In Notebook 6 we found a mention of the car burglary charges in Lubbock, Texas. It was a chilling example of Evan’s skill in presenting a facade that was a hundred and eighty degrees from the truth.
“Dumbass fools! Not one of those stupid fucks in juvenile court has a fucking clue. I wrote that bullshit letter to that loser victim yesterday and my PO was all like, ‘Oh, Evan, y’all are doin’ so well. I wish all my probationers were like you.’ Really, rat face? Do you? Do you wish all your probationers were a thousand times smarter and better than you? And that dumb fuck victim. He DESERVED to have his shit stolen, leaving it on the dashboard in plain sight. STUPID chump-assed motherfucker!”
Stanley, the PO, had no clue. He’d been completely taken in by the act. As the PO put it: “He was a model probationer.” And all the while, Evan was laughing at the “chump-assed motherfucker” he’d duped so easily.
There was a mention in Notebook 7 of James Holmes, who’d done the shooting in the theater in Aurora, Colorado.
“Pathetic fucking loser, with that stupid orange hair. Fucking clown. It’s all in the execution, asshole! If you’d done it RIGHT, you could’ve taken out at least a hundred. Fool.”
In Notebook 8 we found a sneering reference to Timothy McVeigh and Oklahoma City. “He sets up a bomb and hides like a little bitch. Where’s the art in that? Where’s the joy? The world is going to see how it’s done by the BEST. And when we get through, everyone will know we’re far superior to that little punk-assed bitch McVeigh.”
I pointed to the line. “That’s the first time I’ve seen him say we. So at this point he must’ve hooked up with Logan.”
“And started some actual planning,” Bailey said.
Evan made it clear that he didn’t intend to get caught “like that stupid clown douche in Aurora,” and that he wasn’t afraid to die. In fact, he planned to go out in a “blaze of glory.” Just as our shrinks predicted. But there was no mention of any plans for future shootings. Not even a specific mention of the plans for the Fairmont shooting.
When he’d finished reading the last notebook, Graden looked up at us. “I have never seen anything like this.”
“Who has?” Bailey said.
“But I don’t get this,” Graden said. “For a kid this young, with his background, to be such a cesspool of hate. I’m not saying his parents were necessarily perfect-we never know the whole story when it comes to family dynamics. But they didn’t seem that far off the beam. Where did it come from?” I shook my head. That was a question no one seemed to be able to answer. “And why didn’t he put his plans for Fairmont or the Cinemark in these notebooks? You think he didn’t trust Amanda?”
Bailey began putting the notebooks back into their manila envelopes. “Yeah. He couldn’t take the risk. If Amanda read about those plans, she’d have called the cops-”
“And also, he probably wanted to keep those plans close,” I said. “The shrinks did say these mass murderers get off on writing and reading their own master plans.” My eyes were gritty and my shoulders ached. I looked at my watch. Nine o’clock. I hadn’t realized how long we’d been at it.
“Guess we can pull back on the Platt Junior High security,” Graden said.
“Yeah,” Bailey said. “That was Logan’s thing, not Evan’s. We should probably keep a detail on it just in case, but I doubt Evan will hit there.”
Graden looked more than just tired. He looked drawn, spent. “You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He sighed. “I went to another one of the funerals today.”
A lead weight pulled at my heart. I was no stranger to depravity-none of us were-but this case was enough to shake what little faith I had in humanity. I thought about naive, unsuspecting Amanda, all the innocent children and teachers at Fairmont High, the victims at the Cinemark, and all the others who were such easy pickings for monsters like Evan. Good people didn’t stand a chance against this kind of random evil.
74
Graden drove me home. I invited him to come up to my room even though we were both fried. I needed to connect with something positive. The insanity I’d been immersed in for the past week had reached a crescendo with those notebooks.
I poured us each a glass of Ancien Pinot Noir. “Do you want to order room service?”
Graden studied his glass. “No, I don’t want anything to get in the way of the buzz.”
I turned on the CD player and we sat on the couch. The lazy-sweet strains of Stanley Turrentine’s “Little Sheri” softly filled the room. Graden clinked his glass against mine and we took a sip. He put an arm around me, and I kicked off my shoes and curled up next to him. “You know, it’s funny,” he said. “I’ve seen you more during this case than I ever do, but it sure doesn’t feel that way.”
We hadn’t had the chance to really connect because we were always running ninety miles an hour. “It is kind of a tease.”
He smiled. “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that before.” He put down his glass, lifted my chin, and kissed me. A long, slow kiss. “Better?”
I was a little breathless. “Even more of a tease.”
He took my glass and put it down on the coffee table, then stood up and pulled me to my feet. Ten minutes ago, I’d have bet serious money that nothing could put me in the mood. But all it took was five minutes alone with Graden to completely change my mind. I followed him into the bedroom and we fell into each other as though we’d been apart for months.
I woke up Thursday morning feeling rested for the first time since I’d caught the case. Graden was already out of the shower and trying to dress quietly. “It’s okay, I’m up.” My voice was still hoarse with sleep.
He smiled and came over to sit next to me on the bed. He pushed my hair out of my eyes. “What’s on tap for you today?”
“We’ve got to meet with the shrinkers about those journals.”
“Did you get a look at that note he wrote to Amanda?” he asked.
“The one asking her to keep the notebooks for him? No.”
Graden shook his head, his features stony. “He worked her but good. Said, ‘You’re so special. You’re the only one who gets me. That’s why I trust you with these. They’re the most important things to me-other than you, of course.’ It’s incredible how that monster can mimic human behavior.” Graden picked up the remote. “Since you’re up, mind if I turn on the news?”
“Nope. And you can order us breakfast while you’re at it. Two eggs over medium and a bowl of mixed fruit.”
“I’ll go rattle some pots and pans.”
I kissed him and headed for the shower. I’d just finished drying my hair when I heard my name coming from the television. I ran into the bedroom and saw a news reporter standing in front of the St. Julien, where Bailey and I had stayed in Boulder. I turned up the volume.
“…and now we’ve learned that prosecutor Rachel Knight and Detective Bailey Keller paid a visit to someone here in Boulder yesterday. Officials have refused to answer questions about why they were here or who they saw, but it had to be something big to take them out of Los Angeles with at least one killer still at large. Back to you, Andrew.”
Graden had walked in during the newscast. He looked at me, worried. “How the hell did they find out about your trip?”
“Could be someone at the airport, or at the hotel. Who knows?”
Room service arrived. Graden started toward the door, then abruptly stopped. “Wait…Evan-”
“Will know we were talking to Amanda.”
Graden pulled out his cell. “Yeah, Sandy, get me Boulder PD right now.”
The captain of the Boulder Police Department took about ten seconds to guarantee immediate, round-the-clock protection for Amanda and her family. We barely spoke as we ate, each of us consumed by our own thoughts. When we’d finished, I brushed my teeth and grabbed my raincoat and scarf. The sun was shining, but I didn’t trust it-the trees were swaying in a strong wind.