“I don’t blame him,” said Ray. “Frankly I don’t know how he does that job.”

“He probably says the same thing about us,” Mason added.

Bishop sighed. “If he’s tired of seeing dead people, he’s in the wrong business.”

“I don’t think it’s the dead people. I think it’s the murdered ones,” corrected Mason.

“We could all do with a lot less of that,” agreed Bishop. “But what has kept me going all these years is my thirst to hunt down every bastard who does shit like this.” He eyed the black figure on the floor. “When the perpetrators are handed to you on a silver platter, it loses some satisfaction. There’s no reward in this one. All that’s left is to find his family and ruin their day.”

“And four other families’ day,” added Ray.

Mason stepped closer and bent over, eyeing the label on the shooter’s lightweight jacket. “There might be more to these shootings than there first appears.” He pointed at the small white swoosh. “Our last shooter wore the same jacket. Let’s find out what the guy in the June shooting in Eugene wore.”

15

Ava wondered how Mason’s morning was going. He’d left very early, whispering to her that there’d been a shooting and that he’d call later. After she got up, she’d watched the early news reports of the shooting and caught a glimpse of Dr. Seth Rutledge over the shoulder of a reporter’s “breaking news” announcement at a park east of Portland.

Four dead. Plus the shooter.

She realized Mason’s callout had been for another mass shooting, similar to hers two days ago. Had he known and purposefully not told her? Or had he been told only that there’d been a shooting?

Zander called minutes later. She begged to accompany him when he told her he had an interview with Justin Yoder’s best friend. “I’m good with young people,” she argued. “If I wasn’t on vacation, I’d probably be going with you anyway.”

“Do you not get the concept of vacation?” he asked. “It means no work.”

He gave in. She dashed out of her house as he turned into her driveway. “Do you think it’s related?” she asked him, craving information. If she’d been officially working the case, her email inbox would have been full. Instead she had to ask questions to get caught up.

Zander’s eyes didn’t leave the road. “Don’t know yet. Copycat would be my guess. Someone wasn’t brave enough to try a public mall. They went for a park where they could be almost certain no cameras would be around.”

She suspected he’d wanted her to go along and that had been the reason behind the early phone call. She didn’t know if he hadn’t been able to find anyone else to go with him or if he wanted her insight into the case. Didn’t matter. She was here now.

She glanced at the printout he’d given her on Justin’s friend. Cole Hooper was twenty and had gone to school with Justin Yoder since the seventh grade. Cole lived in an apartment downtown, not far from Portland State University, where he studied business. Currently on summer break, he waited tables at two Portland restaurants.

“Two jobs,” Ava commented. “He has a little more drive than Justin did. And it looks like he expects to graduate on time.”

“I had two jobs at the same time during college,” said Zander.

“I had at least that. And I sent money home. Ugh. He’s got three male roommates. I can tell you right now his apartment is a sty.”

“If he and Justin were such good friends, why wasn’t Justin living there?” Zander asked.

“He wasn’t in school. Makes perfect sense to me. Looks like these other guys are students.”

“It does work better if everyone is on the same page,” agreed Zander. “Hard for students to live with nonstudents. It would have driven me crazy to be studying hard and living with someone who slept all day.”

“Uh-huh,” Ava agreed, thinking of the short period of time in college when Jayne had lived with her. Jayne hadn’t been in school and had worked when she pleased. She’d gone out every night and pleaded with Ava to come, ignoring her excuses about homework. The arrangement hadn’t lasted.

Zander circled the quiet block, searching for elusive street parking outside the brick apartment buildings. Ava studied the architecture, not knowing the name for the style. Old. Slightly crumbling red brick. White curly trim that needed paint. She had a strong hunch the rooms inside would be small and the hallways narrow. College students had probably lived in the buildings for the last fifty years. Zander found a spot and they walked two blocks back to the address. The glass was broken out of the security door to the lobby of the building, but it was still locked. Zander carefully reached through the sharp glass edges and opened the door. The lobby was dark and the elevator was out of order.

“Christ,” muttered Zander. “At least we’re only going to the third floor.”

“That’s got to be some sort of code violation,” said Ava. “I wonder how long it hasn’t worked.”

They found the apartment and knocked. And waited. Zander knocked again. Ava watched the peephole darken briefly and then listened as three locks clicked. A tall, impossibly skinny male with bedhead opened the door. “Sorry,” Cole apologized after introducing himself. “I overslept. I worked really late last night.” He yawned, and Ava wanted to suggest he brush his teeth. Cole gestured for them to follow him and led them to a living area crammed with three Goodwill couches and a huge flat-screen TV.