The Third Victim Part 1

THE THIRD VICTIM.

BY.

LISA GARDNER.

FROM THE BESTSELUNG AUTHOR OF THE OTHER DAUGHTER.

They all looked at one another. No one had an answer. A preselected victim. A mystery slug. An unidentified man who had cajoled a thirteen-year-old boy into taking part in murder.

They had come a long way from a mindless act of rage, and now, suddenly, Rainie didn't know where they were going anymore. She thought about her small, peaceful town. She thought about the towering trees and the gentle rolling hills. She thought about Danny, so scared and frightened and determined to take credit for murder. She thought of the school halls, still streaked in blood.

And for the first time in fourteen years, Rainie was frightened.

Lisa Gardner sold her first novel when she was twenty years old and has since been published in over a dozen countries. In 1993 she graduated magna c.u.m laude from the University of Pennsylvania with a degree in international relations. Now living in the New England area with her husband, she spends her time writing, travelling and hiking.

Her previous gripping novels, The Perfect Husband and The Other Daughter, are also available from Orion, as well as her latest novel, The Next Accident. Visit her website at www.LisaGardner.com.

By Lisa Gardner The Perfect Husband The Other Daughter The Third Victim

The Next Accident THE THIRD VICTIM Lisa Gardner orion An Orion paperback First published in Great Britain in 2001 by Orion This paperback edition published in 2.002, by Orion Books Ltd, Orion House, 5 Upper St. Martin's Lane, London we2H 9EA Second impression 2.001 Copyright Lisa Baumgartner 2.001 The right of Lisa Gardner to be identified as the author of this work has been a.s.serted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

isbn 0752.84 4830 Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St.

Ives pic Author's Note and Acknowledgements When I first proposed this book to my editor, it was the winter of 1998 and nearly seven months since the last shooting Kip Kinkel's May rampage in Springfield, Oregon. That tragedy had followed close on the heels of another, in Jonesboro, Arkansas (March 14, 1998), which had followed West , Kentucky (December 1, 1997), Pearl, Mississippi (October 1, 1997), and Bethel, Alaska (February 19, 1997). Like many Americans struggling to grasp five shootings in fifteen months, I wanted to understand why these ma.s.s murders had occurred and what could be done to prevent them.

After fine-tuning what would be appropriate to cover in a work of fiction whose goal must also be to entertain, I began researching this novel. One Monday, while wrapping up weeks of interviewing, I asked an expert if he believed that the rash of incidents indicated a new trend in juvenile behavior. While this point is controversial, the man did not hesitate to answer.

"Absolutely," he said.

"As for future shootings, the question is not if but when."

The very next day, Littleton, Colorado, joined the sad list of shot-up schools in a scope and scale that was staggering. I watched the news clips, and like people all around the world, I gave my thoughts and prayers to a community I had never met. Every time one of these shootings occurs it is heartbreaking, but as Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy tries to explain in the following pages, it does not have to be hopeless. With each tragedy, we have learned and are learning.

In addition to Littleton, Springfield, and Jonesboro, there is Burlington, Wisconsin, where police responded to an anonymous tip in

time to arrest three teenage boys plotting to a.s.sa.s.sinate a target list of 'in' students, and there is Wimberly, Texas, where concerned students contacted police in time to foil a plot by five eighth-grade boys to blow up the junior high. People are learning to listen, and it does work.

In the end, I believe we owe an enormous debt of grat.i.tude to each of the communities that has suffered this tragedy. By sharing their experience with us, and their sorrow, they are teaching us to be better people, students, families, and neighbors. May there come a day when white lilies and red roses are not piled against schoolyard fences. May there come a time when we are not haunted by the image of teenagers signing farewell notes on white caskets. May there be a future when our schools once again know peace.

The following people helped me tremendously with my research. I appreciate their help and patient explanations. Of course, all mistakes are mine, and some facts are subject to artistic license.

Gregory K. Moffatt, Ph.D." Professor of Psychology, Atlanta Christian College Thomas Grisso, Ph.D." Professor of Psychiatry (Clinical Psychology), Director of Forensics Training and Research, University of Ma.s.sachusetts Medical School Steve Ellis, Officer, Amity Police Department Rudolf Van Soolen, Chief of Police, Amity Police Department Jonathan McCarthy, Paramedic, New Orleans Health Department Amy Holmes Senior Deputy District Attorney, Juvenile Division, Multnomah County Stacy Heyworth, Senior Deputy District Attorney, Multnomah County Michael Moore, Attorney-at-Law Lorenz, teacher Bruce Walker, computer whiz extraordinaire Chad LeDoux, gun aficionado and fellow writer Debra Dixon, author Tuesday, May 11 Officer Lorraine Conner was sitting in a red vinyl booth at Martha's Diner, picking at her tuna salad and listening to Frank and Doug gossip, when the call first came in. She was sitting alone in the booth, eating salad because she'd just turned thirty-one and was beginning to notice that the pounds didn't magically melt away the way they had when she was twenty-one, or h.e.l.l, even twenty-seven. She could still run a six-minute mile and slip into a size 8, but thirty-one was fundamentally different from thirty. She spent more time arranging her long chestnut hair to earn those second glances. And for lunches, she traded in cheeseburgers for tuna salad, five days a week.

Rainie's partner that day was twenty-two-year-old volunteer police officer Charles Cunningham, aka Chuckie. Known in the lingo of the tiny police department of Bakersville, Oregon, as a 'green rookie,"

Chuckie hadn't yet gone to the nine-month-long training school. That meant he was allowed to look but not touch. Full authority would come when he completed the required academy courses and received his certificate. In the meantime, he got to gain experience by going on patrols and writing up reports. He also got to wear the standard tan uniform and carry a gun. Chuckie was a pretty happy guy.

Before the call came in, he was up at the lunch counter, trying to work some magic on a leggy blonde waitress named Cindy. He had his chest puffed out, his knee crooked forward, and his hand resting lightly on

his sidearm. Cindy, on the other hand, was trying to serve up slices of Martha's homemade blueberry pie to six farmers at once. One cantankerous old man muttered at the rookie to get out of the way.

Chuckie grinned harder.

In the booth behind Rainie, retired dairymen Doug Atkens and Frank Winslow started placing their bets.

"Ten dollars says she caves," Doug announced, slapping a crumpled bill on the pink Formica table.

Twenty says she dumps a gla.s.s of ice water over Romeo's head," Frank countered, reaching for his wallet.

"I know for a fact that Cindy would rather earn good tips than Clark Gable's heart."

Rainie gave up on her salad and turned around to face the two men. It was a slow afternoon and she had nothing better to do with her time, so she said, "I'll take a piece of that."

"h.e.l.lo there, Rainie." Frank and Doug, friends for nearly fifty years, smiled as a single unit. Frank had bluer eyes in his sun-weathered face, but Doug had more hair. Both men wore red-checked western s.h.i.+rts with pearl snaps their official dress s.h.i.+rts for an afternoon spent out on the town. In the winter, they topped their s.h.i.+rts with brown suede blazers and cream-colored cowboy hats. Rainie once accused them of trying to impersonate the Marlboro Man. At their ages, they took that as a compliment.

"Slow day?" Doug asked.

"Slow month. It's May. The sun is out. Everyone is too d.a.m.n happy to fight."

"Ahh, no juicy domestic disputes?"

"Not even a quibble over whose dog is depositing what souvenirs in whose yard. If this good weather continues, I'm gonna be out of a job."

"A beautiful woman like you doesn't need a job," Frank said.

"You need a man."

"Yeah? And after thirty seconds, what would I do?"

Frank and Doug chortled; Rainie winked. She liked Frank and Doug.

Every Tuesday for as long as she could remember, she would find them sitting at that booth in this diner at precisely one p.m. The sun rose, the sun set. Frank and Doug ate Martha's Tuesday meatloaf special. It worked.

Now Rainie tossed ten bucks into the pot in Chuckle's favor. She'd seen the young Don Juan in action before, and Bakersville's young ladies simply loved his dimpled smile.

"So what d'you think of the new volunteer?" Doug asked, jerking his head toward the lunch counter.

"What's there to think? Writing traffic tickets isn't brain surgery."

"Heard you two had a little encounter with a German shepherd last week," Frank said.

Rainie grimaced.

"Rabies. d.a.m.n fine animal too."

"Did he really charge Romeo ??

"All ninety pounds."

"We heard Chuckie 'bout peed his pants."

"I don't think Chuckie likes dogs."