On the drive, I take Chris’s pages. I flip straight to the police report. I remember the detective slapping the file shut before I could read it, and my stomach has been hosting a butterfly convention ever since Chris handed them to me.
I read the report once. I read it twice. Chris wanted me to see something here that would make me proclaim Luka’s innocence. But I don’t. It’s the opposite, in fact.
The pages are from the statement of the “witness” who told them Luka was involved. The report doesn’t name Harley as the source, but it must be him. He’s the only survivor. As the detective said, under the terms of his plea bargain, the details of his statement were secret, which is why he isn’t named.
What I have are two pages that talk about Luka’s involvement. Two pages clarifying, unequivocally, that my brother was part of the shooting. Isaac came up with the plan, but Luka was on board. He was angry with our dad and upset about our mother, and feeling like no one understood him.
Feeling like no one was paying attention to him.
Joining Isaac’s plan to make them pay attention.
Exactly what Mr. Vaughn and Mae accused me of.
And now, maybe, I know why.
But this doesn’t explain why Chris gave me these pages. Which is what I’m going to ask, obviously. I just want to hear his explanation first.
We go for pizza. I let Chris order, but when he adds bacon, I shake my head. He hesitates. Then his gaze shoots to Jesse, and he says, “Right. Forgot.” Jesse says no, he’s fine picking it off, but I’m glad when Chris amends the order. Making Jesse pick it off isn’t right.
When the server leaves, Chris says, “I was trying to help. Which, obviously, is the polar opposite of what I did. In my defense, I had no idea the other stuff was happening.”
He sips his Coke, and then says, “I never liked the official explanation. Luka as a shooter? He was my reading buddy in first grade. Did you know that?”
I shake my head.
“You and I were in different classes then, and it’s not like you’d remember anyway. I wasn’t having problems with other kids yet. Just trouble reading. Dyslexia.”
“You’re dyslexic?”
He nods. “Diagnosed two years ago, finally. It’s helped me come up with strategies to make school easier, but mostly it just gave me more confidence, knowing I’m not stupid. Anyway, Luka was awesome. He was so patient with me. Years later, if he saw me anywhere, he’d stop to say hi, chat. How does a guy like that decide to go on a shooting spree?”
“It happens. Believe me, I’ve done the research.”
“Maybe, but I couldn’t see it. So I always had doubts. Then, last year, I went out with this girl from Southfield whose mom had worked the case. She’s a detective with the RPD. Somehow the shooting came up – it was the anniversary or whatever – and she mentioned Luka. She overheard her mom once, talking to another detective about how she felt bad about Luka, always thought there was more to it. Not that the other cops covered anything up, but she felt like they missed something. I asked this girl to get me the police report. Which was totally wrong, I know. But I had to see it. And when I did, I knew there was a problem.”
I’m about to say I don’t understand, but he’s still talking.
“I couldn’t act on it,” he says. “If my family discovered I was questioning the shooting? Suggesting one of the shooters wasn’t guilty, when my own cousin died? Maybe I’m a coward, but I couldn’t be the one to raise questions. It’d hurt my aunt and uncle too much. I was trying to figure out a way to do it anonymously. Then you came to RivCol, Skye, and I knew who I had to give those pages to – the person who could use them the most.”
“To take a closer look at Luka’s role.”
“Right. If he wasn’t guilty, then I’d like that cleared up. He deserves it. But the one who’s suffering for it is you. You and your family. My family would like to see the case stay closed, and I need to respect that. They want to get past it. You can’t. No one will let you. I see that now, and I’m really sorry if I made things worse.”
Our pizza arrives, and I wait impatiently for the server to leave, and then say, “What was I supposed to see in that police report?”
“Did you read it?”
I admit that I just did now, in the car… and I tell him that the police found it in my locker.
“Damn.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m gonna have to warn Gayle. That’s the girl who got it for me.” He sends a quick text, and Jesse puts a slice of pizza on my plate as I continue waiting impatiently until Chris says, “She’s not around. I’ll talk to her when I can. Make my confession.”
“So the report…” I prompt.
“You see the problem, right?”
“No, I don’t. I read the pages a couple of times, but… nothing.”
He takes the sheets from me. “Okay, so what Gayle got me were the witness accounts. These particular pages are the most important. You know who this is, right? It might say it’s anonymous, but it’s not.”
“It’s Harley.”
“Right. Publicly, he said he didn’t know Luka’s role. That Isaac arranged everything and talked to Luka and Harley separately. Which is weird.”
“Not if you knew Isaac,” I say. “He always wanted to be in charge. Harley let him. Luka…” I shrug. “Luka thought friends didn’t need a leader. They aren’t a gang. If Isaac did something Luka didn’t like, Luka called him on it. So to keep control of the situation, Isaac would definitely play it this way – not letting Harley talk to Luka about it, saying that was safer.”
Jesse nods. “When, really, he just didn’t want Harley to hear Luka questioning the plan.”
“Yes,” I say. “So Isaac tells Harley that Luka is all for it. Harley’s not bright enough to question that. He’s just relieved that Luka agrees. Luka was the one Harley went to for advice.”
“The one whose opinion carried more weight,” Chris says. “So, officially, all Harley will say is that Isaac told him Luka was in. Nothing more. Here, though, is where he gave the evidence that convicted Luka. In his so-called anonymous informant statement.”
Chris runs his finger over the pertinent part of the report. “Harley says that he was in class with Luka when the school went on lockdown. Then Luka snuck out before the teacher got control of the situation.”
“Snuck out and went to the bathroom,” I say. “Then he came out with the gun. So this” – I point at the report – “actually proves Luka knew what he was doing. He knew the school was going into lockdown. He snuck out and hid in the bathroom with a gun. It’s damning evidence.”
“Except it’s a lie,” Chris says.
I look at him, confused, and he turns to Jesse and gets the same look from him.
“Where was Harley?” Chris prompts.
“What?” I say.
“At the time of the lockdown, where was Harley?”
“In…” I remember the image projected at NHH. “He was in gym class, wasn’t he?”
“Right. Harley and Isaac were in gym when it all went down. That’s how they got out of lockdown so easily. It was near the end of the period, and kids were going inside to change – no teacher around. So when Luka got shot, it was easy for Isaac to grab Harley and get the guns, which they had in their backpacks. The shooting started there, in the locker room.”
“That’s where Brandon Locklear died and another boy was injured.”
Chris nods. “They walked out and shot Vicki Pryor – Owen’s cousin – as she was turning to run into the girls’ locker room. She was shot in the back, which left her paralyzed. Then they continued into the hall and —” His gaze moves to Jesse. “And that’s all the detail you guys need.”
Because Jamil had been next.
“The point is where it started,” Chris says.
“In the locker room,” I say. “Isaac and Harley —” I stop. “Isaac and Harley were in gym. But in Harley’s report” – I lift the file – “he said he saw Luka duck out when the lockdown was called. Luka was in English, though, not gym.”
“Exactly,” Chris says. “Harley’s lying.”
“That’s a huge lie,” I say. “And it’s easy to see through. I can’t believe no one’s put that together.”
“They probably have,” Jesse says. “This is a statement, not an interrogation. It’s what Harley claimed. It isn’t what they proved.”
“But if the police knew Harley was lying…,” I say.
“I have no idea what’s going on,” Chris said. “But if no one saw Luka duck out of English during the lockdown, he may have already been in the bathroom. He may not have known what was going on.”
“But he still came out holding a gun,” I say.
“Still, there has to be a reason Harley lied,” Chris says. “And the only person who knows that is Harley. Who is alive and serving his sentence in a prison an hour away.”
I go quiet.
“Do you still think I took Tiffany?” Chris asks.
I shake my head, and Jesse says, “But you can understand why we suspected you.”
“Yeah, but now that you see it wasn’t me, can I offer my help? Will you tell me what’s going on?”
I explain as we eat.
A few times, Chris has to stop and say, “What? Are you serious?” and glances at Jesse, in case he’s misunderstanding.
When I finish, Chris says, “That’s so messed up. When you guys said you thought someone took Tiffany, I figured you were jumping to conclusions. Like maybe she just went away for the weekend. But someone really did take her – and sliced your arm.” He looks at Jesse. “You’re forgiven for jumping me in that parking lot.”
We eat more pizza, and the server refills our sodas. When she leaves, Jesse says, “So the biggest clue is the hacking. That takes serious know-how. Way beyond me.”
“The AV tech is midlevel,” Chris says. “I could do it easily. I even know a local store that would sell the stuff, which might be a lead. So, yes, computer hacking at that level is rarer.”
“You’ve been at RivCol longer than me,” Jesse says. “Any idea who could pull this off?”
“The most I’ve heard of is a few kids who can access teachers’ accounts, get tests and such. Which just means they’ve figured out the teacher’s password. Not actual hacking. The last person at RivCol with mad skills like that was —”
He stops.
“Was who?” I ask.
“Vicki Pryor.”