Marcia Clark - The Competition

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In Marcia Clark's most electrifying thriller yet, Los Angeles District Attorney Rachel Knight investigates a horrifying high school massacre.
A Columbine-style shooting at a high school in the San Fernando Valley has left a community shaken to its core. Two students are identified as the killers. Both are dead, believed to have committed a mutual suicide.
In the aftermath of the shooting, LA Special Trials prosecutor Rachel Knight teams up with her best girlfriend, LAPD detective Bailey Keller. As Rachel and Bailey interview students at the high school, they realize that the facts don't add up. Could it be that the students suspected of being the shooters are actually victims? And if so, does that mean that the real killers are still on the loose?
A dramatic leap forward in Marcia Clark's highly acclaimed Rachel Knight series, The Competition is an unforgettable story that will stay with readers long after the last page has been turned.

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Bailey started the next tape. “This is the one upstairs. I’m not sure it has anything for us.”

It didn’t. The shriek of the fire alarm echoed down empty hallways, though I could hear screams and gunshots in the distance that had to be coming from the stairway or the library.

“And this will be the cafeteria exit,” Bailey said.

The monitor showed Principal Campbell holding the door as panicked students tumbled and staggered out. He faced the inside of the school as they ran, looking over their heads. “He’s acting as the lookout. But what was he going to do if the killers showed up? Throw a lunch tray at them?”

“My guess? Take the bullet.”

Angela, the principal…and probably many more had shown such bravery and selflessness in the face of such vicious, gratuitous violence. It struck me that the alpha and omega of human existence had crashed into each other here in this suburban high school.

I refocused on the video. Between the screaming and the constant ringing of the fire alarm, I couldn’t hear whether the killers were saying anything, and the picture quality was so poor, there was no way to distinguish one student from another.

“I was hoping for better clarity than this,” I said.

“Yeah, this is pretty fuzzy. Let’s try the front and back doors.”

But that was a bust too. The back door had been locked, so the students who’d run that way were forced to turn around and head for the main entrance. The path to the front door was so jammed with kids scrambling to escape, it was hard to make out anything of use.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way and talk to witnesses. Maybe someone noticed a couple of guys carrying rolled-up camo jackets-”

“Sure, and a couple of guns. And holding a signed confession. Why not? If you’re gonna dream, may as well dream big.”

“So unfair that people call you a smartass.” But I had another idea. “Has anyone started the outside search?” I was betting no, since the working theory had been that the killers were lying dead in the library upstairs.

Bailey saw where I was going. “Good point.”

We found Dorian in the library.

“We need you to work on the outside of the school,” Bailey said. “Keep this to yourself, but Dr. Shoe says-”

“Stop,” Dorian said, holding up a hand as she glanced around the room. “I know what Dr. Shoe says. And I was just about to move outside.”

Bailey and I looked at each other.

“Please,” she said, with a disgusted look. “You think he’d tell you anything he wouldn’t tell me first?” Dorian shook her head and stomped off to pack up her kit. When she finished, we headed out through the rear exit. “You got a priority in mind?”

I pointed to the side of the school where Principal Campbell had ushered the students out. “The cafeteria door. I’m guessing the killers chose the exit that was least visible,” I said. Which, if I was right, meant they’d waltzed out right under the principal’s nose.

“Why wouldn’t that be the back door?” Dorian said.

“Because it’s locked during school hours,” Bailey said. “So the kids who ran that way had to redirect to either the front or the side door. The front door is more exposed.”

“And from the killers’ perspective this exit has another benefit.” I pointed to the Dumpster ten feet away.

Dorian looked up at me and nodded. “Pretty impressive.”

“Thanks.” A compliment from Dorian. That never happens. I admit it: it felt good.

“Impressive how you think like a deranged teenage boy.” She gloved up and opened her kit. Bailey smirked openly.

I ignored her. As Dorian climbed into the Dumpster, I pictured the scene in the library again. “Did you get a look at those balaclavas near the bodies?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dorian said. “If you’re going to ask whether I’ll rush the analysis, don’t.”

“I wasn’t.” Because I knew better than to do it in person. I’d take the coward’s way out and do it on the phone. “I was actually thinking they looked pretty new.”

Dorian gave me an incredulous look. “You’re thinking these kids were smart enough to bring extras to throw down so they wouldn’t leave me anything?”

“Maybe.” With all the crime shows on television that featured so much trick shit-some real, some fictional-it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that a mask worn over the face and head could have hairs, fibers, or DNA.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Ten minutes later, my hunch about the Dumpster paid off. Dorian pulled out two camouflage jackets. “Hand me a couple of those paper bags.”

I gave her the bags and whispered to Bailey, “I’d say this clinches it. They took off their coats and blended in with the crowd.”

“Yeah, but I’d still wait for Shoe’s final answer before we go public with it. He won’t take long. Besides, they’re just kids. We’ll catch up with them pretty quick.”

I looked at my watch. “Except those ‘kids’ have already cost us two hours. They could be almost anywhere by now-especially if they have fake IDs.”

Dorian’s low, rasping voice came out of the Dumpster. “Vegetable matter, all kinds of junk in here,” she groused. “Probably ate up any DNA.”

Bailey sighed and whispered, “I’ll go in and check on Dr. Shoe. You stay here with Mary Sunshine.”

I gave her a look that would’ve made her weep. That is, if she hadn’t turned and walked off.

I answered Dorian. “But the coats haven’t been in there long,” I said. “And if you get hair, it’ll probably still be testable, right?”

“Probably. And then I guess we can just assume the hair we find is the killer’s…not the salesclerk’s…or the packer’s…or the sewing machine operator’s…or the-”

“Yeah, I get it, Dorian. Can you tell if there’s anything in the pockets?”

“Like a driver’s license? Maybe a student ID?” Dorian asked. “Maybe while I’m at it I can look for a signed confession.”

I wondered what my horoscope for today said. Probably “Stay away from women in law enforcement.” Dorian humored me and carefully parted the pockets.

“Nada,” she said. “But if I was you, I’d take the information off the labels and see who sells ’em.”

“That’s what I was planning to do.”

Dorian gave me a “yeah, sure” look. She was never a walk in the park, but she was unusually caustic today. She’d be the last to admit it, but I had a strong feeling this case had gotten to her in a big way.

She had lots of company.

7

Dorian continued toroot around in the Dumpster for a while longer before determining there was nothing else of value. She stayed outside to work on the area between the cafeteria door and the parking lot, and I headed back to the library. Dr. Shoe was stripping off his gloves as the bodies were being loaded into bags and readied for the two nearby gurneys.

Bailey motioned me over. “He found entry wounds just under the jawline on one and behind the ear on the other.”

“So they were already dead when the suspects shot their faces off.”

“Right. It’s another page out of the Columbine playbook.”

Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold had committed suicide in the school library. Our shooters had played on that scenario so we’d jump to the conclusion that they’d done the same, which would buy them some precious time. It killed me to admit that it had worked. Any doubt I’d had that our shooters had studied the Columbine case was gone. There were too many similarities to be coincidental: the full-on style of the attack, the way they stormed through the halls, the final act in the library. And I had a feeling Graden was right: the body count was no accident either. They’d set out to “beat” the Columbine killers in every way: top their death toll and escape.

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