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“What’s happened? What’s going on?” Brody interjected.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mason saw that the hawk had scented something. Brody had finally looked up from his cell, and his gaze tracked Mason as he strode to the kitchen.

Ignoring him, Mason’s eyes locked with Ray’s. Whatever Ray had to tell, it wasn’t good.

“They’ve found another murder they think is related to this case,” Ray whispered.

“Who? Where?” Damn it, Ray, spit it out.

“Joseph Cochran.”

Mason searched his memory and came up empty. “Who?”

“Former DA from Benton County. He’s been in private practice in Lake Oswego for a while.”

“Benton County. That’s Corvallis, right?” Mason’s brain was making leaps he didn’t want it to do.

“He was the prosecutor in the DeCosta case,” Ray stated.

“And that coincidence makes it part of ours? Just because we’ve got a DeCosta connection with the Mills girl?” Mason could picture the tall man now. Joseph Cochran had publicly sworn on television that he’d nail the “demented killing bastard.” Then he’d gone after DeCosta like a shark after bloody chum. And succeeded.

Ray cleared his throat and shifted his eyes to the kitchen doorway, checking for listeners. “There’s a baggie of hair with the body.”

“Whose hair?”

“Short, gray. They’re gonna test it, but it’s a visual match to Cal Trenton.”

“Christ.” They had to get to that scene. Mason started back to the living room to excuse them, but abruptly swung around to face Ray. Something nagging at the edge of his brain. Why would Cal Trenton’s…?

“Trenton. Was he involved in the DeCosta case?”

Comprehension spread across Ray’s features. “He had to be. Somehow. Shit. Why didn’t we look into that earlier?”

Mason had an idea how to get instant confirmation on their theory. His pounding boots entered the living room, startling Dr. Campbell and Brody, who had an ear to his cell phone.

“Dr. Campbell. You testified at the DeCosta trial. Do you remember any of other people that testified against him?”

“I guess.” She looked reluctant to dig up painful memories. “Why?”

“I think the name Calvin Trenton might make a connection for you now.”

Staring at him, Dr. Campbell’s eyes widened, and Mason could see the mental click. “He was one of the cops who arrested him. I remember now,” she whispered. “There were at least a dozen cops who testified in the trial, but his testimony was the important one. He nearly cried on the stand as he described DeCosta’s torture chamber and weapons. I had to leave the courtroom.” She swallowed hard, and Mason worried she would be ill.

The memories were coming back to Mason. As a member of the task force he’d encountered a hundred cops while working on the Co-Ed killings. At Dr. Campbell’s description, he also remembered watching the tough cop nearly crack on the witness stand.

“Joseph Cochran’s been murdered.” Brody slid his phone back in his pocket.

Three pairs of eyes turned to stare at him. One confused and two annoyed.

“Damned press,” mumbled Ray.

Brody gave Mason a slow predator’s smile. “That’s right. You can’t keep your secrets for very long. There’s always someone who likes to talk.”

“I know that name. He was the district attorney in the DeCosta trial.” Dr. Campbell broke the tension between the men. “What’s going on? Who’s killing these men? DeCosta’s dead. Right?” She pushed up off the couch as her voice rose, seeking confirmation from Mason’s eyes.

“That’s right. The man is dead.” Mason could tell his words didn’t assure her. The dentist was visibly shaking. He turned to Ray. “I need the name of every person involved in putting DeCosta in prison.”

“Shit.” Brody stood and firmly wrapped one hand around Dr. Campbell’s upper arm. “Lace. You’re one of them.”

Dr. Campbell paled, her gaze locked with Mason’s. “My testimony put him away.”

Mason held her gaze, flashes of Cal Trenton’s tortured body flashing through his mind. Fuck! Was she on somebody’s kill list too?

Mason turned to eye the big windows. “You got a security system?”

“I’m calling right now.” Lacey was already dialing her phone.

No fresh snow had fallen that day, but the wind was icy, freezing the old snow at the edge of the sidewalk into dangerous piles of ice. Lacey shivered as she stepped carefully through the Portland street crowds and pulled her thick collar up around her neck, wishing she had a scarf. Stuart Carter, a dental student of hers, had a sculpture showing at one of the smaller galleries, and she’d promised to stop by, not ready to isolate herself completely from the regular world until necessary.

First Thursday was a monthly downtown Portland event where the public mobbed the Pearl District to view art and artists alike. Locals set up crude stands on the sidewalks, selling homemade creations, while the art galleries threw open their doors to tempt the public to drop big bucks and eat organic appetizers.

Jack had caught her by phone in her office just seconds before she’d headed downtown to the galleries. He’d sounded relieved when she answered the phone, but he wouldn’t elaborate on his police interview when she asked. He’d wanted to talk to her in person. Tonight. She hadn’t mentioned yesterday’s visit from the police on the phone, suddenly feeling awkward about Michael’s insinuating articles and not ready to explain her relationship with the reporter, who was surely on Jack’s shit list.