“Crowded,” mumbled Ray, and Mason knew he wasn’t referring to the park. Ray’s brain was traveling the same path as Mason’s.

“We’ll make it work. We got everything centralized with the Rivertown incident. We’ll convince Multnomah County that we’ve got a good system going and ask them to join. We’ll dangle the FBI’s hardware and assistance in front of them. That’ll make everyone play nicely together.”

“Depends.”

“Yep.” Mason knew he was referring to egos. They rarely encountered a situation in which a smaller department didn’t appreciate OSP’s or the FBI’s man power, but it was known to happen.

“There’s Rutledge,” said Ray, raising a hand at the medical examiner, who was headed in the same direction.

“Just getting here,” Dr. Seth Rutledge said after a quick greeting. He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s happening to our state.”

They continued toward the restrooms. “Who’s the incident commander?” Ray asked one cop who blocked their path as they drew closer.

The cop looked at their IDs and waved a hand toward the rustic-looking bathrooms. “Chief Deputy Arnold Bishop. He’s inside.”

“Where are you doing your interviews?” asked Mason.

“Local church. It’s a block that way.” The officer pointed again.

The three men stopped outside the bathroom. The rustic look was a facade. Mason saw the restroom was a solidly built structure with clean concrete flooring. They stopped to slip on booties and two cops came out. One had a green tinge to his face as the other slapped him on the shoulder. The second cop looked amused at his friend’s nausea, but Mason saw the pain flash in his eyes and knew the amusement was forced.

The scene in the restroom must be bad.

They stepped inside, the odor of copper touched his nose, and he swallowed hard. They followed a hall for ten feet and then it opened up into a wide room with sinks and urinals. Three people looked their way as they entered; the fourth person stretched out on the floor didn’t move.

Black clothing—again. Full face mask—again. AR-15—again.

And blood and brain matter sprayed all over one wall.

Chief Deputy Bishop introduced himself. The two crime scene techs went back to work after a brief nod at the newcomers. Dr. Rutledge squatted next to the body and gently opened the mouth to shine his flashlight in the dark cavity.

Mason looked away. “What’s the story?”

Bishop hiked up his jeans with a thumb in his belt loop. He looked to be pushing sixty, but his eyes were sharp as he scanned the two OSP detectives up and down. “You two work with Denny Schefte?” he asked, referring to their supervisor.

Mason nodded.

“I’ve known Denny for years. Our wives go way back.” He turned to the body. “Don’t know who he is yet. But the story from the witnesses who were in the area say they saw him walk around the lake from the boating side. Once he got close enough he simply raised his gun and started shooting. One guy said it was like he was calmly shooting at targets.”

“Christ,” breathed Ray.

Bishop nodded. “We’re just glad there weren’t any kids here. That hour of the day had early birds out for walks or exercisers.”

“Are the victims identified yet?”

“We think so. Three of the four had identification on them. The fourth was identified by the women she was walking with. Three men, one woman. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“How many witnesses?” asked Mason.

Bishop grimaced. “Eight have come forward. Three women from the walking group and five others who were at the park when he started shooting. But according to these eight, there were more people here than that. So some took off. I’m hoping they come back.”

“No cameras?” Ray asked.

“None. We’re canvassing the nearby homes to ask about security systems to see if they caught anything.”

“What about on the side with the rentals? Don’t they have cameras to watch their gear?” Mason asked.

“Nope. They padlock everything into sheds at night. We’re searching that side, trying to figure out where he came from.” He looked down at the body. “I took a look under his mask. Looks about the same age as the one who shot up the mall the other day. What the hell is wrong with kids these days?” He shook his head.

“We want to look at the three shootings as a whole,” said Mason delicately. “There could be a history between these three young men. The FBI was looking at the Rivertown case with us, and I think we need to loop them in on this one to try to see the big picture.”

Bishop gave him a sour look. “I’m not an asshole who’s going to turn down federal or state help. Clearly something is messing with these kids’ heads. We’ll take all the help we can get. Something needs to be done to figure out how to stop this from happening. We’ll do whatever you need.”

Dr. Rutledge stood up.

“Whatcha got, Doc?” Ray asked.

“I’ve got nothing new,” Dr. Rutledge said shortly. “He did exactly what the last shooter did. Placed his rifle in his mouth and fired. You already know the time and manner of death. Once he’s on my table I can run the tox screens and see if he had anything chemical in his system and look for something to help get him identified.” His gloves snapped as he yanked them off. “I can tell you I’m sick of this sort of case. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got four victims to examine and confirm that they were shot to death.” He nodded at the investigators and stalked out of the bathroom.