His meeting that Joe had attended two months ago had been one of his last “social” situations. It hadn’t gone well. But it’d forced his hand and eased his mind about what he had to do.

Years of asking God for forgiveness hadn’t helped. Now he realized it hadn’t helped because he’d been asking for the wrong reasons. He’d sought forgiveness to make himself feel better. He’d been selfish. He’d tried to correct one sin with another.

Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing now? The question inside his head spoke in the female voice.

No, he told the voice. Now I’m making things right. I gave them the chance to correct it and they refused. I had no choice.

Everyone has a choice, she replied.

I know what I have to do. I’ve seen what has to be done.

Very well, she answered. Thank you, Troy.

He listened a moment to see if she’d return. She was often his conscience, and he loved to hear her say his name. For years he’d ignored her nagging small voice that’d tried to guide him when he was faced with moral dilemmas. It wasn’t until Christmas that he’d finally started to reply. He found it oddly comforting to speak with her.

He blinked and realized Joe was staring at him with questioning eyes. Troy glared at the restrained man, laid his blade down in full sight, and opened up one of the blue tarps, spreading it on half of the carpet.

Fearless. The word rang through his mind, focusing his actions, centering his thoughts. He knew what he had to do; hesitation was not an option. He’d rehearsed every step and prepared for every surprise. Tonight’s job had required more modification to his vehicle than a stolen magnet on the side doors or a smoky cover over his license plate. He’d welcomed the challenge.

Joe started to thrash against his restraints, making his chair scuttle to the side. Troy ignored him and pulled out a new roll of duct tape. If Joe tipped over, it’d only make his job easier.

The man wouldn’t be leaving of his own accord.

12

Mason wondered if ASAC Duncan’s parting words last night had jinxed the task force. Looking at Zander Wells’s expression as he stood on the other side of the third dead man, he believed Zander was thinking the same thing.

Victim number three of the Bridge Killer had been found nearly forty miles east of Portland on the stunning Bridge of the Gods, which crossed the Columbia River. Mason wished he could see a pattern in the choice of bridges, but the killer had chosen a central city bridge, and then one west of the city, and now one to the east. Were north and south next? Would there be two more victims?

They had a killer with a clear plan. Now if they only had the blueprint to that plan.

“God damn it.”

Ava glanced at him.

“Did I say that out loud?” Mason asked. “Who the fuck is next?”

“He’s escalating by increasing the abuse to the bodies,” said Ava, studying the victim’s shaved head and torso lacerations. “At least he hasn’t sped up how quickly he’s killing them.”

“Don’t say that out loud,” muttered Zander.

Too late.

The corpse’s head had been shaved unevenly, leaving a jigsaw puzzle of hair and white scalp. The body had the wrapped wrists of the first two deaths, but this one also had lacerations to the chest.

“Did this one fight back?” Ava directed her question to the medical examiner. “Is that why there are cuts on his chest?”

Seth Rutledge shook his head. “Defensive wounds are typically on forearms and hands as the victim tries to protect himself. Look at how clean his arms are.” He leaned close to the body, peering at one of the slices in the chest. “These cuts are too symmetrical. See how similar in length each one is? And they almost form a perfect upside-down triangle on each pec. Someone carved these after death.”

“So besides hanging a naked body that’s had its wrists slit and has the pattern on his back, this one has the ball gag from the second death and adds damage to the chest along with shaving its head. Did I miss anything?” Mason asked.

“The pattern on the back is a bit different,” said Dr. Rutledge. “There’s a band that goes straight across as if there was a two-by-four also pressing into his back.” The doctor gestured at the men to help him roll the victim onto his side. The man was very large. It took four of them to allow Mason and Ava to peer at his back. Sure enough. The daisy pattern was very clear on the victim, but it was marred by a white line that crossed his back near the height of his armpits.

“And once again we’ve got a male who looks about the same age. But this one clearly doesn’t hit the gym or avoid McDonald’s.”

“Could one person have hung him?” asked Ava. “I couldn’t wrestle with a body this size, but could a really strong man?”

The men eyed the corpse. Zander shook his head. “There’s no way. Either he had help or rigged a way to move him.”

Mason tried to visualize a way for one man to move the corpse. “I can’t see it. A pulley of some sort, I guess. But that would take some custom adaptations to the van and a lot of preplanning on our guy’s part.”

Ava lifted a brow at him.

“Yes, I know. Clearly our guy has planned far in advance. What do we have for identifying marks to release to the press?”

“Weight will probably be close to three hundred and fifty pounds,” said Dr. Rutledge. “Black hair, blue eyes, and he’s wearing a partial denture to replace several molars on his mandible. A casual friend might not be aware of that fact, but a spouse would.”