The Third Victim Part 20

"Alibis for children," Rainie muttered, and rolled her eyes.

"Why the ones who were absent?"

"Because no one says the shooter had to be in attendance that day.

Plus, they still might be involved. In several of the shootings, other students played a role, either encouraging the main suspect's actions or enjoying the show."

"What?

"Bethel, Alaska," Quincy said.

"Evan Ramsey did the shooting, but two fourteen-year-olds encouraged him. One went so far as to teach him how to use the shotgun. Both a.s.sembled some of their other friends to join them in the cafeteria for a "show."

"Wonderful."

"Luke Woodham also appears to have been influenced by other kids,"

Quincy reported.

"In this case, I'm wondering if that's where Danny's obsession with "I'm smart" is coming from. It sounds rehea.r.s.ed and overly vehement.

Either it's a phrase he's using to compensate for genuine doubts about his intelligence, or it's a cover for something else. Something that's still too frightening or overwhelming for him to say. How did he seem after the shooting?"

"Distant. Withdrawn. He sobbed a little when he heard his mother's voice. Then he fell asleep like a baby in the back of the patrol car."

Quincy nodded, not surprised by her description. "He's dissociating, keeping himself distanced from the events until he's able to deal with them. That's a normal reaction to any kind of trauma. The question becomes, how long will the dissociation last, and how will he react when his mind does start to process what happened."

"He's on suicide watch," Rainie volunteered.

"I understand that's standard procedure for a case like his."

"It's not a bad idea. Unfortunately, Danny is probably suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and now will go through its various symptoms. One day he might talk about everything very matter-of-factly, then collapse, weeping, the next day. He might sound cold at times as he repeats the day's events over and over again. He will probably refuse to call victims by name. All of this can be interpreted one way or another by well-meaning people. And none of it means he's guilty. It simply means he's experienced a trauma, whether as a perpetrator or a witness, and his mind is struggling to cope. That fact, however, can get quickly lost."

Rainie sighed.

"I don't know," she said.

"Maybe we're making this too complicated. On the one hand, some things don't make sense about the shooting. On the other hand, what shooting makes sense? And who else could've done it? All the students present that day were in cla.s.s when the shots were fired, so they're accounted for. The only two students with time lapses are Danny and Becky, and neither choice is appealing. Maybe in the end it's just too hard to believe a child did it, so I focus on the question because it's easier than the answer."

"It's good to focus on questions," Quincy said.

"It's your job."

"Well, it's not a good job today, Agent. Maybe tomorrow it will be, but I'm not particularly enjoying it today."

She headed for the side doors, obviously disturbed again. Quincy wasn't surprised when she stopped by the broken windows and gazed out on the rolling green hills and afternoon sun. Recharge, he thought.

Sometimes he had to do that himself.

He bent down and inspected the shooting area more closely. He noted the way the bodies had lain and tried to picture in what direction they'd fallen. Then he explored the door frame around Melissa Avalon's computer lab for telltale holes.

Ten minutes later he was done making notes. Now he had many questions for the medical examiner.

He turned back to Rainie, who was still standing by the broken doors.

She was no longer looking outside, however, but staring at the outline of Melissa Avalon's body. Her gray eyes were impossible to read, her features stilled.

Quincy wondered how few hours of sleep Rainie Conner had gotten last night. And for just one moment, he was tempted to ask her. To step over the line and into her s.p.a.ce, because once upon a time he'd been the inexperienced agent with a homicide and he understood how some images stayed in your head long after you turned out the lights.

Some nights he did wake up screaming.

But that was neither here nor there.

He said, "I'm done now."

Rainie led him from the building. Wednesday, May 16, 12:52 p.m.

Outside, Rainie and Quincy encountered Princ.i.p.al Steven VanderZanden. A slightly built man with an expressive face and twinkling eyes, he now appeared subdued as he surveyed bloodred roses piled against the chain-link fence. The wind ruffled his dark, thinning hair and pressed his gray suit against his frame. He didn't seem to notice. He walked the fence line, adjusting arrangements so that names showed more clearly, then pushed back two teddy bears to reveal a framed portrait of Melissa Avalon.

Rainie and Quincy walked up to him quietly. Princ.i.p.al VanderZanden and his wife were relatively new to Bakersville, having moved into the area three years earlier when VanderZanden accepted the job at the K-8. Not having kids, Rainie had never met him until last summer, when they'd rubbed shoulders at a town function. VanderZanden had impressed her then with his enthusiasm for his students and his rapport with their parents. No project was too big in his eyes, no student too small for his attention. He had been giggling like a schoolgirl over having secured the federal grant for Bakersville's first computer lab and could barely wait to surf the Web himself.

He also seemed a little bit flirtatious, but he had a few gla.s.ses of wine under his belt when she'd run into him, and, frankly, the whole crowd was pretty loose by then.

"Princ.i.p.al VanderZanden." Rainie shook his hand. She could tell he was preoccupied. Yesterday evening he'd returned to the school to survey the damage and inquire as to when he might have the building back. With only one month to go before school was out for the summer, no one knew what to do about cla.s.ses. They could bus the kids to neighboring Cabot, but that town was nearly forty minutes away, and after everything that had happened, parents wanted to keep their kids close to home.

"How are you, sir?" Rainie made the introduction between VanderZanden and Quincy. She still wasn't sure what she thought of the federal agent's presence, but so far he was proving less annoying than the state detective. There was something to be said for that.

"Are you an expert?" VanderZanden homed in on Quincy's credentials.

"Can you tell me what happened in my school?"

"I don't think there's any such thing as an expert when it comes to these crimes."

"Maybe we should've gone with metal detectors." VanderZanden turned back toward the building.

"After the Springfield shooting, Oregon educators were warned. But even then I thought of it as an issue for the high schools to address.

We have kindergarten students here. I didn't want them starting their educational experience pa.s.sing through giant security stations and being patted down by armed guards. What kind of message would that send?"

"Personally, I don't believe in metal detectors," Quincy said, but added before the princ.i.p.al could be too encouraged, "They would simply make the students better targets by creating long lines in front of the building."

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" VanderZanden shook his head and expelled a gust of pure frustration.

"I've been up all night with calls from frantic parents, wanting to know what to do. The teachers are frightened, the school board overwhelmed. On top of all that, Alice's parents asked me to give the eulogy at her funeral. Of course I'll do it, I'm honored. But still .. . You go into education, you fantasize about watching your students grow up, maybe even attending their wedding or admiring their firstborn child. You certainly don't expect to give the eulogy at their funeral.

Did you know that Sally's and Alice's parents are going to pay the burial expenses with money from their college funds?"

VanderZanden obviously didn't expect an answer. He turned away to adjust another bouquet. Quincy and Rainie exchanged looks. They would just let the man talk. Apparently, he had a few things to say.

"The flowers started arriving first thing this morning," VanderZanden added after a moment.

"I've seen pictures of the flowers sent to the other schools, so I expected something like this. Still, to see it. Notes and cards from all over the country. Teddy bears and balloons from hundreds of strangers." He turned to them, sounding angry again.

"I received calls from two other princ.i.p.als who've been through this and half a dozen child experts who are experienced in this area. It's like we joined some club. I don't want to be part of a club! I wish we were alone. I wish we were the only place this had ever happened.