“They hung him? Off a bridge?” Zander had asked.

“Looks like he was already dead,” said Duncan. “Somebody wanted to make a statement with this scene. And just because he’s a congressman doesn’t mean it’s politically driven. Keep your mind open in that regard.”

“The nudity bothers me. Someone had a reason for leaving him like that. We might need to get BAU involved,” Ava added, referring to the Behavioral Analysis Unit on the East Coast.

Duncan agreed. “We will. I’m going to send them preliminary findings, and we’ll pull them in for a deeper analysis if we don’t get results soon. I’m hoping we have a stupid murderer here who makes your job easy.”

“Our killer’s not stupid,” Ava had stated to Zander on the way to the victim’s home. “No one saw him leave a naked body on a bridge. At least no one has come forward yet.”

Now Ava slipped the thin elasticized booties over her shoes, her upper arm complaining as she bent over. She bit her lip and shifted her notebook to her right arm, avoiding eye contact with Zander. A little twinge of pain helped keep her awake, right?

Carson Scott’s condo was a two-level unit in a string of connected townhome residences. The moment they stepped through the front door, they had a sweeping view of the Columbia River. “Nice place,” Zander muttered as they moved through the spacious foyer, which opened into a high-ceilinged great room with floor-to-ceiling windows to take full advantage of the riverfront property. The sky was a clear blue, turning the water the same shade. Portland hotels and condos stood five hundred feet away across the water.

Inside the home the decor was white and silver. Lots of mirrors and an odd mix of vintage furniture and ultramodern accessories. Off to the left, a gleaming silver kitchen caught Ava’s eye. She looked away. Luxury kitchens were a weakness of hers. She didn’t cook much, but she had an affinity for specialty countertops, glass tiles, and professional appliances that she’d never get her money’s worth out of. She’d rather install a unique stone countertop, or buy a Wolf range, than pick out jewelry.

Someday . . .

From her right, voices moved closer, and a group of men came down the hall, deep in discussion about a computer.

“I’m telling you not to touch it! Don’t even unplug it. Let one of the computer forensic guys look at it first.”

Ava’s heart sped up at Mason’s commanding voice. He was a take-charge type of guy. If he saw something that needed to be done, he did it. Or politely kicked the butt of the guy who should have been doing it. He didn’t tolerate laziness or waste. She saw he was carrying his cowboy hat in his hand. The hat and cowboy boots had taken some getting used to, but now she couldn’t imagine him without them. They represented his old-fashioned character and values.

He worried about their twelve-year age difference, but she brushed it aside.

The heart didn’t ask one’s age.

The group stopped as they spotted Ava and Zander. Surprise showed on every face but Mason’s. He gave a small grin, his brown gaze locking on hers. “I wondered who’d be the lucky ones from the FBI. Zander, good to see you again.” Mason shook the other agent’s hand.

Ava greeted Mason’s partner, Ray, and nodded at the other officers as Mason made quick introductions. She fought to act casual.

She’d nearly moved forward to kiss Mason in greeting. The rueful look in his eye told her he was having the same struggle. She caught Ray watching the two of them and biting back a grin. He knew they were in the early stages of their romantic relationship.

“I assume the murder didn’t happen here,” Ava said.

Ray shook his head. “We’re still looking for the primary scene.” He gestured for Ava and Zander to follow him down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “It looks like he left with every intention of coming back.” Ava stepped into a slightly disheveled master bedroom. She scanned the area. The bed was unmade, the door to the walk-in closet was open, and the blinds were closed. She surveyed the closet. Men’s shoes and men’s clothing. A few free weights. She moved into the attached bathroom. One well-used toothbrush stood in a holder on the counter, and a T-shirt and pair of underwear were on the floor next to the shower. She tried not to ogle the five showerheads at different levels in the custom tile shower. Carson Scott used Head & Shoulders shampoo and what smelled like Ivory soap.

“It looks like he lives alone?” she directed at Ray.

“That’s our impression. There’s no women’s stuff like he has a girlfriend occasionally stay. That fits with what his chief of staff told us. She said he dates but no one special.”

Possibly another male?

She didn’t speculate out loud but tucked the thought away for consideration later. Zander took a second look in the walk-in closet.

Next to the master bedroom was a home office. A nice desktop and a laptop sat on the wide desk. The office had the usual equipment: printer, shredder, whiteboard, and ergonomic chair. The unusual sight in the office was the three shelves of trophies. Ava stepped closer to read them. Baseball. Rugby. Tennis. Swimming. Every date was more than ten years old. Some closer to twenty.

Carson couldn’t let go of the glory days.

The old mementoes struck her as odd for someone who’d achieved Carson Scott’s high level in politics.

Zander reappeared. “All the clothing and shoes in the closet are the same sizes. It strongly suggests he’s living alone. Unless they both happen to wear the same size sport coat and shoes.”