The Competition (25 page)

For several long
seconds, no one moved. Bailey recovered first. “Uh, Todd, you can stand down. I believe we can safely say he’s unarmed.” She looked at Shane. “No offense. Feel free to get your towel.”

Shane nodded but kept his eyes trained on Todd as he bent down to get the towel and draped it around his waist.

“Where are your clothes?” Todd asked. Shane pointed to a chair. Todd gave the T-shirt and jeans a thorough going-over, then tossed them to Shane one at a time. Bailey and I checked his wallet and license to confirm his identity, then ripped through the room. We found a .38 Smith and Wesson under his pillow, a 9 mm Glock in the top drawer of the dresser, and an SBR AR-15 in the closet. They were all fully loaded. Bailey read him his rights. He waived them in a shaky voice.

We took him into the living room, handcuffed him, and tied him to a kitchen chair with some electrical cord Todd found under the sink. Bailey and Todd hovered over him, guns at their sides. Shane didn’t look so good now, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, all pale and trembling. But looking past that, I could see that his photo hadn’t done him justice. The wavy brown hair curling over his forehead, hazel eyes, and full, sensual lips that had a rebellious curl made for an undeniably sexy package. I’d always been wary of the type, myself.

Since I was the only one not visibly armed, I was unofficially elected to play good cop. “Where’s Logan Jarvis?”

His eyes narrowed with fury. “That lunatic asshole. I don’t know and I don’t want to know.”

This was not the answer, or the attitude, I’d been expecting. “You two just shot up that theater, said adios, and went your separate ways?”

Shane’s mouth dropped open. “Theater? Shooting? What the hell are you talking about?” He looked a little green around the gills. Some guys can do a pretty good job of feigning shock, but nausea—that’s a toughie.

“Shane, now is not the time to play dumb. We might be able to save you from death row if you help us. But you can’t waste our time with this ‘who me?’ bullshit.”

“Lady, I’m not kidding. I don’t know about any theater shooting. And the last time I saw Logan was a few weeks before the school shooting.”

I folded my arms and gave him my best “give me a fucking break” look. “So you had nothing to do with the shooting at Fairmont High.”

He teared up. His lips trembled, and for a few seconds it looked as though he was going to break down. But he closed his eyes, swallowed, and held it back. When he spoke, his voice was ragged. “Why in the hell would I want to shoot up a bunch of kids?” Shane looked at me, his expression tortured. “If I’d known that’s what that fucking freak was getting the guns for, I’d have called the cops. I sure as hell wouldn’t have sold him any.” He dropped his head, and I saw tears fall into his lap. “I had no idea that’s why he bought them until I saw the news that day.”

“But we didn’t release his name for a couple of days.”

“Yeah, but I knew what school he went to, and I knew what I’d sold him. The reports all said what kind of weapons they used.” He was right about that. “Plus, Logan talked some really weird shit just before…it all happened. He sent me this off-the-wall email the day before about seeing me ‘on the other side.’ At the time I just thought he was being his usual strange, geeky self. But then, when I saw the news about the shooting at Fairmont, I put it all together.”

“And ran.”

Shane gave me a hard look. “Bet your ass I ran.”

Because he was, at the very least, on the hook for selling guns to a minor, for selling guns without registration, probably for buying stolen guns, possibly for burning off the registration numbers. The list went on and on.

“Where were you at the time of the Fairmont shooting?”

“At the VA hospital in Westwood, getting my meds. Check it out; they keep records.”

“Don’t worry, we will.” Or rather, we’d been trying. The VA records were a mess. When Bailey got the tip about Shane being in La Conchita, she’d told the unis to drop everything else and focus on any records dated on or near the day of the shooting. With a little luck, we’d have our answer soon. “What were you getting meds for?”

Shane tightened his lips for a moment and looked away. Finally, he answered. “PTSD. I’m not saying I was a model citizen before the war, but when I got back…” He shook his head. “I couldn’t deal. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think straight. The only thing that made me feel better was getting high. It was the only way I could block out the memories. I couldn’t hold down a job, and after getting fired a couple of times, I was totally hosed.” Shane looked up at me. “But I’m guessing Luke already told you about that.”

“Some, yeah.”

Shane nodded. “After Luke moved out, things really went to shit. I fell apart. They denied my disability claims, I lost my job at the garage, so I couldn’t pay the rent. The landlord gave me a three-day notice. I was pretty much homeless. That’s when I met up with a guy at a gun range out in Agoura Hills.”

I figured out where this was heading. “And that’s the guy who got you into gun sales.”

“Yeah. It was a natural move for me. I was raised in Montana. Learned to shoot before I learned to read. So I knew guns. And the money was great. I got myself out of debt and out of L.A. and got myself a job at the tree service. And I’m practically off the meds. Doing good now.” Shane looked at the three of us surrounding him. “Well, I
was.
”

“Good? You call illegal gunrunning good?”

He leaned back and glared at me. “What the fuck do I care? The U.S. government screwed me over. Hard. Used me up and spit me out. The VA takes a year to process my claims. They were worthless when I needed help finding work. So the government wants to regulate gun sales? Fuck ’em. It’s my constitutional right to bear arms.”

“And to sell them to kids?” Shane looked away. “Where have you been for the past two days?” I deliberately didn’t give him the date of the theater shooting. I wanted to see how much of his time he could account for.

“Up north, near Red Bluff.”

“When did you get down here?”

“This morning. I dumped the car—”

“The Jetta?”

“Yeah. Figured you guys might be onto that. Picked up the bike—”

“You mean stole—”

Shane glared at me. “
Bought
—just outside Sacramento.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

If that was true, there was no way he could’ve done the theater shooting. “Who’d you buy it from?”

“Look in my wallet. There’s a receipt. Seller was a guy named Trinidad…something. Got his phone number on there and everything. You’ll see.”

Bailey leaned over and whispered to Todd and he nodded. “Be right back,” she said. “You keep going.” I knew she was going to check Shane’s alibis.

“Assuming your alibis check out and you’re not one of the shooters, you’re still on the hook for selling the guns to them—”

“Them? I didn’t sell anything to ‘them.’ The only person I sold to was Logan. I never saw anyone else.” His voice was firm. “I kept my customer list tight. Never spread my net too wide.”

“You didn’t deal with any friends of Logan’s?”

“Never. Our deals were always one-on-one.”

“Didn’t it strike you as odd that one kid would buy that many weapons? All those AKs and at least four handguns?”

“No, it didn’t strike me as ‘odd.’” He tilted his head to indicate air quotes. “I had more guns than that by my thirteenth birthday.”

“Your dad gave you an AK for your thirteenth birthday?”

Shane looked away.

“How’d you get your hands on a fully automatic AK?”

“I didn’t. I converted it myself. It’s not that hard.”

“How many guns did you sell to Logan?”

“Two assault rifles and four handguns.”

I had an idea, but before I could pursue it, Bailey came back and pulled me aside. “The VA story checks out,” she whispered. “He was there at eighty thirty a.m. the day of the Fairmont shooting and he was in the pharmacy getting his script filled at ten forty-five. No way he could’ve been at the school.”

“And Cinemark?”

“We’re waiting to hear back about him buying the bike the day of that shooting, but the receipt was in his wallet and the voice on the answering machine gave the name Trinidad. It’s probably going to check out.”

And in any case, he had an airtight alibi for the school shooting. If Shane hadn’t been involved in the Fairmont shooting, then he probably hadn’t done the theater shooting either. Which only begged the question: who the hell was the second shooter? I’d never been wild about the theory that a grown man like Shane would be Logan’s sidekick. But clearing Shane meant we had no one on the hook.

When I went back to Shane, his head was hanging down and his expression was tortured.

“Logan never brought a friend who talked guns with you? You’re sure about that?”

Shane shook his head emphatically. “I don’t remember ever meeting any friends of his and I sure as hell didn’t talk guns with any other kids. I only talked to him because he was Luke’s brother.”

I couldn’t think of a reason for him to hold back any names at this point. He knew he was on the hook for so much already, admitting that another kid was involved wasn’t worth lying about. He really didn’t know. But maybe he could help us find Logan. “Did Logan ever tell you about any places he liked to go?”

“You mean places to hide?” I nodded. “No. And you gotta believe me, I’d tell you. I would. You’ve got to catch that kid, he’s a friggin’ maniac.”

Coming from the man who’d given him the firepower, that was some kind of irony.

Shane rolled his
head and stretched his neck. “You can take the cuffs off, guys. I’m obviously not going anywhere.”

He did look uncomfortable. But I was fresh out of sympathy for gunrunners. “Who’s your connect?”

Shane stared straight ahead. “Internet.”

He might as well have been wearing a neon sign that said
I’M GOING TO LIE NOW.

“Let me help you with those cuffs.” I walked around behind his chair and held up my hand to Bailey for the key. She tossed it to me with a smirk. I unlocked the cuffs. Then ratcheted them down two notches tighter and relocked them. Shane let out a yelp of pain. “Not much better, huh? Sorry ’bout that.”

I walked back around and faced him. “Let’s try that again. Who’s your connect?”

Shane lifted his head defiantly. “I told you, I buy my guns on the Internet.”

“Is that right? Then why’d you burn off all the registration numbers?” That was a separate charge unto itself, and I could file one for each gun. Shane’s sentence could add up to serious double digits real fast.

“That’s how they were when I bought ’em.”

I stared at him. “Seriously, what makes you think I’ll believe such obvious horseshit? Because I’m female?” I folded my arms. “Or is it just that you’re that bad at lying?” Shane opened his mouth to protest. “No. Stop it. We don’t have time for this nonsense. That kid you called a maniac is out there planning his next massacre at this very moment. So start talking, and this time, go with the truth.”

Shane squirmed in his handcuffs, trying to find a comfortable position. I could’ve told him not to bother. When I first joined the DA’s office, I asked a bailiff to cuff me to one of the chairs at counsel table so I could feel what it was like. He was happy to oblige. And then he and the clerk took off for lunch. Such funny, funny guys. For the next hour, I tried to wriggle my way out of them. I learned two things that day: those cuffs are damned uncomfortable and never trust a bailiff.

Shane tried to flex his shoulders, but the electrical cord didn’t leave him any room to move. “You can’t do this. It’s gotta be, like, against the law.”

“That’s cute. A lesson on the law. From the man who sold illegal weapons to a minor. Do you know how many years you’ll get just for bringing those assault rifles into California? Let alone for selling them to a kid? And then we can talk about burning off the serial numbers. By the time I get done stacking up all the charges, you’ll be facing close to a hundred years. And trust me, there isn’t a judge in the county who won’t max you out. Know why? Because you’re going to be Public Enemy Number Three. Right behind the two shooters. They couldn’t have done it without you, and I’ll make sure no one forgets it. In fact, some might even believe you knew that’s what Logan planned all along. That makes you a coconspirator. So tell me, who do you think is going to give a shit that your cuffs are too tight?”

“Coconspirator! You’ve got to be kidding me. I didn’t know!” He looked from me to Bailey to Todd. “I didn’t! You’ve got to believe me!”

“Actually, we might. But I can’t speak for anyone else. Probably another DA will handle your case. And if they decide to charge you with conspiracy and you wind up in front of a jury? Conservatively speaking, I’d say you’re toast. Try to imagine how badly they’re going to want to string up anyone who so much as gave Logan directions to the bathroom. Now imagine how they’ll feel about the guy who gave him the guns.” Shane was shaking his head. “You paying attention? It’s important you stay with me here, because I’m talking about hundreds of counts of conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder.”

Shane’s breath was coming fast and shallow now. “I didn’t know shit! They can’t convict me!”

“Well of course they can. And my guess is they will. They’ll bury you so deep you’ll still be in prison when you reincarnate. So you can talk now and buy yourself a little goodwill. Or you can keep fucking with me and roll the dice with the twelve-headed monster. Your choice.”

Shane shook his head slowly. “I can’t tell you. I’ll be dead.”

“Oh, please, Priscilla, spare us the drama. You’ll be plenty safe. You didn’t think we were just going to take a statement from you and let you trot on home?” I shook my head. “You’re going down for those gun sales no matter what—”

“You think they can’t get to me in prison?”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

Shane pressed his lips together. His face looked pinched.

“We’ll make sure you’re housed in a safe place. Maybe federal custody. Trust me, by the time you finish your sentence, they’ll have forgotten all about you.”

Shane dropped his head and sagged in his chair for several long moments. No one said a word. Finally, he cleared his throat. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “You got my cell?”

Bailey held it up. “Give me the name.”

“Jax. Jax Esposito.”

Bailey started to scroll through his contacts. “How’d you meet him?”

“At a gun show. He had a couple of guns that needed fixing. I fixed them and he paid me in cash on the spot. After that, he asked me if I wanted to help him get rid of some extra inventory. I thought, what the hell? Sell a few guns here and there, but man, I had no idea. Crates of the shit.”

“What kind of guns?”

“All kinds. You name it, he had it. Rifles, shotguns, AKs, revolvers, semi-autos. Dude even had a flamethrower. It was crazy.”

“So how did you wind up buying enough to make a living?” Bailey asked.

“Because I wound up providing…extra services. He was looking for a drug connection in the States—”

“The States?” I asked. “Where’s he from?”

“Mexico.”

“And he was looking to buy?” Bailey asked.

“No, to sell.”

“What kind of drugs?” I asked.

“Weed,
yayo.
I think pills too, but I’m not a hundred percent. Drugs aren’t my thing.” I raised an eyebrow. “Anymore.”

“Yayo?”
Todd asked.

“Cocaine,” Bailey said. “Slang, taken from the Spanish word for ice,
hielo.
”

“So what was the deal?” I asked.

“I’d hook him up with a buyer in the States and he’d give me a sweet deal on guns.”

“Sweet enough to let you resell for a fat profit.”

Shane nodded. “I’ve been saving up to buy a place in Camarillo. I’ve almost got enough for a little two-bedroom near the airport.”

“
Had,
Shane,” I said. “You mean
had.
” Shane sank in his chair and nodded. “How did Logan meet up with this Jax guy?”

“How’d you know he met Jax?”

Because Logan and his buddy had dropped the assault rifles Shane sold them at the school. Because they’d had two more when they did the theater shooting. Which meant Logan had to have bought two more after the Fairmont shooting. If Shane was telling the truth and he hadn’t sold Logan any more guns, then Logan had to have had his own connection. And being a Valley boy, as opposed to the son of a Mafia don or Yakuza oyabun, his opportunities to find gun connections were pretty limited. “Just answer the question. How did Logan meet this guy?”

“The first time I met up with Jax to make the exchange—”

“Guns for you, the name of a buyer for him,” Bailey said.

Shane nodded. “I was nervous. I mean, I’d done some repair work for the guy, but this time we were making a deal, and it was pretty big, so I wanted backup. Someone else around just in case…”

In case Jax decided to take the name and blow Shane off—or blow him away. “You brought Logan,” I said.

“Yeah. Logan knew about my gun business already so I wasn’t worried about him going to the cops or anything. Plus, he was real tall, and with shades on he looked older—and kind of scary.” Shane stopped and shook his head. Even he couldn’t miss the irony of that statement.

“Weren’t you worried Logan might cut you out? Get rid of the middleman and make his own deals with Jax?”

“Of course. That’s why I never left them alone.”

“Never? Your back was never turned? Logan never had a second to slip Jax his phone number, or vice versa?”

Shane frowned. “No…well, I guess I can’t say for sure.”

Bailey and I exchanged a look. Logan was a lot smarter than this nimrod. Plus, he knew that he’d need to restock his arsenal after the school shooting and wouldn’t be able to go back to Shane. “Whose idea was it to bring Logan to that meeting with Jax?”

“Uh, mine. And his. I told him I was about to score the guns he wanted but that I needed some backup, because the guy was kind of shady.”

“And Logan said he could be that backup.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah.”

I inclined my head—
Get it?

He expelled a long breath and turned his head away as he muttered, “Fucker played me.”

Big-time. I took Shane’s phone from Bailey and looked at the entry for Jax. The area code was for Riverside, a few hours south of La Conchita. “You know what, Shane? You need more guns. And right away.”