dismissed, subject to psych treatment. Looks like he’s a brother. But Travis? No, he’s clean.”
She called Travis’s DMV picture up on the screen. A dark-haired boy with eyes closely set together, beneath thick brows, stared at the camera. He wasn’t smiling.
“I’d like to find out more about the accident,” O’Neil said.
Dance placed a call to the local office of the Highway Patrol, the official name for California’s state police. After a few minutes of being transferred around she ended up with a Sergeant Brodsky, put the call on speaker and asked about the accident.
Brodsky slipped immediately into the tone you hear when police take the stand at trial. Emotionally flat, precise. “It was just before midnight on Saturday, June nine. Four juveniles, three female, one male, were heading north on Highway One about three miles south of Carmel Highlands, near Garrapata State Beach Reserve. The male was driving. The vehicle was a late-model Nissan Altima. It appears that the car was traveling at about forty-five. He missed a curve, skidded and went over a cliff. The girls in the back weren’t wearing their seat belts. They died instantly. The girl in the passenger seat had a concussion. She was in the hospital for a few days. The driver was admitted, examined and released.”
“What’d Travis say happened?” Dance asked.
“Just lost control. It’d rained earlier. There was water on the highway. He changed lanes and went into a skid. It was one of the girls’ cars and the tires weren’t the best. He wasn’t speeding, and he tested negative for alcohol and controlled substances. The girl who survived corroborated his story.” A defensiveecho sounded in his voice. “There was a reason we didn’t charge him, you know. Whatever anybody said about the investigation.”
So he’d read the blog too, Dance deduced.
“You going to reopen the investigation?” Brodsky asked warily.
“No, this is about that attack Monday night. The girl in the trunk.”
“Oh, that. The boy did it, you think?”
“Possibly.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Not one bit.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Sometimes you get a feeling. Travis was dangerous. Had eyes just like the kids at Columbine.”
How could he possibly know the visage of the killers in that horrific 1999 murder spree?
Then Brodsky added, “He was a fan of theirs, you know, the shooters. Had pictures up in his locker.”
Did he know that independently, or from the blog? Dance recalled that someone had mentioned it in the “Roadside Crosses” thread.
“Did you think he was a threat?” O’Neil asked Brodsky. “When you interviewed him?”
“Yes, sir. Kept my cuffs handy the whole time. He’s a big kid. And wore this hooded sweatshirt. Just stared at me. Freaky.”
At this reference to the garment, Dance recalled what Tammy had given away about the attacker wearing a hoodie.
She thanked the officer and they hung up. After a moment she looked over at Boling. “Jon, any insights you can give us about Travis? From the postings?”
Boling reflected for a moment. “I do have athought. If he’s a gamer, like they’re saying, that fact could be significant.”
O’Neil asked, “You mean by playing those games he’s programmed to be violent? We saw something on Discovery Channel about that the other night.”
But Jon Boling shook his head. “That’s a popular theme in the media. But if he’s gone through relatively normal childhood developmental stages, then I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Yes, some children can become numb to the consequences of violence if they’re continually exposed in certain ways—generally visual—too early. But at the worst that just desensitizes you; it doesn’t make you dangerous. The tendency to violence in young people almost always comes from rage, not watching movies or TV.
“No, I’m speaking of something else when I say that gaming probably affects Travis fundamentally. It’s a change
She called Travis’s DMV picture up on the screen. A dark-haired boy with eyes closely set together, beneath thick brows, stared at the camera. He wasn’t smiling.
“I’d like to find out more about the accident,” O’Neil said.
Dance placed a call to the local office of the Highway Patrol, the official name for California’s state police. After a few minutes of being transferred around she ended up with a Sergeant Brodsky, put the call on speaker and asked about the accident.
Brodsky slipped immediately into the tone you hear when police take the stand at trial. Emotionally flat, precise. “It was just before midnight on Saturday, June nine. Four juveniles, three female, one male, were heading north on Highway One about three miles south of Carmel Highlands, near Garrapata State Beach Reserve. The male was driving. The vehicle was a late-model Nissan Altima. It appears that the car was traveling at about forty-five. He missed a curve, skidded and went over a cliff. The girls in the back weren’t wearing their seat belts. They died instantly. The girl in the passenger seat had a concussion. She was in the hospital for a few days. The driver was admitted, examined and released.”
“What’d Travis say happened?” Dance asked.
“Just lost control. It’d rained earlier. There was water on the highway. He changed lanes and went into a skid. It was one of the girls’ cars and the tires weren’t the best. He wasn’t speeding, and he tested negative for alcohol and controlled substances. The girl who survived corroborated his story.” A defensiveecho sounded in his voice. “There was a reason we didn’t charge him, you know. Whatever anybody said about the investigation.”
So he’d read the blog too, Dance deduced.
“You going to reopen the investigation?” Brodsky asked warily.
“No, this is about that attack Monday night. The girl in the trunk.”
“Oh, that. The boy did it, you think?”
“Possibly.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. Not one bit.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Sometimes you get a feeling. Travis was dangerous. Had eyes just like the kids at Columbine.”
How could he possibly know the visage of the killers in that horrific 1999 murder spree?
Then Brodsky added, “He was a fan of theirs, you know, the shooters. Had pictures up in his locker.”
Did he know that independently, or from the blog? Dance recalled that someone had mentioned it in the “Roadside Crosses” thread.
“Did you think he was a threat?” O’Neil asked Brodsky. “When you interviewed him?”
“Yes, sir. Kept my cuffs handy the whole time. He’s a big kid. And wore this hooded sweatshirt. Just stared at me. Freaky.”
At this reference to the garment, Dance recalled what Tammy had given away about the attacker wearing a hoodie.
She thanked the officer and they hung up. After a moment she looked over at Boling. “Jon, any insights you can give us about Travis? From the postings?”
Boling reflected for a moment. “I do have athought. If he’s a gamer, like they’re saying, that fact could be significant.”
O’Neil asked, “You mean by playing those games he’s programmed to be violent? We saw something on Discovery Channel about that the other night.”
But Jon Boling shook his head. “That’s a popular theme in the media. But if he’s gone through relatively normal childhood developmental stages, then I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Yes, some children can become numb to the consequences of violence if they’re continually exposed in certain ways—generally visual—too early. But at the worst that just desensitizes you; it doesn’t make you dangerous. The tendency to violence in young people almost always comes from rage, not watching movies or TV.
“No, I’m speaking of something else when I say that gaming probably affects Travis fundamentally. It’s a change
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