Charley shook his head. “From this shot our guys say he’s about six feet two and two hundred pounds. The cap he’s wearing makes hair color hard to guess.”

“We don’t want guesses,” muttered Ray. “We also can’t tell what he’s wearing. What’s the make of the van?”

“Ford Econoline. Relatively new. We haven’t narrowed the year yet because there’s been little change in their body style.”

“What about the license plates?” asked Mason.

“Unreadable,” said Charley. “I think there’s something blurring them. Maybe a plastic cover? Whatever is over them is enough to look normal if he’s driving past you, but makes any enhancement from a distance impossible.”

Our killer is a planner.

“And I can’t read what it says on the back door of the van in this clip. The logo is actually words, not just an image,” said Charley.

Mason could hear the glee in the tech’s voice; he clearly had something good to share.

“But I found a view from a traffic camera on the 405 freeway right after he drove off the bridge,” added Charley. “I’ve been working with that one, and I think I’ve got something.”

“Good. I knew they were searching camera footage in the immediate area. Did they spot him anywhere else?”

“So far they’ve only discovered this one extra clip.” Charley set another video in motion, and Mason watched as a white van sped by, the driver’s side to the camera.

“The logo was on the driver’s door, too,” Mason stated. “Not just on the back.”

“Now watch.” Elation rolled off the tech.

On the screen the van abruptly froze, enlarged, lost its grainy quality, and came into decent focus. Ray moved closer to the screen to read the print on the driver’s door. “Oh, crap.”

Mason briefly closed his eyes. Portland didn’t need this.

He’d read CITY OF PORTLAND in big type on the door, with THE CITY THAT WORKS below that. He couldn’t make out the two small red roses that framed the phone number on the third line, but he knew they were there. He’d seen the logo a thousand times on city vehicles.

“I’ll find out if they’re missing any vehicles.” Ray pulled out his cell phone and stepped out of the video room.

“They might not have any missing vehicles,” said Charley. “Perhaps there’ll be no oddities in their logs at all if this guy works for the city and regularly drives a van.”

“You think he put something over the license plate but didn’t do anything about the logo? I bet he had some of those magnetic car decals made up. Or he stole them. He knew good and well that we’d see the city logo on the van, so I suspect that lead won’t go anywhere. What he managed to keep hidden were the plates. Why?” Mason stared at Charley.

“Because they’re actually relevant?” he said slowly.

“Bingo. Now to figure out why. Either he owns the van or knows the person who does. Or finding the actual van will tie to him somehow.” Mason’s mind sorted through possibilities, wishing they had video from Aaron King’s murder. He looked at the image of the side of the van again. The driver was barely visible.

“That doesn’t help us identify the driver, does it?”

Charley shook his head. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve even got a call in to the developer of this software to see if there’s a trick I’m not aware of, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“Can you show the part where he’s leaning over the edge of the bridge again?”

The tech nodded and tapped his keys. Mason watched as the killer leaned way out over the water. “Can you get closer?” More key tapping, and the image zoomed in. Charley made some adjustments to the graininess of the shot, then sliced out those ten seconds of video and set them on a slow loop to run over and over. Their killer remained a faceless silhouette, only the profile of his nose and chin visible, but Mason could feel the man’s excitement from the height and risk of his position.

“Looks like an adrenaline junkie,” Charley commented. “He’s not scared. Look how he pushes out as far as he can go.”

Mason nodded, his gaze never leaving the figure. Why take the risk of stretching out that far? Was he enjoying the thrill of the hunt?

The danger of the position made Mason’s stomach drop every time he watched.

Someday he’d ask the killer why.

Ava liked Laura King, but she didn’t like Aaron King’s roommate, Gordon Oleson, at all. Not one bit. And Zander seemed to have similar feelings.

Laura had been quietly crying as Zander and Ava guided her and Gordon from the waiting room to an empty interview room to talk. Laura King’s damp blue eyes shone with the innocence of a hurt kitten. Gordon had slouched, his hands shoved in the pockets of his pants. Anger and frustration radiated from him.

They’d settled around a large table while Ava and Zander spent a few moments answering Laura and Gordon’s questions about Aaron’s death. Gordon seemed to get angrier with each question they could not answer. He wanted results. Now.

“We’re still investigating,” Ava repeated to the man. “His body was just identified this morning, and we had agents and police immediately on the scene. They’re still there, interviewing everyone.”

“You’re probably spending more time on the Scott murder. A congressman is a lot more important than my friend, in the eyes of the FBI.”