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Contents (67)
  1. Titles by John McMahon
  2. CONTENTS
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  66. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  67. What’s next on your reading list?

“Any open interviews we didn’t get to?” the chief asked.

“Leaf Tanner was married,” Remy said. “His widow is coming in today. Also the oldest girl among the three hostages. An eighth grader named Allie D’Antone. Her parents didn’t want her talking to us yesterday. She’s agreed to come in now.”

“I talked the family into that,” Senza said. “Allie’s a good girl and a friend of Avis. Her parents were just scared yesterday.”

“We still need to go through police transmissions and 911 calls,” Remy said. “There were forty-one calls made by students as they ran out. We got through twenty-six so far.”

The conference room went quiet then, and Senza stood up. Exhaled loudly.

“Well, not that everyone isn’t hustling,” he said. “But all this hasn’t told us a goddamn thing about why. Why was Harrington at the school? He had to have some reason to do this. The state’s gonna take this over in forty-eight hours. The Feds will be involved too. It’d be great if we didn’t look like a bunch of local yokels.”

Senza looked to me and Abe. “Did you tear his place apart?”

“To the studs,” I said. “Not a scrap of anything to indicate he was headed to this school. Or knew anyone at it.”

“Is he on social media?”

“Nope,” Abe said. “I heard from those two detectives from robbery an hour ago. I sent ’em out to Harrington’s place to go through it again. The guy had fifty banker’s boxes full of notes and articles he wrote. I’d like to spend some time digging through his writing.”

“Good.” Senza pointed. “He’s a journalist. Out of work. Let’s find out if he’s got a manifesto sitting around.”

Senza tapped at the table. “Someone knows this lunatic, guys,” he said. “Someone’s his buddy. His boyfriend. His girlfriend. Find them. Find out what beef he had with the school or with this science teacher.”

The chief swiveled his gaze. “He’s part of the friggin’ media, Merle. They love taking down one of their own—almost as much as they love taking down cops. Did you reach out to any places he’d worked?”

“Initial calls,” Merle said. “He wrote for the AJC years ago. I’m supposed to hear back from them this morning.”

There was a lot we hadn’t gotten to yet, with just the four of us on the case since three p.m. yesterday.

“Find me something I can tell the mayor,” Senza said. “You and you.” He pointed at me and Remy. “Pair together again. Same with you and Merle,” he said to Abe. “Partners have shorthand. Instinct. I need something and fast. Go.”

We all hurried out. We knew a lot, sure, but the chief was right.

When it came to what quelled the public’s anxieties and fears, to what answered the question of “why the hell did he do it” . . . we didn’t know a damn thing.

6

Wednesday, September 11, 2:50 p.m.

The man paced the art room.