The Competition (31 page)

By the time
we landed in Boulder it was almost nine thirty. Too late to drop in on Amanda. Bailey rented a car and we drove straight to our hotel, the St. Julien, a fairly nice place with a spa we’d never get to use. Bailey called Harrellson again. And got his voice mail. “Shit,” Bailey said. She threw her cell phone on the bed.

“On the bright side, this must mean Unger’s still in the running,” I said. If he’d been ruled out, Harrellson would’ve let us know by now.

“Yeah, I guess.”

The restaurant was closed, so we showered and ordered room service. I got the chef’s salad, Bailey ordered a hamburger, and we both decided we deserved a bottle of Pinot Noir. When our dinner came, I poured us each a glass and we toasted. “To a cooperative Amanda,” I said.

“And to finding a healthy and breathing Evan.” We clinked glasses.

“I’ve been trying to figure out why she’d do it,” Bailey said. She shook out some ketchup on her fries. They smelled so good—too good to resist. “Wouldn’t you be suspicious if someone told you to mail some letters? I sure as hell would be. And I’d tell him to go mail them himself.”

“You’re assuming she doesn’t know what she’s mailing—”

Bailey picked up her hamburger, and I snuck a couple of fries off her plate.

“Well…yeah.”

“If you’re right, then either she’s kind of dim or this guy has something on her—”

“Or he knows how to charm her,” Bailey said.

As she took another bite of her hamburger, I snaked my hand up to cadge another couple of fries. Bailey sighed, took a fistful of them, dropped them on my bread plate, and passed me the ketchup.

“If she’s shy, insecure, and not particularly streetwise, and he’s kind of a hottie, I can see it,” I said. “No one’s ever paid much attention to her, and then suddenly there’s this charming guy who’s telling her how great she is—”

Bailey sipped her wine. “It fits with what our shrinkers have been saying about psychopaths. How they can be charismatic and really good at manipulating people.”

It did. But if Bailey’s hunch was wrong, if Amanda knew what she was doing in sending those letters—assuming she
was
the letter sender—our chances of getting her to cooperate with us weren’t good. In fact, I could envision her being like the Manson girls: martyrs to the cause of protecting their “hero.”

“We should figure out what we can threaten her with, just in case she hitches up on us,” I said. “Maybe some federal charges for helping to send those letters across state lines or something.”

Bailey ate the last of her fries. “Let’s not go there yet. We have at least a fifty-fifty chance she’ll be cooperative.” She stood up and yawned. “I’m beat, and I’m warning you we’re getting an early start. I want to get to this girl’s house before she leaves for school.”

I was dead tired myself and it was already close to midnight. “But that means we’ll have to be at her house before seven thirty.” Bailey stared at me. “Fine.”

But as it turned out, I was so keyed up my eyes flew open at six a.m. Neither one of us wanted to bother with breakfast. We made coffee in the little two-cup machine in the room and drank it while we got ready. I piled on my thermal underwear, sweater, down vest, and coat, slipped on my gloves, and wrapped my wool scarf around my neck.

Bailey’s lips twitched when she saw my getup. “We’re not doing the interview on an ice floe.” She was wearing a crew neck sweater and a parka. No vest, no scarf, no gloves.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll peel off a few layers if you fire up the car heater.”

“Want to borrow my parka?”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

The city of Boulder isn’t big—just under thirty square miles—and the population is just over one hundred thousand. Surprising, because it’s a beautiful place. It lies in a valley with the Rocky Mountains on one side and the Flatirons on the other. Nothing but spectacular views wherever you look. And we happened to hit a particularly gorgeous day, the sky a kind of deep, limitless blue you’ll never find in a big city. The air had that crisp, green mountain smell. “Where’s the snow?”

“They don’t usually get any until later in the year.”

How Bailey knows stuff like this is beyond me. It only took us ten minutes to get to Amanda’s neighborhood. It was pleasant and typically suburban—lots of basketball hoops in driveways and cars with bumper stickers for the kind of hip radio channels and liberal causes that showed they belonged to teenagers. But unlike suburbia in Los Angeles, the houses weren’t crammed on top of one another. Here, there were only a few houses on each side of the street, and evergreen and pine trees filled the space between them. The houses were all ranch style, and Amanda’s had a long front walk lined with yellow flowers. A beat-up skateboard on the front lawn told me Amanda probably had a younger sibling. My heart began to thud as Bailey parked in front of the house. A lot could be gained—or lost—in this meeting.

Bailey pulled her coat closed to hide the gun in her shoulder holster. I left mine in my purse. As she joined me on the sidewalk, she said, “Here goes nothin’.”

“Yep.” I put on a confident smile. So did Bailey. Neither of us was fooled, but we weren’t the audience that mattered.

I followed Bailey up the front walk, feeling my palms sweating inside my gloves. We’d just reached the front porch when the door opened and a little boy, who looked no older than eight or nine, came hurtling out, the hood of his parka pulled up over his head, with the rest of the coat flying behind him like a cape. “Bye, Mom!” he yelled, then “Oops!” as he ran smack into Bailey and bounced back.

“Hey, big man, where’s the fire?” Bailey laughed. Moments like these reminded me that she came from a big, healthy, loving family. I’d had the opposite. It made me wonder what that was like. The pang of loss for something I never had—and never would have—hit me every single time.

A tall, slender woman in a business suit with brown hair twisted in a low bun appeared in the doorway. “Zip up, Petey, it’s cold!” The boy reluctantly put his arms into his coat and zipped up, then continued on his way. The woman looked at us. “Can I help you?”

Bailey pulled out her badge and cupped it in her palm so only the woman could see it. “Janice Kozak?”

The woman looked perplexed. “Yes.”

“We’re looking for Amanda.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“It might be better if we discussed this inside,” Bailey said. “If you don’t mind.”

“Yes, of course.” She stepped back and held the door open. “Come in.”

We followed her past the kitchen and into a cozy living room. Bailey and I sat on the plaid chenille sofa, and Janice sat on a matching wing chair across from us. I introduced myself and showed her my badge. “I know this is inconvenient. Please understand, we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t urgent.” I told her we were investigating the shootings at Fairmont High and the Cinemark theater. When she heard that, her eyes widened. And then I told her we had reason to believe Amanda might know someone connected to them.

She put a hand to her throat. “‘Connected’? To one of the shooters? That’s impossible! Amanda doesn’t know anyone who—”

“Mom?”

And there she stood, at the end of the hallway that led into the living room. Amanda—in jeans, boots, and a blue hoodie, looking very much like her photograph.

Janice beckoned to her daughter. “These are police officers from Los Angeles, honey. They think you might know someone connected to the shootings.” Janice kept her eyes on Amanda, and I had the feeling she was waiting for her daughter to insist that was impossible. Amanda stood frozen and looked from her mother to us with wide eyes, but said nothing. Janice studied her daughter for a moment, then said, “Is that true, honey?”

“N-no, no, it can’t be.”

Janice turned back to us. “Is she in trouble?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “But we can’t be sure until we talk to her.” I didn’t want to mislead anyone. Amanda might be in a lot of trouble. We just didn’t know at this point.

Janice’s hand shook as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then m-maybe I should call a lawyer.”

I couldn’t let this happen. We needed the information a lot more than we needed to arrest Amanda. And we didn’t have time to haggle with lawyers. “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. Nothing she says to us right now will be used against her. And if we get to a point where we can’t honor that promise anymore, we’ll stop talking and let you call a lawyer. Okay?”

Amanda finally found her voice. “Somebody tell me what’s going on!”

“We’re investigating the shootings at Fairmont High and the Cinemark theater, as your mother said. Bailey Keller is the detective on the case, and I’m the prosecutor. My name is Rachel Knight.”

Amanda’s mouth dropped open. She took a step back. “
You’re
Rachel Knight?”

I nodded.

I pulled out my badge in its case and held it out to her. She moved toward me as though she were sleepwalking and slowly took the badge from my hand. When she looked from the badge to the photo ID on the opposite side, she sank down on the ottoman near Janice. Her expression told me we’d found our letter mailer.

“Who was it, Amanda?” I asked. “Who gave you the letters to mail?”

Amanda’s lips moved, but no sounds came out at first. Then, finally, she managed a low whisper. “Evan. Evan Cutter.”

I felt all
the blood leave my face as her words washed over me. It couldn’t be. A buzzing filled my brain as I fought to make sense of what I’d just heard. Evan Cutter, the second shooter. The frightened runaway, the reluctant witness was…the suspect? A thousand questions sprang to mind. “What did he tell you about me and why he wanted you to mail those letters?”

“H-he s-said Rachel Knight was a school counselor who was coordinating the grief therapy sessions. He said the letters were condolences. He felt bad for the kids because he used to go to Fairmont High.”

“So he told you he wasn’t going to Fairmont High anymore?” Amanda nodded. “Did he say where he was going?”

“He said he was getting a GED.”

“And you never wondered why he didn’t mail the letters himself?” She shook her head again. “Amanda, I have to tell you, the letters he gave you were not condolence letters.”

“Th-they weren’t?”

“No.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and fell silent. I waited for her to absorb the news.

Finally, she looked at me. “What were they?”

“Threats. Written by one of the killers.”

She jumped to her feet. “What? No way! That’s impossible!”

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” I pulled the copy I’d made of the letters from my purse and held them out to her.

Her breath was coming fast and shallow. She stared at the pages in my hand as though they were poisonous snakes. “That’s impossible! I know it is because…because didn’t the same guys do the theater shooting?”

“Yes. So?”

“So, there’s no way! He couldn’t have done the shooting at that theater.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was gone! He ran away; it was on the news!” Tears sprang to her eyes.

I didn’t bother to argue. “Then you haven’t heard from him since he gave you the last letter?”

“No.”

“Please read these letters, Amanda. It’s important that you know the truth.”

Amanda took the letters and sat down on the ottoman. Her mother leaned in and read with her. I watched as the horror spread across their faces.

Everything we’d believed about Evan was a lie. The distraught, conflicted friend, the frightened witness—all of it was an act.

Harrellson had said Evan was present in homeroom the day of the shooting. But now that I thought about it, he could easily have slipped away when the class headed for the gym. The gym. Didn’t Harrellson say he thought he’d seen a witness statement putting Evan in the gym at the time of the shooting? But I couldn’t remember him ever saying he’d confirmed it. I’d bet there was no such statement.

Then I remembered how Evan had talked about Otis during our first interview. What he said, the way he’d said it. Just enough spin to build suspicion, but not so much that it seemed pointed or vindictive. And Evan and Otis were close enough in size. Otis, the loner loser—and the perfect patsy. I thought about the timing of the second letter. If Evan got the second letter to Amanda on Thursday, it could easily have gotten to me the day of the Cinemark shooting. The timing worked.

As for the logic…that did too. There was no doubt that the same shooter who’d done the Fairmont High attack had done the Cinemark shooting. And we now suspected there was only one shooter at the Cinemark. Evan was never “on the run.” He was just gearing up for his next massacre.

In fact, now that I thought about it, all his tweets about “police harassment” were nothing more than window dressing, meant to set us up to believe he was scared so we wouldn’t get suspicious when he took off.

“Oh, God!” Amanda dropped the letters, covered her mouth, and ran out of the room. From down the hall, we heard the sounds of violent retching. Janice picked up the pages and stared at them, pale and speechless.

A few minutes later, Amanda stumbled back into the room clutching a wad of Kleenex, her face clammy. She squeezed into the wing chair with her mother and put her head on Janice’s shoulder. Janice wrapped her arms around Amanda and stroked her hair.

Did it occur to me that this might be an act? Of course. After Evan’s successful feint I was ready to second-guess gravity. But this time I was prepared. “Amanda, I showed you those letters because I need you to understand how important it is that you be completely honest with us. We have every reason to believe he’s going to commit another mass murder. We don’t know where or when, but we know it’s coming. And soon. Whatever information you have, anything you know about him, it’s critical that you share it with us.”

“But I don’t have any information! I don’t know what he’s going to do. He never told me anything!”

He probably didn’t tell her what he intended to do. That much I believed. But she had to know
something.
She’d mailed those letters and apparently never thought to question it. Why? I knew there was more to that than just blind trust.

I wanted to think about it before I pushed the issue any further. For the moment, I turned to Janice. “Did you meet Evan?”

“No, but Hank did.”

“Your husband?” Janice nodded. “How did that come about?”

Amanda looked up and darted a glance at her mother out of the corner of her eye. “My dad took us to a gun show,” Amanda said. “He hunts. I don’t. But I like to go to the range and do target practice.”

I smiled at Amanda. “Me too. When was it that you all went to the gun show?”

Amanda fidgeted with a spot on her jeans. “I don’t know. A while ago.”

She seemed uncomfortable. I had a feeling it had to do with her mother being there. “Janice, do you think I can impose on you for a glass of water? All this clean air is starting to get to me.”

Janice patted Amanda’s arm. “Of course. Detective Keller, can I get you something as well?”

“Do you have tea?” Bailey asked. Janice nodded and stood up. Bailey joined her. “Let me help you.”

Bailey hated tea. But that was her signal that she was buying me time alone with Amanda. When Janice and Bailey left the room, I leaned toward Amanda, who’d reseated herself on the ottoman, and kept my voice low. “You’re not in any trouble, Amanda. I’m going to tell your mom that you won’t need a lawyer. But I think it’d be better if we talked privately. What do you say?”

Amanda nodded and swallowed hard. “Only, can you promise not to tell anyone what I tell you?”

“I can promise to try. Okay?”

She sighed and looked away. Her hair fell forward, cloaking her face like a blanket. Eventually, she nodded. Bailey came in carrying a cup of tea and raised her eyebrows at me in a silent question. I nodded. Janice followed, carrying two bottles of water. I took one of the bottles and thanked her.

“Amanda is not going to need a lawyer. She’s not in any trouble and she’s not going to be.”

Bailey took over. “But we will need to talk to her for quite a while. So if you wouldn’t mind calling the school…”

Janice nodded and turned to look at me. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll put it in writing and on tape if you like.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“But it would help if we could talk to her alone,” I said. “We need her to try and remember a lot of details, and having someone else listening can be a distraction.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but it was the best I could come up with off the cuff.

Janice looked uncertain. “I think I’d rather—”

“Mom, it’s okay. I’m not a baby. Let me do this. And you need to get to work anyway. These guys can take me to school when we’re done.”

Janice studied her daughter. “No, I’m staying here. Work can wait. But I won’t sit with you, okay? I’ll just be in the den…”

Amanda sighed. “Okay.”

Janice scanned us all with one last look of concern, then left the room. Amanda moved to the wing chair and tucked her feet under her. I picked up where we’d left off. “When was the last time you went to a gun show?”

“Last spring. I wasn’t that interested, but Evan wanted to go.”

“Was that out here in Colorado? Or in Texas?”

“Here, in Colorado Springs.”

“So he traveled out here to see you?”

“Not just me. He said they were going to visit family out in Utah.”

“So he didn’t come alone?”

“No, he brought Logan.” Amanda swallowed, her expression wary. “He’s the guy…the other shooter, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Was he friendly with you?” Amanda let her hair fall all the way across her face. The gesture couldn’t have been more obvious. “It’s not your fault, Amanda. There was no way for you to know.”

After a few moments, she nodded. “He…sorta had a crush on me. But I got the feeling it was mostly because he always wanted what Evan had.”

“And were you Evan’s girlfriend?”

Amanda nodded shyly. I saw a faint tinge of pride before she dropped her eyes. “We got together just before I moved out here. Back in Lubbock, we saw each other every day, but we didn’t really get, like, involved until about a month before I left.” Amanda gazed off into the distance of her memory, a happier place. “Evan could get any girl he wanted. Even last year’s junior prom queen. She was a model. And he was just a sophomore.”

Wow. Imagine. “So he was pretty popular?”

Amanda stared at the floor. “Yeah. I figured he’d never be into somebody like me.”

He never was. But I wouldn’t be the one to give her that painful news. “Was that gun show the first time you met Logan?”

“Yeah. Actually, that was the only time I ever saw him. After that visit, Logan wrote to me for a little while, but then he stopped.”

“Letters? Or emails?”

“Letters.”

“Did you answer him?”

“Sure. I felt sorry for him. He seemed kind of…sad, you know? He wrote a lot about how he’d always felt so alone, how no one ‘got’ him—”

“Not even Evan?”

“No. But I never thought he and Evan were that tight. Evan never talked about Logan, and Logan hardly ever mentioned Evan in his letters. That’s why when I heard Logan might be a suspect, it never occurred to me that Evan could be…” Amanda stopped and bit her lip. She blinked rapidly, then continued. “Anyway, I got the feeling Logan just liked being able to hang out with someone that cool. Someone who wasn’t afraid of anything.”

“And Evan wasn’t afraid of anything?” I’d never seen him show that kind of swagger. But I’d only seen the act. Not the real Evan. I’d bet the guy Amanda saw was closer to the truth.

“Yeah. Nothing scared Evan. Logan thought that was amazing.” Amanda’s face crumpled, and she wiped away a tear that escaped from the corner of her eye. “I did too.”

I knew where her thoughts were taking her. I tried to nip it in the bud. “It makes perfect sense for you to be sad that Evan isn’t the person you thought he was. But if you’re feeling guilty about it, you have to stop.” Amanda bit her lip. The pain in her eyes was heartbreaking. “Evan’s a very good actor. He fooled a lot of people for quite a long time—us included. And it’s our job to spot guys like that. So let yourself off the hook, okay?” Amanda nodded without looking up. I hoped my words would sink in eventually. But right now, I had to move on. “So Logan confided in you about feeling lonely and depressed. Did he ever say anything about suicide?”

“Never, like, ‘I’m gonna do it.’ More like it was something he used to think about when he was a kid.” Amanda pushed her hair back. “If he’d said something about wanting to kill himself right then, I’d have told someone. For sure.”

Talk of past suicidal thoughts could just be typical melodramatic teenage posturing. Or it could be an oblique way of talking about serious
current
suicidal ideation. Obviously, Logan’s talk was the latter. But there was no way for Amanda to have known that. “You say he wrote to you for a while, then stopped. How come?”

“I think he could tell from my letters that Evan and I were together, and I wasn’t into anything more than being friends.”

“Do you still have those letters from Logan?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

I was too. They might not have been terribly illuminating, but any little bit of information would’ve helped. The more we could learn about these shooters, the better we’d be at spotting them in the future. Maybe. “Let’s get back to the gun show. Did he or Logan buy any guns?”

“They couldn’t. But I remember they went off on their own for a while.” Amanda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I couldn’t find them, and my dad was, like, ‘Where are they?’ It was so uncool. He was pissed.”

“Did you see either of them with a gun after the show?” I asked.

“No. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t have one. They could’ve found someone to buy a gun for them. That happens sometimes.”

Yes, it does. The picture was becoming clearer. I’d bet Evan had sized up Amanda right from the jump as someone he could use. I doubted he knew exactly how she’d be of use to him when she moved to Colorado. But he was obviously capable of long-range thinking and he knew a valuable asset when he saw one. So when he found out she was moving, he made Amanda his girlfriend. After all, what did it take? A bit of romancing before she left, some phone calls now and then after she’d moved. And it had paid off. I had no doubt that by the time he and Logan went to the gun show with Amanda, their plans for Fairmont High were well under way.

So now I knew why Evan had trusted her to mail the letters to me. What I still didn’t get was why she’d done it.