The Competition (30 page)

We headed back
downtown. “What’s up with Evan?” I asked. “It’s been long enough for him to hear that Logan’s dead.”

“Yeah,” Bailey said. “He should’ve surfaced by now. And if he hasn’t heard about Logan, something’s really wrong.”

What we didn’t say out loud: Evan knew who the second shooter was—and the second shooter knew it too. I pictured Evan’s body at the bottom of a ravine, or in a Dumpster, or lying in a shallow grave in the hills of Griffith Park. “And his cell phone’s still off?”

“Yeah. I get that he didn’t want us to be able to track him at first, but now…”

“Right,” I said. “You’ve put out enough manpower to find Hoffa’s body. So now what?”

“The only thing left to do is dig into his past, see if there’s someplace or someone he could’ve run to. I had a uni get a list of his past addresses and schools from the parents. The report should be waiting for us when we get back.”

“We haven’t had any luck on whoever mailed the letters in Boulder yet, right?”

“No, but it could still happen.” She sighed.

Luck hadn’t been our strong suit lately.

When we got back to the station, we found Harrellson with his feet up on Bailey’s desk, talking on his cell. Given his size, that was a fairly acrobatic move. Bailey pointed to his shoes. “Get those things off.” She looked at me. “What is it with men and my desk lately?”

Harrellson ended his call and reluctantly dropped his feet. “This is the thanks I get for doing your dirty work?”

“What dirty work?” Bailey asked.

“A uni dropped off the list of past home addresses and schools from Evan’s parents. I took it upon myself to get the phone numbers of principals and counselors.” He handed Bailey a stapled batch of pages. “You’re welcome. And yes, I am a gem.”

Bailey handed back half of the printouts. “Okay, Ruby, you want to earn my undying gratitude, why don’t you help us make the calls?”

“Ruby. Bullshit. This here”—he gestured to his bulk—“diamond, baby. Several carats, set in platinum.” He took the pages back from Bailey. “I’ll make two copies so Ms. Daisy over here can join in the fun.”

I glared at him. “It’s not my fault. She won’t let me drive.”

Harrellson raised an eyebrow. “Not what she says, but whatever.” He hefted himself out of the chair and trundled out to make the copies.

I pulled up a chair next to Bailey’s desk. “What are we looking for? Names of friends? Connections to Boulder? To Utah? What?”

“All of the above. And of course, if you come up with any link to our second shooter along the way, that’d be nice—”

“And how do I go about getting all that stuff?”

“I don’t know. Fish around.”

I looked at Bailey. “Fish around? That’s your plan?”

“You got a better one?”

“Be hard to do worse.”

“Then let’s hear it.”

The truth was, I hadn’t had anything like a plan, but in that moment, something did occur to me. A way to get at the second shooter. “Get someone to check out where there were gun shows that Logan and the second shooter could have gotten to. If they had another source besides Jax, it most likely came from someone at a place like that. And that’s who the second shooter might go back to now.”

Since Logan wasn’t eighteen, he couldn’t have legally scored a gun on his own. If the second shooter was in the same boat, his options were similarly limited. But security at gun shows was notoriously lax. If Logan and his buddy had scored at a gun show, that seller might be the second shooter’s other connection.

“Not bad. I’ll get someone on it.” Bailey picked up her phone. “Nice, the way you pulled that one out of your ass at the last minute.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. I thought of that, like…yesterday.”

Bailey gave me a look and sat down at her computer.

Harrellson came back with the copies. “The list goes back to elementary school,” he said. “First grade, I think.”

We got down to work.

Evan had moved around even more than we’d originally thought. Before Texas, his family had lived in New Mexico, Wyoming, Louisiana, and Arizona. This little fishing expedition was turning into a global sea hunt.

Harrellson scanned the list and blew out a breath. “Damn, this is crazy. Tell you what. You take New Mexico and Texas. Since those were his last addresses before he moved here, they’re the most likely to pan out. I’ll take the rest.”

I nodded toward Bailey, who was on the phone. “Her Nibs over there can do some too.”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. The minute she’s off that phone, she’ll take Wyoming and Arizona.”

“I notice you’re keeping Louisiana.”

“Because even over the phone I can smell the gumbo.”

The principal of Evan’s high school in New Mexico was a sweetheart. I explained about Evan having run away. “Oh, that poor dear. He must be terrified. How can I help?”

I decided that while I was hunting for Evan, I’d ask about any kids he hung out with who might’ve moved to California—someone who might be our second shooter. I asked the principal for a list of kids who’d transferred out of the school during the year Evan was there, and for six months after that. “And if you could also tell me whether any of them had been in Evan’s classes, that would be a big help.”

“That should be easy enough. Can you hang on a sec?”

“Sure.”

In less than two minutes she was back. “I had a feeling. There were no transfers during that time frame. We’re a pretty stable population here.”

Damn. I asked if there was any indication of who his friends were, what clubs he might’ve joined. Nothing. I thanked the principal and moved on to the high school in Lubbock, Texas.

The principal there recommended I talk to Evan’s counselor, a Mr. Greg Kingsley. Greg was more than happy to help, but his drawl was so heavy it was like listening to a foreign language. “Can you find out whether any of the students who were in school with Evan transferred out—say within six months after he left?”

“Yeah, but it’ll take me a bit. You don’t mind hangin’ on?”

I heard computer keys being tapped as Greg hummed to himself softly. “Oh, yeah, I plum forgot about that. Evan did get into a bit of trouble. Nothin’ big, mind you, but I s’pose that’s what bein’ a teenager’s for.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Just a bit of petty stealin’, from what I recall. But you folks probably have more access to that information than I do.”

“Was it out there in Lubbock?”

“Yeah. Evan and a couple other boys stole a cell phone out of a truck parked alongside the road. From what I remembah, they all got probation and had to do some community service. Freeway cleanup? Somethin’ like that.”

Theft from a car. That really was small-time. “Did Evan have a probation officer?”

“Yeah. Let me finish this search and I’ll get that for you.”

The probation officer would have the names of the other two culprits. Maybe I’d get lucky and one of them would turn out to be our second shooter. And maybe the Easter Bunny would show up with a basket of chocolate eggs too. Finally, Greg came back.

“Okay, the PO’s name is Stanley Addison.” He gave me the phone number. “As I recall, he was pretty impressed with Evan. But you give him a jingle, he’ll tell you hisself. I looked at all the transfers out of the school durin’ the year Evan was here and for six months after he left, like you asked. Only got twelve transfers total. One of ’em did have a class with him. A girl. Transferred out just before Christmas break. Want her name?”

What the hell, may as well. “Sure.”

“Amanda Kozak.”

The name pinged. “Do you have any contact information for her?”

“I don’t know how good it is now, but I’ve got cell phone numbers for her and her mom.” He gave them to me.

“Do you have any idea where she transferred to?”

“Yeah, says here she moved to Boulder, Colorado.”

And that’s when it hit me. Amanda. The name of the girl in Logan’s writings. The one he was in love with. In Boulder, Colorado. It couldn’t be a coincidence. I got her address. Then I called Stanley, the PO. He wasn’t in, so I left a message. I found Bailey and filled her in.

“Well, what do you know,” she said. “An actual, bona fide lead. So
that’s
how it feels.” Bailey sat down at her desk. “I’ll follow up on Amanda. We should see her in person. Hell, Evan might even be with her.”

“Yeah, but let’s wait to hear back from the PO first. He might have something for us, and I think he’ll call back soon.”

“Okay, but if he doesn’t pan out, go pack your Skivvies. We’re heading for Boulder.”

I was right.
Five minutes later, I got a call back from Stanley, the PO. I asked him about the other two suspects in the car burglary. “Were they juveniles too?”

“Yeah. Coupla goofball stoners. High as kites when they did it.”

“And Evan? Was he high?”

“Didn’t test dirty, but I’m not sure what they tested for, so I wouldn’t swear he was clean. Probably wasn’t. The whole thing seemed like a stoner kid prank to tell you the truth. But Evan Cutter got the message. He was the only one who completed his community service on time. Matter of fact, he was a model probationer. Even wrote a letter of apology to the victim all on his own. Don’t see that very often.” Stanley sighed. “You gonna find him, you think?”

“We’re trying. Where are the other kids who did the car burg with him?”

“Hold on, lemme check.” A few moments later, he came back on the line. “One of ’em’s in juvenile hall for drug possession. Been there for the past three months. Other one…let me see. Mark Unger. Looks like he moved. Yep, got a forwarding address out in San Diego. Want it?”

I sure as hell did. “Do you know whether that address is still good?”

“Nope. He’s San Diego’s problem now.”

Or maybe the San Fernando Valley’s. “You have a description of him?”

“Hang on…five ten, one sixty, brown and brown.”

It fit. “Thanks for your time, Stanley.”

“Not a problem. Anything else I can do, you just let me know. Damn shame if something happened to Evan. Seems like it’s always the good ones.”

In the immortal words of Billy Joel. When I hung up, Bailey was typing on her computer. I told her about Mark Unger. “It may not pan out but—”

“But it just might,” Bailey said. “I think we need to divide and conquer. Harrellson’s got connects in San Diego—”

“Harrellson’s got connects on the moon—”

“How’d you find out? Anyway, he’ll get faster answers down there than we will. We should head out to Boulder. This girl might be a link to our shooter. And if Evan’s with her, I don’t want to give him the chance to move on.”

“But what if—”

“The shooter strikes again? What more can we do here?”

I shook my head. Nothing. And we hadn’t had a letter. Maybe now that he’d lost his partner in crime, the killer had to fall back and regroup. It was our only hope.

“I assume this means you found Amanda?” I asked.

“Yep. She’s been in school every day.” Bailey resumed typing. “I’m banging out our request for travel authorization.”

Five minutes later, we headed to Graden’s office, paperwork in hand. He had a new secretary, Cherie, who was a little too young and flirty for my taste. She was staring at her computer screen and barely glanced up when we said we needed to see Graden. “I don’t think he’s available right now.” She went back to her monitor as she said, “Have a seat. I’ll let him know you want to see him.”

Bailey raised an eyebrow. “You do know we’re working the Fairmont case, right?”

With an irritated sigh, Cherie looked up from her computer screen. “Yeah, I know. And I also know he’s busy right now. So if you can’t wait, I suggest you come back in half an hour.”

Sure, why don’t we, honey? Another fifty people might be dead by then, but, whatever. Bailey’s expression should have warned Cherie that she’d taken the wrong tack, but it didn’t. Cherie blithely went back to her computer.

“Uh, Cherie? We can’t wait half an hour. Matter of fact, we can’t wait five minutes. Now you can either call and tell him we’re here, or you can call the hospital and book yourself a bed. Right friggin’ now.”

Cherie’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to threaten me, Detective.”

“No? That’s funny, I thought I just did.”

“We’ll see what Lieutenant Hales has to say about this.” Cherie glared at Bailey, but her hand trembled as she picked up her phone and pressed the buzzer. “Sir, I need to see you for just a moment.” She got up and went into Graden’s office.

I pulled out the ten-spot Jay had given me. “Ten bucks says she’s canned by tomorrow.”

“Two to one she’s canned in three minutes.”

I looked at Bailey. “Getting a little cocky, aren’t we?”

“You know how we’ve been feeling?”

“Yeah.” Pissed off, freaked-out, and frustrated beyond speech.

“And Graden’s stuck behind a desk.” Bailey looked at her watch. “In three-two-one—”

Cherie burst out of Graden’s office, beet red, eyes shooting sparks. She refused to even glance our way as she yanked open her desk drawer, pulled out her purse and her thermos, and snatched her coat off the back of her chair.

Bailey gave her a fake smile. “Have a nice day.”

Graden appeared at the door and motioned for us to come in. The glint in his eyes showed just how right Bailey had been. This was no time to whine about a detective who was running down the biggest case in the city.

Bailey filled Graden in on all the latest developments in one long breath.

Graden didn’t hesitate when she’d finished. “You’re good to go on the travel request. You want local backup, just in case?”

“Not yet. We can’t afford a leak right now. The fewer people who know where we’re headed, the better. If Evan’s with her, he might run. And there’s no reason to think she poses a threat at this point.”

“Not even if she’s knowingly helping our shooter?”

Bailey set her jaw. “It’s a chance we’ll have to take. We can’t afford to have either one of them slip through our fingers.”

Graden looked at me. “Is your carry up-to-date?”

Meaning, my license to carry a concealed weapon. I’d resisted getting one for years until Bailey finally put her foot down. “Yep. I’m locked and loaded.”

Graden came around the desk. “Now listen, any trouble at all, you call for backup immediately. No cowboy antics.” We nodded. “I’ll have them put you on the first available flight.”

We headed for the door, and then I remembered what I’d been meaning to ask him. “Any progress on finding out who planted the bug in my office?”

“Nothing yet, but we’re moving pretty fast. Your investigators are helping out.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“And text me when you land. There and here. Please.” I had a habit of forgetting to do that. I nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. Graden did not look reassured. “Be safe.”

Bailey picked up the murder book on our way out. “I’ll drop you at the Biltmore. Pack fast—they’ll probably get us an early evening flight.”

I was sitting on my suitcase, trying to get it zipped, when Bailey called to say she was downstairs. “We’ve got a six o’clock flight and the traffic’s going to be a bitch. Get the lead out.”

They say you should wear layers when traveling to a colder climate. I took the advice to heart: long underwear, jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, turtleneck sweater, down vest, wool scarf, and my long down coat. I waddled down to the lobby as fast as I could, and by the time I got there, I was starting to sweat.

Angel raised an eyebrow when he saw me. “I didn’t know you skied.”

“I don’t.” Actually, I used to. I liked the speed, loved carrying the schnapps-filled bota bag, but—big surprise—I couldn’t handle the cold.

“You flying up to Alaska or something?”

“No.”

Angel mouthed “okay” as he held the door open for a group of twenty-somethings who had that giddy “I got off work early and I’m ready to party” look. I rolled my suitcase over to Bailey’s trunk and motioned for her to pop it open.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Angel said. He reached down and hefted it up with a grunt, then swung it into the trunk.

The moment I got into the car, Bailey said, “What did you put in that thing? I can hear my back tires going flat.” Then she glanced at me. “Nice look, Nanook. Should only take you three hours to get through security.”

The traffic was the worst kind—barely moving, but people were still trying to dart and weave through it. I’d rolled down the window to cool off, but the heavy exhaust fumes made me feel like I was inhaling cancer. Better to sweat than die. I closed the window. “Think it’s too soon to call Harrellson?” We were praying that Mark Unger, the kid in San Diego, was our second shooter, but Harrellson had threatened to strangle us if we called and bugged him about his progress.

“Probably. Do it anyway.”

I called him at the station and got his voice mail. I called him on his cell…and got his voice mail. “Damn.”

“Yeah, it’s a pisser. We’ll try him again after we get checked in.”

But when we got to the airport there was no time to spare. Luckily, the security line moved fast. Even so, we had to run all the way to the gate and only just made it before they closed the door to the Jetway.

“What’ve you got on Amanda so far?” I asked, as we fastened our seat belts. Bailey had asked one of the unis to dig into her records.

“Nothing that stands out. Average student, never in trouble. Driver’s license shows no outstanding tickets. No juvenile history.”

Bailey pulled out a print of a photograph and passed it to me. A serious-looking young girl with long, straight brown hair parted down the middle stared back at me. She had the kind of features that could be prettied up with makeup and a little confidence, but even in this photo I could see the insecurity in her eyes. “Anybody in her family into guns?”

“Dad owns a hunting rifle and a handgun, but he doesn’t have a carry.”

Colorado was big hunting country, so that wasn’t unusual, but it did mean she had some connection to guns. “You find any gun shows near Boulder?”

Bailey gave me a little smile. “Funny you should mention it. I found a pretty big one in Colorado Springs.”

“When was it?”

“April.”

Six months before the shooting. “The timing works,” I said.

“And it’s only an hour and a half away from Boulder.”

The edges of the puzzle were starting to fall into place. I sighed. Now if we could just find the center piece.