"Charlie Kenyon makes sense," Quincy mused after a moment, deciding it would be most productive to play along.
"An older, influential kid. We already know he has trouble with authority and likes to hang around the school. I'm less convinced about the principal. Even if it was a love affair gone awry, I have a hard time seeing him shooting two students and an even more difficult time seeing him coerce Danny into taking the blame."
"Strong authority figure. Danny can't stand up to his own father, so why should he be able to stand up to the school principal? Plus, you heard his last words in the interview. The kid's scared. When you're in elementary school, who seems more all-powerful and all-knowing than your principal?"
Her logic wasn't bad.
"But then there is VanderZanden's reaction to consider. He appears genuinely grief-stricken."
Rainie granted that. Then her eyes lit up.
"What about his wife?
Quincy exhaled slowly and watched her scribble it down. Her movements were feverish. She was trying too hard.
"Rainie, why are you making this list?"
"Focus. This investigation lacks focus."
"You already have a suspect in custody. That appears very focused to me."
"Yes, but we don't know if he's the right suspect."
"His fingerprints on the casings haven't convinced you?"
They didn't convince you."
"I'm paid more to be skeptical."
Rainie set down her pen. She paused long enough to look him in the eye, and Quincy was startled by the sight of her pale skin stretched taut over her gaunt face. Apparently she was forgoing food as well as sleep. It was only a matter of time, then, until she crashed.
"Shep visited me last night," she said abruptly.
"Ah," Quincy said. Things became much clearer for him.
"Laid on the personal guilt."
"Of course. What are friends for? Even better, he contacted the crime lab himself through a friend. Turns out Abe Sanders has been holding out on us."
"I can hardly wait." "There's a problem with one of the .38 shell casings. Not only does it completely lack prints or smudges as in it appears to have been wiped clean but ballistics found something strange about it. When I followed up this morning, I learned that it had some kind of residue inside, probably a polymer."
"Plastic? As in perhaps threads of polyester fabric?"
"Who knows? But inside a shell casing is a weird place to find traces of fabric, plus Danny was wearing one hundred percent cotton when I brought him in. They're conducting further tests, of course, but we're back to having more questions than answers."
"You're going to kill Detective Sanders, aren't you?"
"Yes. At three this afternoon. You're welcome to watch." Rainie smiled tightly.
"Then I had the most fascinating chat with the ME at seven this morning. She conducted Avalon's autopsy late last night so we could get straight to the girls this morning. Lucky me. And get this: the .22 slug that killed Melissa Avalon was not deformed. In fact, the damn thing traveled in a nice straight line through the center of her brain and stopped at the base of her skull. No ricocheting. Nice, recoverable slug with an intact base. Should yield plenty of rifling marks for ballistics. Except it has none."
"No rifling marks? Is the ME thinking a smooth-bore gun?"
"I don't know what the hell Nancy Jenkins is thinking. The woman is definitely intrigued and, unfortunately for me, coy. Let me see if I can get her exact words right. Something like "The slug would appear to have come from a .22, but I don't think it has."
"She doesn't think it has?"
Turns out Nancy Jenkins is a gun buff. She's not commenting officially until she gets the ballistics report back, but there's something funny about the slug that killed Melissa Avalon. And she's pretty clear it's not your average funny. It's your smart, clever funny."
"Too smart and clever for a thirteen-year-old boy?"
"Now you're getting it."
"And the bullet came to rest at the base of Avalon's skull?"
"Exactly. At the base of the skull. As in a downward trajectory. As in how can a four-foot-ten boy shoot down at a five-foot-six woman?"
"Who was not on her knees," Quincy filled in for her, 'considering how the body fell."
Rainie nodded angrily.
"So there you have it. At this point it looks like there's something rotten in Denmark. At the very least, it's doubtful that Danny killed Melissa Avalon, which also raises questions about Sally and Alice."
"There was probably someone else present and a murder weapon we have yet to identify."
"Yep. A murder weapon we have yet to identify and a motive. Why Melissa Avalon? I can't get it out of my head. Why young, beautiful Miss Avalon?"
"And now you're building the new theory of the case."
"Since I am primary officer, I thought I'd give it a shot."
"Rainie, can I make your day?"
"By all means, give it a whirl."
"I have a one-thirty appointment with Richard Mann to ask him about Danny O'grady. Come with me, Rainie. I'll be good cop, you be bad cop. Together, we'll ambush him."
A feral gleam came into Rainie's eyes. The satisfaction in her face was enough to make him smile. And unfurl something slow and tender in his chest.
"I get to be bad cop?"
"You are the most qualified."
"SupSpAg, I could kiss you."
"Promises, promises," he said lightly, and led his favorite law enforcer from the room. Thursday, May 17, 1:28 p.m.
They met Richard Mann in his office at the battered school, which had finally been opened up to staff members. He'd told Quincy he needed to catch up on paperwork, and Rainie's impression of the young counselor was of someone deeply disheartened. His face was pale, his eyes bruised. He'd made an effort to dress up for the meeting in tan khakis and a sage-colored sweater, but he maintained a certain rumpled air that spoke of sleepless nights and unanswered questions. Did he wonder if he should've seen the shooting coming? In the dark hours after midnight, did he think there was more he should've done?