Targeted (Callahan & McLane Book 4) (10 page)

12

“What do we got?” Nora asked.

Mason leaned against the wall, trying to blend in with the paint. Nora hadn’t looked in his direction, and he was determined to keep it that way. Zander, Ava, and Henry Becker, the detective who shared Nora’s office, sat at the conference room table. Henry was also a new transfer from Salem whom Mason didn’t know that well. He’d been added to the case that morning after OSP learned another of its officers had been murdered. Investigators from Vancouver, Lincoln County, Multnomah County, and the Portland Police Department also had joined. One from each location where a murder had been committed.

The task force had been formed within the last few hours, but across the country, officers had been feeling targeted. Several states had experienced sensationalized murders, and new ones were cropping up every month. This week it’d struck Portland. The nationwide hate and panic felt like an erupting volcano, impossible to stop or cool down.

The local media had been digging as hard as possible into Denny’s murder and the Samuelson murder. National media correspondents had arrived and crawled through the small town of Depoe Bay like scavengers. Others had set up down the street from the Samuelson home, interviewing willing neighbors. So far the task force had kept Vance Weldon’s case from being connected in the news. The investigators still weren’t certain if it’d been suicide or murder. They’d all agreed the masks needed to be kept out of the news before the detail caught the imagination of every wannabe cop killer in the country.

The conference room was being transformed. A picture of each victim had been tacked to a bulletin board, along with crime scene photos, a timeline, and maps.

“We haven’t found what was used to strike Samuelson in the back of the head. Careful inspection of the gravestones indicated they hadn’t been moved for several days,” said Ava.

“It looks like we were right that our killer brought a weapon with him. And took it when he left,” said Zander. “What else appears to be missing from the scenes? What’s been done to the bodies or scenes that we don’t see the source of?”

“Good question,” said Nora as she wrote,
What’s missing?
on a whiteboard.

Mason thought back to the cabin at the coast and to today’s early-morning scene. Then he mentally flipped through the crime scene photos from the FBI murder. “Two of the bodies were lifted. One was hung and the other was lifted to the wall. What did we miss that could have helped with that?” he asked.

The investigators exchanged looks. “In the Weldon hanging, I could see how a pulley could have been used and removed,” said Henry Becker. “But there’s no location for that in this morning’s case. The body didn’t have to be lifted that high and there was a chair nearby that we suspect he used.”

“That’s assuming Weldon wasn’t a suicide,” reminded Ava. “The medical examiner is reviewing the case again and we haven’t found anything to indicate otherwise.”

“The masks are the link,” stated Henry. “I think we need to treat it as a murder for now.”

“That’s why the case is on the board with the other two,” said Nora. “Let’s keep a mental asterisk near all the evidence from that case. We’ll view that evidence with a grain of salt until we have confirmation.”

Mason’s gut told him she’d have that confirmation soon.

“I had officers do a canvass of Samuelson’s neighbors this morning,” Nora said. “No one noticed anything unusual at the property yesterday. The owner directly behind Samuelson’s mentioned that the backyard motion sensor lights go off and on several times a night because of small animals. He told us he refused to complain about it because there’d been a rash of burglaries in the neighborhood about six months ago, and he wanted everyone to do what they felt was needed to stay safe. He knew Samuelson was a state trooper. He liked having him in the neighborhood and wasn’t about to cause problems with him over what he felt was a reasonable security precaution. Instead he invested in blackout shades for his bedroom and keeps them drawn at night. He couldn’t say if the lights had been activated last night.”

“Nothing else from the canvass? No strange cars parked on the road?” Zander asked.

“No,” said Nora. “It’s so damn clean, it’s spooky. I want to live in this perfect neighborhood.”

“What about home security systems? Did any of his neighbors have cameras running outdoors?”

“None,” stated Nora.

“No one saw Brian Wasco jogging at night?” Ava asked.

“No one mentioned him,” said Nora. “Some neighbors didn’t even hear the police cars respond at one
A.M.
They woke up at their regular time and were surprised at the activity on their street.”

“We found three sets of footprints in the backyard,” said Zander. “One set was next to that larger indentation in the barkdust that we saw from the deck. The evidence guys say they look similar to what stocking feet would make.”

“They can see prints in that choppy mess?” Ava asked.

“Samuelson’s sprinklers are set to run twice a week. The ground was pretty soft right near the deck.” Zander shook his head. “I could barely see them when they pointed them out, but our guys are used to looking for things like that. It was clear to them.”

“So they think they’re Samuelson’s footprints from last night because he was wearing socks?” Henry asked.

“It’s very possible,” said Zander. “There’s a bigger set in the same area but they’re wearing shoes, and another set that indicates someone stood and looked in the kitchen window. Also in shoes.”

“Those are different sizes?” asked Nora.

“They are.”

“Two people wearing shoes in the backyard,” murmured Nora. “No shoe prints in the house. Bloody or dirty. Did they take off their shoes?”

“One of the shoe prints in the backyard could be Samuelson’s,” argued Ava. “It’s his yard and clearly he spent time outside. It’s well manicured.”

“Does he have a yard service?” Zander asked.

Silence.

“Putting it on the list,” noted Henry. “I’ll look into the burglaries from six months ago, too.”

“If he has a service, ask about that large indentation by the deck,” said Nora. “There might be an easy explanation for it. Maybe a barrel that they scoop leaves into.”

“Our guys think it looks like someone laid down on their side,” said Zander. “They pointed out where it’s deeper where the shoulder and hip would have been. Once they showed me, I could see it.”

Henry pulled up a photo of the indentation on his laptop. “I can’t see it,” he said. The investigators crowded around his desk. Mason quietly stepped forward and peered over shoulders. He didn’t see it, either.

“You have to look at it from the right angle,” said Zander. “This photo is from a different one.”

“We know Samuelson wasn’t lying there. At least not last night. His clothes were clean,” said Ava.

“I would revise your statement to, ‘He wasn’t lying there while wearing the clothes he was killed in,’” said Zander.

Ava nodded in reluctant agreement. Mason felt her frustration. What’d seemed important at two this morning had been suddenly made irrelevant by logic.

“Have we found a connection between Samuelson and Denny Schefte?” Ava tried a new topic. “They’re both OSP. Surely their paths have crossed.”

“We’re still looking,” said Nora. “Nothing yet. I have a programmer running database searches of our records to try to put the names together in
some
way.”

“If only there was a database to search for their personal activities,” said Zander. “It’s best to start with interviews of the people close to them. Who’s close to Samuelson? Who does he hang around with?”

“We’ve reached out to his ex-wife,” said Nora. “They were married for a few years about a decade ago. She lives in Idaho and said she hadn’t heard from him in over a year.”

“Denny’s been single a long time. Almost fifteen years,” said Mason, breaking his silence. “Maybe there’s a connection with that? Maybe he and Samuelson were both members of a dating service or belonged to some singles clubs?”

“Weldon’s married,” said Henry.

“But his wife said they’d had their ups and downs like any couple,” pointed out Ava. “I think we all know that people can find a lot of opportunities online if they want to have affairs or get a date.”

Nora made a notation about dating on the whiteboard. “Bank records and credit card reports,” she said. “That’ll turn up a lot of leads. Who did Samuelson hang around with?”

“I asked his sergeant,” said Henry. “He’s promised me a list of coworker names.”

“Can you set up the interviews with his associates and family?” Nora asked. Henry nodded.

“I’ll handle the banking records, cell phone records, that sort of thing,” said Zander.

“Did we get a complete autopsy report on Denny Schefte?” Ava asked.

“I saw it come in, but I only had time to glance at it,” said Nora. “It’s too early for some toxicology reports, but the bulk of it didn’t reveal anything more than we already know.” She glanced quickly at Mason.

He didn’t look away. It was odd to know there was a document that described every aspect of Denny’s dead body. Half the time Mason forgot he was dead. He expected him to walk through the door, or to hear him holler down the hall. Denny was one of those people who was too alive to be dead. His life force had constantly burst out of him.

It lingered in the building.

“His funeral is scheduled for tomorrow,” Nora said slowly, meeting everyone’s gaze. “We’ll have cameras on all the attendees.”

“I want to have this solved before that,” Mason stated.

“You’re not the only one,” said Nora.

13

A
va rushed through the organic grocery store.

It wasn’t her favorite place to shop, but its location by her home was convenient when she needed a few things. She preferred the big generic grocery store with its wide aisles and familiar brands. This store had narrow aisles, foods she’d never heard of, and a tiny bar where she could have a glass of wine or beer.

She liked the alcohol idea, but the brightly lit store was the last place she wanted to relax and enjoy wine. She noticed several men sitting at the small bar and wondered if they were passing time while their wives shopped. Or if they simply liked to hang out at the grocery store.

She shook her head and moved on, searching for crackers that Mason would eat. He liked familiar labels, too. He was highly suspicious of anything new. Especially if it claimed to be healthy. She spotted a type he’d reluctantly eaten in the past and pronounced edible. She’d stopped at the grocery store primarily to pick up olive oil, but she’d known they were low on a few other staples.

She grabbed the crackers, whirled around to dash to produce, and nearly knocked over an older man. She grabbed his arm to steady him. “I’m so sorry . . . oh . . . hello.” She stared at his face, trying to place him.

He smiled back, “Ava, right?”

She nodded, her brain still spinning.

He saw her confusion. “We met the other day. You bought the art piece I wanted. I’m David.”

“Oh! Of course.” He clicked into place in her head. “I’m sorry, it’s been a busy couple of days.” She frowned. “Do you live in the neighborhood?”

A small suspicion niggled at the back of her brain.

“I’m staying nearby,” he said. “Did you hang up that lovely piece of work yet? I’ve been trying to find out more about the artist. She’s hard to hunt down. Maybe she paints under a pseudonym.”

“No, that’s her name,” Ava said, and immediately wished she hadn’t. “I believe it’s the first time she’s ever put her work up for sale.”

“I’d love to find out if she has more available somewhere,” he said.

Alarms sounded in her head.

“I don’t know how to help you,” she said. “You’ll excuse me? I’m running very late.” She turned and left before he could answer.

Twice in a few days? Both times with questions about Jayne?
Her brain spun with scenarios. He could be a bill collector. No doubt Jayne owed
someone
money. But would a collection agency send someone to track Ava, hoping to reach her sister?

Maybe he was an enforcer for a drug lord Jayne had stolen from?

“David” was in his sixties. He didn’t look like someone who would break Jayne’s kneecaps, but to be effective all he needed was a gun. For a normal person, that would be a ridiculous scenario.

Jayne wasn’t normal, and Ava knew the scenario was very plausible.

Oh, Jayne. What did you do?

At least her sister was locked up and reasonably safe. If the man was following Ava and asking questions, it meant he didn’t know where to find her sister. A good thing.

Is he dangerous?

She skipped the produce and went to pay for her olive oil and crackers, looking over her shoulder for David as she waited in the checkout line. She didn’t see him. After paying she grabbed her items and went out the far door of the grocery store. She’d parked by the other door, but she knew there were a few trees and pillars at this end from which she could unobtrusively watch both entrances.

She stood behind the second pillar and watched. Nothing. His basket had held two items . . . both boxes of cookies. Things he could have picked up in the aisle where he’d finally approached her.

He hadn’t been shopping; he’d been following her.

For how long?

She’d left the task force meeting in downtown Portland and then driven out to her office by the airport. After a few hours there, she’d gone straight to the grocery store . . . which wasn’t anywhere near the small shop where she’d bought Jayne’s painting. If David knew Ava was an FBI agent, he could have waited near her office building until he saw her leave and followed. Did he know where she lived?

Bingo’s odd outdoor behavior popped into her head.

Had someone been in their backyard?

Dread crept up her spine. That would be very heavy-handed for a bill collection agency. It spoke of something much more important. Whom was Jayne mixed up with?

She had to talk to Mason. She’d forgotten to tell him about Bingo after the task force meeting.

Do I need to reach out to Jayne?

She wondered if Jayne’s doctors would let her see her twin. Her stomach churned at the thought of facing and questioning her sister. Ava touched her left side below her ribs. She’d nearly died from a secondary infection after being shot that summer. She’d been mentally off her game, traumatized by Jayne’s suicide attempt, which Jayne had made Ava believe was her fault. The months apart had been necessary for Ava to heal mentally and emotionally. She’d had to distance herself from her twin in every way.

Was she ready to bridge that gap?

Was Jayne ready? Her therapists felt the distance had been good for her.

“Dammit.” Ava didn’t know what to do.

She kept her gaze on both grocery store doors. People came and went, but not the man she was waiting for. He could have immediately left when she’d run off, realizing that she didn’t believe their meeting was a coincidence.

He must have traced Jayne through the art show newspaper announcement, hoping she’d show up. Instead the second-best person had shown up: her twin. Is that when he’d started to follow Ava, hoping she’d lead him to Jayne?

She mentally ran through the information that would be available about Jayne on the Internet. It would primarily be newspaper articles on arrests. Jayne moved so frequently, she had to be next to impossible to track. Even Ava hadn’t known where to find her half their lives.

But Ava had a more stable history. Any skilled skip tracer would figure out her home address through utility bills. “Fuck.” Both she and Mason were very careful about keeping their private lives out of reach of the public, but professionals who searched for missing people knew how to find almost anyone.

What will he do next?

“Do I care?” she mumbled out loud. It was none of her business. If Jayne owed someone money, then she needed to pay. Of course she didn’t have any money to pay with, but it wasn’t Ava’s responsibility to get her out of debt. “Not my monkeys.” Jayne could dig her own way out of her problems. Ava had already paid for enough of them.

She stepped out from behind the pillar, feeling foolish for allowing Jayne’s problems to get in her head.
I should know better. I
do
know better!

The man chose that moment to exit the grocery store, two cloth bags of groceries in his hands.

Ava scowled and stepped back behind the pillar. He’d bought more groceries
and
brought his own bags?

Confused, she watched him walk through the parking lot. He didn’t search the parking lot as if looking for her. He walked straight to his car, a small convertible Mercedes that she didn’t understand why an Oregonian would own, due to the weather. The license plate was out of her view. She stepped out again, trying to position herself to catch a glimpse of the plate.

He backed out of the spot and immediately turned, effectively keeping his plate from her view. She hustled into the lot, no longer caring if he saw her or not. She was determined to find out who was following her. His car sped to the road and turned, vanishing before she could see the plate. She couldn’t confirm it was an Oregon plate.

“Damn.” She stood in the parking lot clutching her oil and crackers.
Should I go ask to see their camera footage?
She knew she could show her badge and probably get plenty of cooperation. But she had pride in her ethics.

And she’d like to keep her job.

Was he a skip tracer? The Mercedes had looked new. She didn’t know how much money people in that profession made, but she bet the really good ones were in high demand. Or was his source of income from something dirtier? More dangerous?

She unlocked her car, mentally cursing her twin. For two months she’d been able to keep Jayne mostly out of her thoughts. She’d known exactly where Jayne was and trusted that her therapists would keep her safe and out of trouble. Now she’d taken over Ava’s focus without lifting a finger.

What would Dr. Griffen say?
Ava fought the urge to call the kind therapist who’d helped her ease Jayne’s control of her brain. She took a few deep breaths and tried to look at the situation from a distance.
She’d tell me to move on. Let it roll off my back.

But she would bring it up to Mason. If someone had spied on their home, he needed to know.

Mason stared at the ground in their backyard. It looked the same as all the other barkdust in the yard to him. Messy. Splintery. Brown.

“It appears to you that someone stood here?” he asked.

Beside him Ava put her hands on her hips. “I thought it did. I’m not so sure now.” She looked at Bingo, who sat next to her, his tail slashing through the grass. He gave a doggy smile, unconcerned about their discussion.

“Show me exactly where Bingo sniffed,” Mason directed. Ava walked along the back of their yard, pointing and explaining what Bingo had done. Mason agreed it was unusual behavior for the dog. Usually he picked the closest patch of grass when he was let out of the house. But he did have a fascination for squirrels, and Mason could understand the dog’s behavior if he’d felt his territory had been trespassed on by a gray, furry rodent.

Mason didn’t know what to think. Ava’s story about the man at the grocery store bothered him. She wasn’t the type to get overly concerned about nothing. She had good instincts. Even though she’d proved she was extremely capable of taking care of herself, he worried for her safety. He couldn’t help it.

She was his other half.

Any hint of a threat to her filled him with concern.

“The security system is good,” he said. “Bingo is an extra layer of protection. If someone comes remotely close to the house, the dog lets us know.” He looked over at her as they both stood in the darkening yard. She was listening, hanging on his every word, and he could see she was worried.

He knew she wasn’t worried for her safety; she was worried about the drama in their lives.

Mason was a no-drama person. Ava was, too. But her twin had always projected her excess drama into their lives, and Ava hated it.

“She’s locked away and it still hasn’t stopped,” muttered Ava. “I thought it was over.”

“We don’t know this is about her,” Mason pointed out.

“That man asked about her. Twice,” said Ava. “He wants to find her, and he’s going to use us to do it. I don’t know if he’s dangerous.” She raised her arms in the air, tipping her head back. “Am I wasting brain power worrying about it? I feel like I’ve suddenly dropped four levels in my recovery.” She lowered her arms, meeting his gaze. “It wasn’t just a physical healing.”

“I know.” He did know. All too well. “Let’s call her therapist right now and see if anyone’s reached out to her or the recovery center looking for your sister.”

Relief flowed over her face. Ava simply needed someone to share the burden of Jayne. They had agreed she’d tell Mason when she needed help; he
wanted
to help, but she was horrible about asking. He had to push and prod his way into her problems, and it went against his personal rule to mind his own business.

They were both stubborn and independent people.

They turned back to the house and he caught her hand, holding it as they walked. The sky had darkened with low gray clouds and the backyard was quiet and calm. He looked up at the back of the home they’d bought together. A few strings of outdoor lights dangled over the deck, adding a warm, homey glow. Pride and contentment washed over him. He’d never known this was what he wanted. He’d assumed he’d retire and move to a warm beach and become one of those unshaven guys who read books and sit at a bar for companionship all day.

It sounded lonely and empty. At one time it’d sounded relaxing and warm.

He’d never so looked forward to fall. The cooling temperatures had brought back the lush green Pacific Northwest colors after the long, dry summer. He even loved the sight of the fluorescent-colored thin jackets the runners wore along with their gloves and knit hats. He’d hauled in a big load of firewood and stacked it in his utility shed, excited to use their woodstove in the evenings. Wine, a fire, and his soon-to-be wife.

My wife.
He squeezed her hand and she glanced at him and smiled, her eyes lighting up in the dim evening glow. He’d left the wedding plans up to her. She occasionally asked him for an opinion, but he’d told her to let him know what time to show up and what to wear. Cheryl had mentioned Ava was struggling to make decisions, but he figured that was normal for a bride. She’d have one wedding in her life; this was it for the both of them.

At least for him. She could do whatever she wanted once he was dead.