?”

  His tone was just the wrong side of snotty. This was not an uncommon attitude in the local divisions—they really didn�
��t dig the fact that RHD stepped in to take over all the hottest cases.

  Bailey gave him a cold smile. “Not all of them. Just me. When was the car first spotted?”

  Braverman’s lip curled. I could see he was dying to get into it with Bailey. But this was no time to indulge his baser instincts. He reigned himself in with an effort and looked at his watch. “Just about forty minutes ago. The car’s parked in front of the Chipotle, but he could be anywhere on that corner.”

  We’d passed the corner on our way here. It was the size of about four city blocks. Chipotle, a small Mexican fast-food diner, was on the outer edge of a complex that included two large grocery stores, a Petco, a FedEx store, three restaurants, and several specialty boutiques.

  Bailey stood with her hands on her hips and looked toward Ventura Boulevard. “You have any officers inside the Chipotle?”

  The lieutenant’s jaw muscle bounced. “No. I didn’t have any plainclothes available and I didn’t want to send any unis in there.”

  Bailey looked at him steadily for a long beat, then nodded. “We’ll take it then—”

  “You and…her?” He looked me up and down. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Bailey turned to me. “You’re locked and loaded?”

  I nodded. I knew she’d asked the question only to show I was a tough guy too, and I appreciated it. The problem was, Evan had seen both of us on television. He’d recognize us in a heartbeat. But I didn’t want to say that to Bailey in front of this jerk. So I followed her as she turned and headed down the block. I trotted to get alongside her so I could talk without being overheard.

  “Uh, Bailey, that guy’s an asshat, but this might not be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

  Bailey stared straight ahead and spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Yeah. I thought of that about two seconds after the words fell out of my damn mouth.”

  I started to chuckle and she shot me a look. I cleared my throat to stifle the rest of my laugh. “Too soon?”

  “A sane person might think so.”

  True, it wasn’t funny. We were about to walk into a tiny fast-food joint to confront a murderer who might well have more—and bigger—firearms than all of us put together. I opened my purse and kept my hand on my gun as we walked. We’d just turned onto Topanga Canyon Boulevard when a young man in jeans and a hoodie stepped out of the diner and headed toward Logan’s car.